Sinners Condemned (Sinners Anonymous, #2)

by Somme Sketcher

He’s just a man, for Christ’s sake. Sure, a man with an infamous last name and surrounded by bodyguards who might chop me up and stuff me into my own suitcase, but, nevertheless, a man.

I don’t know why I do it—perhaps I’m a glutton for punishment, or perhaps I like role playing as a kicked puppy—but I slip in beside him.

“It feels like your heart is walking outside of your body.” Her gaze finds Angelo’s again, and I watch in fascination as a pink flush creeps from underneath her necklace. “My heart now wears Armani and has a Glock for every day of the week.”

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.

“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.”