Sinners Consumed (Sinners Anonymous, #3)

by Somme Sketcher

“Vodka.” My shoulders pull taut. “Since when did you start drinking vodka?” “Since you said you wouldn’t kiss me if I drank whiskey.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. All other characters in the Bible too. Backlit by the early morning sun streaming through the window, he’s a mountain of muscle and sin, and no amount of ink staining his body can conceal his brawn or definition.

And Raphael Visconti in all of his sinful glory, is scary as fuck.

My world is on fire, and I want to punish the girl who lit the match.

I meet it with a perfect smile. “Lucky.” She frowns. “What?” “That’s your safe word, Penelope. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

I’d laugh in disbelief, had the little brat not ruined my life. Because now, as the harsh winter sun streams through the portholes, dancing over her skin and highlighting the red in her hair, it’s obvious she’ll be my downfall.

Begrudgingly, I get it now: why men like seeing women in their shit. Wearing my clothes, my watch, it feels like she’s mine. Until I’m done breaking her, at least.

But the thought of another man laying claim on this girl, my Queen of Hearts, even long after I’m done with her, has turned me into a rabid dog, barking out shit I don’t mean.

“Cazzo,” I mutter, letting my belt slide from my hand. I follow it to the floor, sinking to my knees and planting a gentle kiss against the fresh welt on her ass. It’s not lost on me that the fortune teller said the Queen of Hearts would bring me to my knees. Turns out, she meant it literally. “Talk to me.”

Thing is, I learned this morning that when Penelope withholds her focus from me for too long, I have a sick habit of forcing her to look at me anyway.

Ironic, really. I dragged her onto this yacht with bloodied hands, with every intention to ruin her before she did me. And yet, one stray tear has got me in a chokehold, wondering if shit like chocolate and hot water bottles will stop another from falling. This must be what rock-bottom means.

Ridiculous. I can’t stand the girl. Can’t stand how her bad luck has bled into every corner of my life. And yet, here I am, a bottle of cocoa butter in my hand, itching to take the pain away.

“I’m past the point of caring, Penelope. Past the point of trying to resist you.”

“Let it all burn.”

before she ends up on the carpet. “I don’t do this,” she blurts out, clambering to her feet. “Do what?” “Men.” “I don’t do men either.”

My cell buzzes on the coffee table, reminding me I have shit to do. “You staying here or not?” “And if I wanted to leave?” I bite my tongue. The truth would scare her: I’d drag her back onboard kicking and screaming.

“And I want to be home for Christmas.” I consider this. It’s less than a week away. “Okay.” Doesn’t mean I don’t want you back afterward.

I tug out my wallet and toss my Amex on the coffee table. “You already have my spare card but I’m guessing it’s in my car along with your phone. Use this.” My gaze rises to hers. “I’m sure you remember the pin,” I say dryly. “Obviously.”

“Try not to burn the place down, Penelope.” “Rafe?” The way she says my name bounces like an echo in my chest. I pause, glaring at the wood grain on the door. “All my other fuck buddies call me Penny.” Violence hits me like a lightning bolt. “And all your other fuck buddies will be six-feet-under if you mention them again.”

His signature silhouette seeps out from behind the glass. Sharp suit, megawatt smile. Black, gold, green, all the colors so polished, so refined, that no other word comes to mind. Perfect. I knew the moment I met him he was the perfect liar.

A heady thought charges my nerves. Now that I’ve seen what’s underneath the gentlemanly exterior—felt it inside me; heard it in my ear—I’m hot with knowing I’ve had a glimpse of something no one else has. Now, he’s the perfect liar, to everyone except me.

“He means, he gets why Rafe is obsessed with you now. You talk almost as much shit as he does.”

“So why tattoos?” A dark smirk touches her lips. She flips her long, black hair over her shoulder and pins me with a knowing look. “I like inflicting pain on men, even just for a little while.” I knew I liked this girl.

I whip around to push him off, but he tightens his grip on my braid, yanking my head back until it rests below his collar pin. “I’ll have to thank my sister-in-law for giving me a leash.”

Something sweet and sickly blooms in my chest. She can have my drink. Fuck, she can have it all. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give her, and that’s the problem.

I give our dinner a careless glance. “Slop.” He smirks. “Please tell me you didn’t attempt to cook a hot-blooded Italian man a lasagna?”

“I can’t stand you, baby. Look what you do to me.” His next thrust feels like a punishment. “You turn me into a fucking animal.”

My laugh comes out bitter and tinged with disbelief. Fucking Mario Kart. I killed off all her big problems, and now all she has left are soft and innocent worries.

Even though she’s brought me to my knees and set my world on fire around me, I’m not letting her go anywhere.

As my gaze follows her, it slides left and locks onto Penny’s. Man, she’s just got this way of making my heart flinch every time she does that—catch my eye from across the room.

