Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

Thomas Paige had tried to, sniffing around in his limo company, asking far too many questions. Curtis Paul Wollinsky, his best friend, his comrade in arms, and the manager of West Limos years ago, had alerted him to Paige’s queries. They’d tried to shut him up through T.J., their chief intimidator with the Royal Sinners, but that hadn’t worked.

Then opportunity had presented itself. Once Charlie had learned that Dora Prince was already making moves on her own to order a hit for money, Charlie had his ironclad solution—provide the means for Dora to go through with it. That way she couldn't stop it even if she tried. Damn shame she went to prison. She would have made an excellent lieutenant in his operations. She was loyal to the core, cold-blooded, and willing to act, especially when he’d threatened her children that one time she tried to back out.

Oh, that woman was willing to protect them. He really should visit her one day and thank her. But he’d deal with that another time.

Right now he had her pesky oldest son to shut up.

He extended a hand in Michael’s direction, even though he was twenty feet away. The nerve of him saying it was about his father; the boy didn’t realize he still had so much left to lose. “Or perhaps it’s about you, and the only chance you have before you,” he said, scratching his chin. “As I see it, your only way out is to come work with me.”

Michael shook his head.

“You can do it. Everyone is corruptible if you threaten their family. It worked for your mother,” Charlie said, as Michael shifted his eyes to the woman behind him.

“I’m not working for you, Charlie,” he bit out as the redhead cowered. She was tall, though, and Michael couldn’t quite shield her completely.

“But you do work for me. I hired you. I knew who you were, and look what happened.” Charlie flashed his winning smile. His plan had worked like a charm—ingratiating himself with the security brothers, making them think he cared deeply about doing the right thing. Donating to the community center. Playing the concerned citizen. “You wound up liking me. We got along so well, Michael. Cleaning up the city together. Ridding Vegas of those nasty Royal Sinners I wanted to eradicate. You helped me get rid of the bad apples from my street crew—like T.J. He was a good one, but he was giving me a bellyache by the end, so turning him in was a joy, and you made it so easy for me to be helpful.”

Michael clenched his fists, holding in all his rage. Ah, what an absolute delight to watch the carefully controlled Michael start to boil over. “What do you want?”

Charlie stared at him like he was insane. “What do I want?” he repeated. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Charlie took a step closer. Michael moved back, the woman now sandwiched between him and the back of his car. “Use your brain, Sloan. I want you to stop asking questions. If you can’t do that, you can go ahead and join your father.” He reached behind his jacket and took his gun from his holster, his eyes on Sloan.

Who moved like a goddamn cheetah. Before Charlie even raised his weapon, Michael’s gun was pointing at his face.

Charlie didn’t flinch. He’d stared down more frightening men. He’d stared down death. Besides, Michael wasn’t tough enough. “You’re not your mother’s son,” he hissed. “You’re your father’s son. You don’t have it in you to fire that thing. You’re too good, like he was. So we have two options. You either work for me, or we say good-bye.”

“I’ll take option three,” Michael said, his finger nearing the trigger.





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO


The devil moved quickly, hissed even faster, waving his gun in the direction of Annalise. She was shielded behind Michael, but not completely, and when Charlie darted to his right to aim for her head, Michael’s only thought was to protect her. In both slow motion and terrible fast-forward, he shoved her farther behind him with his free hand as he pulled the trigger.

The bullet barreled through the air, on a hunt for Charlie’s brain. But, Michael’s move to keep Annalise out of harm’s way had the twin effect of shifting the target by inches, putting him in grave danger.

The last thing Michael saw was the bullet ripping through the devil’s arm.

Then a feral yell tore from the man’s throat.

Michael’s world turned warped as his own gun clattered to the ground. Like thunder after a bolt of lightning, the pain came a few seconds later, cutting through every cell in his body.

*

With a bone-shattering thunk, Michael crashed to the concrete, his skull whacking the floor of the parking garage. Blood poured from him, leaking all over his shirt, turning it crimson.

Everywhere.

His chest bled absolutely everywhere. Terror dug roots into the corners of her body. Her throat burned with tears, and her lungs tried to escape from her as she cried.

Her head roared in protest, her mind shouting no, trying to deny the horror. She dropped to the ground next to Michael, grasping, desperately trying to do something, anything, as she fumbled for her phone.