Sinners Condemned : Chapter 29

above the horizon, the last of its rays stretching over the Pacific and basking St Pius Church with an angelic aura.

It’s an ironic sight, because this joint has seen sins better suited to the fiery pits of hell.

I park and bite back a smirk at the sight of both Angelo’s Bugatti and Gabe’s Harley already lining the side of the road. They’re both earlier than me. I suppose there’s a first for everything.

I turn up my collar and step out onto frosted gravel. The air crackles with festive anticipation, icy wind, and earthy bonfires as I cut through the graveyard toward the church. I told myself I wasn’t going to stop, but my self-control isn’t what it used to be, and I slow in front of our parents’ joint headstone.

A bitter laugh leaves my lips in a puff of condensation. Nine years ago I stood in this exact same spot and believed true love had died with my parents. Only a few months later when I started Sinners Anonymous and Angelo called the hotline with a confession of his own did I find out it had never existed in the first place.

Our father had been fucking someone else all along, then had our mama killed to get her out of the picture. Listening to Angelo’s voicemail fill my penthouse suite was the first time I was certain I’d made the right decision by choosing the King of Diamonds instead of the King of Hearts.

Tightening my cufflinks, I spit on the grave and continue into the church.

Mama’s buried at the bottom of Angelo’s garden, anyway.

Strolling through these rotted oak doors always feels like stepping back in time. Childhood memories chase me down the aisle. At the top of it, Gabe sits on the front pew, and Angelo stands in front of the altar. He looks up from his cell and pins me with a bored expression. “You’re never late.”

Ah, so he’s still pissed about the Kelly thing.

“I was washing my hair,” I drawl back, voice as dry as a bone.

Not entirely a lie. I’m sure my hair got plenty washed as I stayed in the shower for longer than usual to fuck my fist. The memory of Penelope’s breathless moans against my mouth and her warm, wet pussy around my fingers had been taunting me all day. If I didn’t give into the release, I’d have lost my mind.

In an attempt to avoid getting a boner in church—I’m sure there’s a tenth circle of hell for that—I dive straight into business.

“Gentleman, before we start, I have a favor to ask you both. Whatever Sinner we choose tonight, I want them to myself.”

Gabe remains expressionless as always. “I get Martin O’Hare, then.”

“You don’t get anything, brother.”

I’m met with stony stares and simmering silence.

“Christ,” Angelo grunts, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re letting your golden retriever loose on Martin, instead of Gabe?”

He means Griff, but I don’t rise to the insult. “No, I’ll handle Martin myself.”

More silence. I let out a sigh. “It’s been a chaotic month, all right? Just need some release.”

I’m sure my brothers think I want Martin dead so he doesn’t get the chance to avenge his brother, which is obviously in part true. But if that was all, I’d have my men take care of him. Truth is, I’m still bitter about what Penelope had said to me in the Preserve while my hand was wrapped around her throat.

Her words snuffed out my anger like a hard blow to a candle.

In the spirit of not being able to think straight, the thought of another man putting his hands on her, warranted or not, sent a violent impulsion through me. Now, I have four men taking shifts outside her apartment while I find the time to get to Martin and do away with him like I did his brother.

“That’s a lot of deaths in one month, pretty boy,” Gabe murmurs, staring at the wrought-iron grates underneath his boots. His eyes slide up to mine, quiet amusement dancing in them. “You planning on getting those hands dirty?”

I hold my hands out in front of him, turning them from front to back and back again. Then I look down at his busted knuckles. “When I turn into an animal, I’ll let you know. Maybe you’ll find room for me in your cage.”

Angelo lets out a wry breath of amusement. “The day Rafe throws a punch will be the day a baby looks at you and doesn’t cry, Gabe.” He flicks an impatient glance to his watch and picks up his iPad from the pew. “Let’s get this done and over with—got shit to do.”

“Rory got you decorating the tree tonight, or something?”

Angelo’s eyes me with annoyance. “Tree’s been up for weeks. She wants to go to the adoption shelter, just to to the strays.”

“You’re going to be running a zoo by morning, brother.”

He sighs. “No shit.” He turns the iPad so Gabe and I can see the spreadsheet on the screen. “You know the drill. We’ve each chosen four callers, and each has been assigned a random number between one and twelve.” He nods to me, and I pull the dice from my pocket.

Adrenaline zaps down my spine like a lightning bolt. It’s my favorite time of the month, made even better because all the best sins come in around Christmas. It’s like people don’t want to bring their dirty laundry into the New Year.

With my recent luck, I know it’s highly unlikely the dice land on any of my callers, but I have faith that my brothers have chosen wisely.