“Be good to her, Rafe.” Nico’s voice is quiet but it still squeezes my spine. Good to her? Fuck, if only he knew how good I am to her. This morning, I stared at her for an hour as she snored beside me. Maybe it was the guilt of nearly slitting her throat or the fascination that she was sleeping in my bed, but I brought her breakfast on a fucking tray. Even put a flower I’d swiped out a vase in the dining room on it. When she tells me not to be nice to her, she no longer says it with a grimace but a smile, and this little eye roll that makes me want to be nice to her all the time.

“You are a capo, brother. You command respect from every man in this room. Do you think that’ll be the case when you sing Tom Jones’s part to a Christmas song? Sit the fuck down.”

“When you start doing stupid shit, like eating spaghetti with raw meatballs and going back for seconds, because she cooked it. Smuggling a labradoodle out of your house in a duffle bag at three a.m. so it’s still a surprise on Christmas Day.” His attention falls to my knuckles and his jaw tightens. “When you start using your fists because you need to the feel the bones of the man that hurt her break underneath them.” He eyes my vodka and shakes his head. “When you start drinking like a Russian, even though you own a seventeen-percent stake in one of the fastest-growing whiskey companies in the world.” Meeting my eyes again, he adds, “That’s how you know.”

Maybe it’s only because the heels I’m wearing are a couple inches taller than usual and all this height is giving me new confidence, but I curl my finger around his collar pin and yank him toward me. “Call another woman darling again, and she’ll die crossing the road.”

He tugs sharply on my strands, his stare hardening as it meets mine. “Then you stomped down the stairs of the Blues Den. Red hair, stolen dress, an attitude I wanted to fuck out of you.” He shakes his head. “You were magnetic, and I couldn’t resist giving you the time of day.

With a heavy puff of breath, Rafe drops his forehead down to mine, his imposing silhouette obscuring the outside world. “I don’t care how lucky you think you are,” he murmurs. “To me, you’re the unluckiest girl in the world.” Instinct pulls me away from him, but he only tightens his grip on my neck. “But you’re also the prettiest. The funniest. The fucking rudest. You’ve ruined my life but I’m not strong enough to stop you.”

“Yeah, now I’ve ruined it. Apparently, only a Birkin as a replacement will do.” My brother frowns. “I don’t know what that is.” “Mm. You better hope your wife doesn’t, either.”

“Look at you,” he rasps. “You’re so perfect, Queenie.” We both watch his hand as it glides over the curve of my stomach. “Every single inch of you. Perfection.”

“No talking. Just relax and let me worship you.” His eyes flick to mine again, a heated desperation behind them. “Please.”

“My Queen of Hearts,” he rasps in fascination, more to himself than to me. “My beautiful demise.”

“The yacht, baby. Hang your stolen clothes up in my closet, make your god-awful lasagnas in my oven. Light your girly candles in every room. I want all of it, all of you. Just come home.”

“Let me get one kiss in before you bite my head off.” Melting into the mattress is an involuntary reflex. So is the pathetic sigh that rises in my throat. Rafe takes it as permission to kiss me again. “All right, maybe two,” he says, scraping his teeth over my bottom lip.

He moves up to my throat again, smiling against it. “No? Then what do you want? Diamonds? A car? Two cars? An island, Queenie? A Birkin in every color? Fuck,” He licks the sensitive spot behind my ear. “I’ll give you the world in every color if you want it.” I can’t help but grunt a noise of approval. It’s the hustler in me, I guess. “Yes.” “Yes to what?” “All of it.” His chuckle vibrates against my pulse. “Deal.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Sorry isn’t good enough,” I whisper back. His eyes flash. “Then what will be, Penny? Because one thing’s for sure; I’m not walking this earth without you.” He laughs bitterly, running a paw over his chest. “I tried it. Didn’t like it.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” “Because anytime anyone calls you with a problem, your advice is to listen to ABBA’s greatest hits on repeat.”

can only stare at him. “What are you doing here?” His gaze climbs my sweats and traps me. “I’m groveling.” I blink. “Groveling?” “Mm.” He produces a bouquet from behind his back. “Grovels start with flowers.”

Then his chest caves as he lets out a tense breath. “Come here.” I don’t move. First of all, why the fuck should I? He’s got legs too.

“I’m trying to make it up to you. Trying to show you how much I care about you.” His eyes lift to mine, soft and tinged with something that doesn’t suit him. Desperation. “I’m groveling, Queenie. But you need to let me.”

“Say please.” His gaze darkens. “Please what?” “Ask me out to dinner, but say please.” His nostrils flare, and by the way he glances at the ceiling, I know he’s wondering if I’m worth the humiliation. But then his stare falls back to mine, his jaw tight. “Penny, would you do me the honor of letting me take you out for dinner?” He grits his teeth. “Please?”

“Hmm,” I muse, leaning back on my palms and pretending to weigh up my options. “Are you paying?” He laughs. “What kind of question is that?”