Born Sinner by Cora Kenborn

Chapter Eight

Sam

Senator Rick Sandersdoesn’t raise his voice.

Even as a kid, growing up with my twin half-brother and sister, I can’t recall a single time he yelled at us.

His methods of showing his displeasure are far more refined. When he’s really pissed, like he is now, his gray eyes darken to cold steel and the sharp lines of his Armani suit take on all the comfort of razor blades.

It’s his tone that chills the most. His easy drawl drops to a low and vicious rasp where every word, every vowel, every inflection returns to the tough Brooklyn streets where he grew up.

“What the fuck did you do last night, Sam?”

“You know exactly what I did, Daddio, and you know why I did it.”

Leaning back in my chair, I gaze unseeingly at the white architrave in his five-million-dollar penthouse home office. My bodyguard-jailers work for him, not me, so I knew a call to the senator would have been made the moment Lola Carrera walked into my party.

Still, they have their uses. Tapping phones is another trick I learned before my eighth birthday. After that, I graduated fast. These days, there isn’t a computer system I can’t hack, which is how I know my worth to an organization like Santiago’s.

Did she find the note yet?

“Nina is angry with you as well.”

“Why?” I say, dropping my head. “She’s not my mother. The first Mrs. Sanders is pushing up thorns in Calvary Cemetery, remember?”

So is my piece of shit, deadbeat dad if we’re skipping down that happy trail. He was found with his throat slit the day Rick discovered I wasn’t his. My stepfather doesn’t like loose ends.

“Manners, Sam,” he murmurs, his subtext clear. Stop acting like a dick.

I can’t help it, even though I actually think my stepfather is pretty cool.

“You’re just a kid playing in an adult world with very adult rules.” The senator fixes me with a glare, and I return it with a grin.

“Are you jealous, Daddio? Before my stepmother came along, you’d screwed half of Manhattan’s trophy wives, plus their mothers-in-law.”

At this, there’s a deep rumble of laughter behind me—a slow, dangerous, sleeper of a sound that hits me like a freight train.

Spinning around, I see the tall, inimitable, scary-as-hell figure of my godfather darkening up the doorway.

“The boy has your mouth, Sanders,” he says, striding toward us. Black jeans. Black shirt. It’s kind of fitting after all the death he’s dealt in the last fifty years. “I believe the nature versus nurture debate just got resolved.”

“Go fuck yourself, Dante,” my stepfather drawls, seemingly unsurprised by the Colombian kingpin’s appearance. He tosses a couple of photographs across the desk at him. “Turns out we share the same exquisite taste in women.”

I catch a sideways glance, and my stomach drops. They’re all of Lola from last night, approximately thirty minutes before Troy exited stage leftat a bloody crawl.

The senator laughs when he notices the look on my face. “We expected you to screw her, not brand her, you stupid dickhead.”

Wait, what?

“You’re not pissed at what I did?” I say, frowning in confusion.

His eyes glint in amusement. “You’ve had your fun, Sam... Let’s just say I wanted in on the action. Christ, you're even more belligerent than I am when backed into a corner.”

What the hell is going on here?

“Does Santiago know who she is?”

“Santiago knew the moment she graced American soil,” my godfather interrupts, cocking a dark eyebrow at me. “When my enemy’s daughter happens to sweet-talk her way out of her heavily-armed Mexican compound and within touching distance of my territory, it would be remiss of me not to welcome her in with open arms.”

Before I crush her with them.

I fill in that last part for myself.

“You played me, Daddio.” Shades of red start misting up my vision. I hate being blindsided. I hate that I don’t have a plan in place to take the heat off their interest in her.

But I will.

Because Lola is mine, not theirs.

“Reverse psychology, Sammio,” he says, handing my own mockery back to me, fighting another grin. “Tell the cool kid to stay away from the hot new chick on campus, then watch the sparks fly.”

“It was a test.”

“A test,” he confirms.

“You never had any issues about me working for Santiago.”

“Sam,” he says with a sigh. “I’d be the last fucking prick to lecture you about blurred lines and morality, but if you’re planning to dance on the wrong side of the law, I’d prefer it if you partnered up with us. Edier Grayson is poised to take control of New York, and we want you as his second.”

“You stepped in when it mattered most.” I can feel Dante’s dark eyes punching a hole in my face as he interjects. “I can’t exact revenge on a body that’s already damaged.”

I know what he’s talking about right away.

“Troy Davis.” There’s a pause. “Is he dead?”

“He will be soon, but not by my hand. Carrera got to him first. If it were one of my daughters he’d drugged and assaulted, there wouldn’t be much of him left.”

The look on his face sends a shiver through my body. You don’t fuck with this man and get to swap stories about it.

He gestures at the bar in the corner. “Bourbon, Sanders.”

“Get it yourself,” comes the easy riposte.

“The knife in the quarterback’s leg was a nice touch.” I watch, heart hammering, as the Colombian helps himself to my stepfather’s liquor. “Remind me to use it on the next Carrera we torture.”

“But not Lola.”

I say it too fast.

Too obvious.

“No, not Lola.” He shoots me a look over the rim of his glass. “I have more creative designs on her than that. Even more creative than carving my initial into her skin.”

I don’t correct his assumption. Even though that letter, that body, belongs to me, not him.

I point to the photos on the desk. “Tell me what you’re planning to do to her.”

The temperature in the room drops sharply.

“That sounded dangerously close to an order,” Dante says idly. “Can you spell the word respect, or would you like my fist to give you a lesson?”

“Let it go, Santiago,” my stepfather warns. “There’s no dick swinging in my office unless it’s mine and my wife is doing the honors.”

“Stay close to her.” He finishes up his drink and pours himself another. “We arranged for her brother, Santi, to be out of town last night, but we won’t be that lucky again for a while.”

“Since when do you take such a keen interest in my sex life?” I say, losing my cool.

“Since the moment you flashed up on Lola Carrera’s radar,” Dante clips back. “She sees you, Sam... And when a cartel princess sees, she doesn’t usually stop until she gets.” He slams his glass down, that wicked smirk catching at the corners of his mouth again. “That’s when you make things interesting. That’s when there’s no crueler torture than a bleeding heart.”