With a flick of my wrist, I release the die, letting them scatter and bounce over the wooden floorboards and iron grates.

Silence. Then Angelo peers down to inspect them. “Four.” He glances at the iPad and scowls. “Fuck’s sake.”

“What?” I snap, an uneasy feeling trickling into my bloodstream. “What is it?”

He runs a hand over the back of his neck, an expression I’ve never seen him convey cut into his face. He’s…sheepish “It’s some dude in Tacoma. Killed a cat with a pellet gun.”

Gabe slides a wary eye up to him. “And then?”

“And then nothing. That’s his sin.” We both stare at him like he’s lost the fucking plot. He rubs the bridge of his nose and gives a slight shake of his head. “I let Rory choose a sin this month, all right? Jesus,” he curses. “What are the odds we’d end up with it?”

I let out a sardonic breath. “One in twelve, idiot. Pretty basic math.”

My chest swells with the irony of it all, and I bite out a laugh of disbelief. Of course, the month I really needed to get sadistic would be the month a pathetic victim was chosen. Killing cats is bad, but we’re used to dealing with serial killers and rapists. Sure, he could do with getting a bullet in his head, but what I had planned for him feels like overkill now.

Outside, darkness has swept over the cliff, bringing icy sideways rain with it. I tuck my chin into my collar and join my brothers under the weeping willow tree.

Angelo lights up a cigarette and blows out smoke into the quivering branches above us, before passing it to Gabe.

“How many men until we get to Dante?”

Gabe inhales, the cherry of the cigarette glowing an angry red. “Too many. At this rate, he’ll get to ring in the New Year.” As he passes the cigarette to me, his glare bores into my soul. “Next time, rocket warhead.”

I huff out a dry laugh, before filling my lungs with chemicals. Sitting at Cas’s desk in Whiskey Under the Rocks and swiping all the pieces off his chessboard feels like a lifetime ago. Man, I was so patient back then.

I pass the cigarette back to Angelo and turn to Gabe. “Any update on the cunts who hit Lucky Cat?”

“Dealt with it. As much as I hate to admit it, your lackey was right. It was a random attack.” He cracks his knuckles. “Wanna know how they chose your casino?”

“No,” I say dryly.

But he tells me anyway. “Pinned a map of Vegas to the wall and chucked a dart at it.”

Through a haze of smoke, Angelo’s amused gaze heats my cheek. “How terribly unlucky.”

I run a palm over my jaw, my shoulders going rigid. Sucking in a slow, damp breath, I amp up the indifference in my tone. “I own most of the casinos in Vegas; the odds were always going to be stacked against me.”

But I don’t believe a single syllable coming out of my mouth, and I don’t even know why I’m trying to kid myself anymore, either.

As Gabe takes the cigarette from Angelo, he stills. His eyes slide over my shoulder, and something lava-like sweeps through his expression.

“She’s always there. Waiting.”

I glance behind me and see Wren standing under the bus shelter. She’s wrapped up in a big puffer jacket, four plastic bags slumped at her feet.

“She never accepts a ride.”

My jaw ticks as I remember the sound of Gabe’s fist hitting the table last night. His quiet threat about rusty pen knives. “Were you trying to get her into the passenger seat or the trunk?”

“Wren doesn’t accept lifts,” Angelo says sharply. “She doesn’t get into cars. And you”—he grinds the cigarette under the heel of his wingtip—“are going to leave the girl alone.”

Gabe presses his lips together and glares at Wren for a few more seconds, before turning his back to us and storming over to his Harley without another word. The engine roars to life, headlights sweep over headstones in the graveyard, and he’s gone.

Angelo mutters something under his breath. “l think I’ll wait around for a while.”

The insinuation drips from the end of his sentence.

I nod tightly, before fishing my car keys out of my pocket. “Tell your wife Chef Marco is making her favorite chocolate lava cake tonight, so if she gets bored of petting abandoned ferrets, you guys should swing by—”

Angelo slices me off with a hand on my arm. My gaze drops to his grip, then up to his softened expression. He holds his other hand out in front of him, and I feel a knot form in the base of my throat.

I swallow it. Hold my brother’s eye as I put my hand out beside his. It’s still.

Seemingly satisfied, Angelo nods and turns his attention back to Wren.

“We’ll be onboard tonight. Rory and Tayce want to hang out with Penny, anyway.”

As I head back to my car, my eyes find the twinkling lights of over the water. A dark glee shivers down my spine and into my groin.

If I have to wait to take my frustrations out on a man, I’ll pass the time by playing with a certain red-head, instead.