Page 51 of Sin of Love
25
Her hair is wrong,curled and sprayed in an unfamiliar style. She’s too thin. Wearing too much makeup. But whoever she is, she’s beautiful. The kind of beauty that grabs your balls and twists, that hurts as it takes your breath away. Beauty that’s worth the pain it brings.
Maybe her magnetism stems from the bleakness inherent in her living mask, a one-dimensional barrier built with the pain of survival. Or the careful way she holds her head, chin just slightly uplifted, a subtle outlet for the defiance so deep in her bones she probably doesn’t know it’s still there.
I don’t even see the man gripping her upper arm with bruising force as he guides her across the hotel lobby. And though in almost all respects I don’t recognize her with my eyes, I do in other ways. With gut and heart, both of which tighten, like a string connecting them pulls tight when she’s near.
“Bingo,” mutters Liam from behind a newspaper. “That is definitely Marco Lazcano. Can you confirm the woman’s identity?”
“Deirdre,” I whisper, her name the air I breathe.
Her steps falter; her tormentor jerks her straight. She blinks at him, momentarily disoriented, then smiles. I see her lips mouth the word, “Sorry,” followed by a question and a quick darting of her gaze around the lobby.
Marco shakes his head. Her shoulders briefly tighten, then drop in defeat. Within seconds, they’ve disappeared down an adjacent hallway.
The wicker arms of my chair crackle as my hands clench. “Liam, he could be taking her anywhere. We have to do something.”
“Patience, boyo. Ah, there’s our little mole. Right on time.”
Liam folds his newspaper and tosses it on the chair as he rises. I follow him away from the hallway leading to the resort’s restaurant—away from where I want to be. I bite my tongue on more questions and demands. Unless he’s developed superpowers in the last hour, he doesn’t have new information.
Down a small offshoot from the main hallway, a storage closet door stands open. Liam whistles a jaunty song as he strolls inside. I follow, so tense the muscles in my neck spasm.
“Do you have my money?”
My gaze lands on the room’s single occupant. A woman. Dark-haired and young. Familiar. Only the last time I saw her, she was having drinks with Deirdre at a rooftop bar in Los Angeles.
I put two and two together and a snarl of animal rage erupts from my chest. I lunge for her. Liam sends me crashing into a wall with a well-placed kick to my hip, then yanks the door shut before she can dart out. There’s a minor tussle before she retreats to a corner with a frustrated growl.
The Irishman cocks a brow at me, then turns to his informant. “I’m Liam Rourke, and you must be Margaret Sato. Nice to finally meet you face-to-face. I guess you already know Gideon Masters.”
Maggie—Deirdre’s coworker and friend—shoots me a venomous glance. “I didn’t recognize him with dark hair. If either of you touch me again, I’ll kill you both.”
“With what? These?” He tosses a gun—minus clip—and a switchblade to the floor.
Maggie’s nostrils flare in annoyance, her hand twitching toward her back. “This wasn’t the deal.”
“We haven’t gotten to the deal yet,” replies Liam smoothly. “I had a few points I wanted to clarify first.”
“There’s nothing to fucking clarify. Give me the money and you can have her back.”
Liam continues drolly, “First, I’d like to know why you didn’t see fit to inform me Deirdre would be in the company of both Marco and Rafael Lazcano this evening, along with their respective guard details. Were you perhaps hoping for casualties? Ours and Deirdre’s?”
She sniffs and glares at a rack of cleaning sprays.
“My second question has to do with your affiliations to La Familia Lazcano. Namely, what is your affiliation?”
She mumbles something.
“Speak up,” I snap.
She glares at me. “I work for Marco. Just him.”
“Don’t you mean Julep?” I spit.
“You don’t get to call him that, asshole.”
I gape; Liam clears his throat.
