Sinners Condemned (Sinners Anonymous, #2)

by Somme Sketcher

It’s the Queen of Hearts. “The red-haired lady,” the woman says softly. “Lucky for most, unlucky for a select few. And for you?” She lets out a low whistle. “The Queen of Hearts is detrimental. You could have all the success in the world, but she’ll bring you to your knees.”

“You sure are persistent for a man that isn’t interested.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “Oh, I’m interested.”

Ice-cold dread trickles into my bloodstream. Fuck. Less than ten minutes ago, I thought this dude was a little fish that wouldn’t nibble on my bait, and how wrong I was. He’s a great white shark about to swallow me whole.

But I don’t give a flying fuck, because I like how I look. Well, I’m impartial about it, at least. Worrying about the little pouch of fat that hangs over the waistband of my panties has never paid my bills. Obsessing over the fact that my thighs rub together has never given me a winning Blackjack hand. And being judgmental about other women’s bodies has never made mine miraculously perfect, either.

She leans in, wide-eyed and whispering. “And just last week, he let me shoot his—” “What did I tell you?” Gabe cuts in, glancing up from his cards with a scowl. Rory pretends to lock her lips with an imaginary key. “Oops, I forgot. Gabe says you’re a snitch.”

The doe-eyed darling pretense melts away, and she meets my eyes with annoyance. I’m not the type of man who averts his gaze, even if he doesn’t like what he sees. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t back down, either. I’m not usually one for insolence, but Jesus, it’s kind of hot.

Silly girl. If only she knew I don’t just play games; I create them. I can’t wait until she finally picks up the phone and plays my most exciting game of all.

“I’m sorry you’re not in Fiji right now, Rory.” “Eh,” she says with a shrug. “I’d rather stay on the Coast and watch Dante get his head blown off.” My glass halfway to my lips, I still. Benny flashes me an I-told-you-so look. I know what he’s thinking: the Hollow brothers have a theory that Vicious’s new wife is a secret psychopath.

Fuck, she’s annoying. I have half a mind to throw her overboard based on my assumption of her underwear preferences alone.

A beat passes, before she slowly turns back to face the ocean. As she does, I can’t help but lower my mouth to the base of her ponytail so her hair brushes against my lips again. Christ, I’m more of a simp than Vicious.

I steal another huff, and this time, something other than strawberry and hairspray assaults my nostrils. Something familiar. Mine. The realization has claws and they dig under my skin; she’s wearing my aftershave.

“Careful calling me boss when you’re half naked, Penelope,” he drawls. “I might just get the wrong idea.”

It suddenly occurs to me what makes this girl so attractive.

it’s her confidence that claws under my skin. She’s borderline cocky, which presents a challenge within itself. It seems I crave the satisfaction of knocking it out of her with any means possible.

My thumb sliding across my mouth conceals my dark amusement. Where does this chick get her confidence from? The top of her head barely reaches the third button on my shirt, for god’s sake.

The danger dancing in his eyes both thrills me and scares me at the same time; not a single trace of gentlemanly disposition exists within those irises. Not anymore.

My sass morphs into a gasp as Raphael’s thick fingers find purchase in the base of my hair and yank my head back. I open my mouth to protest, then something cold and smooth slides into it. At first, I think it’s another playing card, but when I pull it out, I realize it’s a Black Amex. My eyes clash with Raphael’s.

“Pin is four, eight, four, two,” he says quietly. He locks his fingers behind his head and leans back against the headrest. His gaze flashes like a warning sign. “Now, take it off.”

But then, whether she knew it or not, Penelope would win again, and, despite my odd obsession with her, I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a rusty penknife than let her win.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Seems I was too busy being a creepy man and staring at a beautiful girl all night.”

“You’re a psychopath; you know that?” His humorless laugh touches the pulse in my throat. “What makes you think that?” I close my eyes, honing in on the sound of his heartbeat. “Your heart isn’t even beating fast.” “I’m a made man, Penelope. We’re just built this way.”

“God, that sound was annoying,” I grumble, looking up at my neighbors emerging from their doors and craning their necks down the street. “Funny—I think the same thing every time you open your mouth.”

I want to know why she can sleep in my car, but not in her bed. Why she’s still wearing my watch, instead of selling it. What she puts in my whiskey to make me want to protect her, when I should be putting a bullet in her head.

“You win, I kiss you. I win, you kiss me.”

She was comfortable here, in my car, beside me, her hair piled on top of her head and her face make-up free. It was with a sickening sweetness that I realized she sought out the warmth of my car to do the most vulnerable thing a human can do: sleep.

it’s not a fair fight. Never was. But under the serene dawn sky, I’m not a man. I’m an animal in a very nice suit, protecting what’s his.