Sinners Consumed (Sinners Anonymous, #3)

by Somme Sketcher

“My father became a deacon because Roman Catholics love nothing more than a good confession.” I shift my gaze to the confessional in the corner. “He had dirt on everyone and their mama.” Penny follows my eye line and cocks her head. “That’s quite smart actually,” she admits. Of course she’d think that, the fucking little grifter.

“You choose the worst confession from the hotline, hunt them down and kill them?” “Mm. Once a month.” “Jesus Christ.” “Shh, he’ll hear you.”

I take all the restraint I can muster and slip a hundred dollar bill out of my pocket, then push it into the grate. “Kiss me.” After a few seconds, it slides back the opposite direction and drops back onto my lap. Then there’s a shuffle and hinges groan, and soft candlelight fills my booth. My gaze slides to Penny darkening the doorway. She stoops to clamber inside and sits on my lap. Her cheeks are wet and warm against mine. She brushes her lips up my jaw and over my mouth, and whispers against it. “This one is free.”

“Ready to go, Queenie?” “Go where?” Nico asks. “Her shift doesn’t finish for another hour.” “Not tonight, it doesn’t.” Nico’s gaze slides to mine, amused and cynical. “Oh, the power of nepotism.”

“Why?” It’s all I can manage. Rafe turns me to look at him and kisses a tear before it drips off my chin. “You know the answer,” he whispers against my jaw. Because he loves me.

“I’m your hotline now, Queenie. All your mundane thoughts, all your ramblings: they’re mine. I want them all, no matter how trivial. Do you understand me?” I can only nod. “Good,” he murmurs. He swallows hard, frowning at a tear rolling down my face. “Now stop crying. I don’t like it.”

I’ll be here forever—I know it. Shackled by his chains, blissful in his cage. For all I care, he can lock me up and throw the key into the Pacific. I’m in Raphael Visconti’s trap, and I never want to be freed.

“Kick me in the shin again, and I’ll spank you harder than I did last night.” I jump at his sudden warning slicing through the silence. When I don’t reply, he pops open an eye and smirks at me sleepily. “Never mind, you’re just admiring the view again.” “No, I’m not.” Yes, I am. “I’m thinking.” “Does it hurt?” “Shut up.”

“I promise, Queenie. I’m here forever.” I sigh. Wrap my legs around his hips and draw him closer. “Then it’s yours.”

“Rafe, we need to move.” He frowns up at me. “But I like having an ocean between you and everyone else.” I laugh. “Yeah, but it’s a pain in the ass. Besides, how can I walk around naked if there’s a chance I might bump into the first officer in the living room?” “You wanna walk around naked?” “Uh-huh.” He pauses. Rakes an eye over the hem of his hoodie. “Then we’ll start looking.” Christ, I might not swindle men for their money anymore, but they sure are easy to fool in other ways.

“Where’s my wife, anyway?” “Out shopping with…Penny.” I almost say, out with mine, but stop myself. Unfortunately, she’s not my wife. Yet. “I don’t like it when they hang out.” Now, I pin him with a blistering glare, annoyance twitching my fingers. “Why not?” “Because she’s teaching her things.” “Like?” “Like how to play blackjack. Rory’s good at it now.” He swigs from his whiskey glass, eyes darkening. “Tell me why I’m losing every hand we play? Something’s not right.” Tor and I exchange amused glances. Angelo rarely gambles, and probably doesn’t even know what card counting is. I don’t snitch on my sister-in-law though. We’re starting The Real Housewives of Atlanta next week, and like fuck am I watching the franchise on my own.

“You see all these men in here? They’re all for you.” She frowns. “You’re pimping me out?” “Business isn’t going that badly.” Yet. “I mean, they’re all lined up for a visit to The Grotto. I thought you might want to have a little fun with them first.” Her eyes grow wide, and she scans the room as if seeing it in a new light. “Seriously?” She steps closer and drops her voice to a theatrical whisper. “You’re telling me I can swindle anyone in here?” “Swindle the shit out of them, baby.” “But I’ve gone straight.” I laugh in disbelief. “There’s nothing straight about you. Never has been, never will be.”

A squeal rips my attention to the other side of the room. It’s Rory, jumping to her feet and celebrating a win. When she skips over, fanning her winnings, Angelo jumps up too. “No more,” he growls, planting a possessive kiss on her lips. “Sit.” “Ah, this must be your lovely wife,” Belmarsh says, rising to greet her. Rory pauses. Curls her top lip in disgust. Then she shoves Angelo away and cries, “You have a wife?” There’s a ripple of snickers around our table. Angelo pinches his nose, shaking his head. “Fucking hell. I knew I should have stayed home and watched the game.”

“Make her marry me,” I blurt out. A server comes over with the drinks we ordered, plus a white-wine spritzer for Rory. She takes a sip, doing a crappy job at hiding her amusement. “Chill out; it’s been, like, a month.” “You married my brother after a month.” “Yeah, but only because he begged.” I stare at her. “What?” “Oh, swan. Don’t tell him I told you that. He’s peeved with me already.” I say nothing. We both know it’ll come out the second Angelo pisses me off.

Truth is, despite my caveman instinct to get a ring on her finger so the world and their mamas know she’s mine, the logical part of me can respect her not wanting to tie the knot yet. She spent so long trying to figure out what she wants in life; now she’s found it, she wants to enjoy it as Penny Price for a while. And that’s okay. I like her being Penny Price too.

“Good night?” She bites her bottom lip, looking up at me through those thick lashes. “The best. Look!” She dumps her bag out onto her lap, and all her stolen goods fall out. Money she won, wallets she lifted, watches she stole. She holds up a Rolex to the light of the moon and squints at it. “Although, I’m not sure this one is real.” Shaking my head, I cup her jaw and steal a quick kiss. “You’re a dirty little thief; you know that?” Her grin grows wider. “I do indeed.”

Immediately, my blood runs cold. Something thickens in my throat, and I can’t seem to get any words out, let alone in order. Eventually, I manage a strangled, “You’re not wearing it.” I can’t believe I didn’t notice she’s not wearing it. Her hand flies to her chest. “I’m lucky, with or without the necklace,” she says quietly. “I have you, I have friends, I have the best job. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” Her fingers slide over mine, and she takes the box from me. “My socks didn’t work for you, nor did you taking your mama’s advice about believing you’re lucky. So maybe this will.”