Page 36 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
Her death was a shock, given it wasn't at my hands, despite how many close calls we'd had while we fucked. No, instead it was at Konstantin Petrov's hands. And for that, I'd see him dead.
Having his prize possession, his little princess, fall into our laps was just the most incredible luck. Perhaps I won’t kill her straight away. Perhaps, if I play this stupid game Hawke wants me to play … make the little bitch love me … it'll make the win all the sweeter.
A cruel sort of grin curves across my lips as I settle into my seat for five hours of surveillance on a damn dry cleaners. Yes, by the time I'm done with Miss Petrova, she will be my loyal and willing slave.Chapter 11NATALIABalancing the tray on one hand and my knee, I knock lightly on Weston's door, then push it open gently. Inside, Mace is looming over Weston, mopping up blood from his chest while Colt paces back and forth at the foot of the bed.
"Hey," I say in a soft voice. "Hawke told me to bring this stuff up?"
I hesitate a moment in the doorway, feeling like I'm intruding. These men, they're a team, a family. Except for Arsen, that is.
Three sets of eyes snap up to stare at me, and I freeze to the spot like a deer in the damn headlights. Why?
Get it together, Natty! You're not this shy girl, not outside the bedroom. Chin up, show them you're made of tougher stuff.
"Shall I just leave it here?" I ask, ignoring their stares and carrying the tray over to the small dresser. I need to push aside a bible and a wax candle statue of the Virgin Mary to make space, but once I've done that, I spin to face my audience. "Can I help with something else?"
I intend the question to sound snappy and sarcastic, but for all my best intentions it simply comes out breathy and sexual. Like a slave begging to please her masters.
That inflection doesn't seem lost on the men either, as their gazes turn a little more predatory, and I shift uncomfortably. Not because I don't appreciate their interest, but because now I'm horny as fuck and totally naked under my habit.
It might seem like an odd choice, going without underwear, but I'm dirty as fuck, and it turned me on. So I did it.
"That's all, thank you, Talia." Mace is the first to speak, his voice low and gruff.
"Nice … outfit?" Colt smirks at me, running his tongue across his lower lip in an undisguised sexual way. "Wearing anything under that?"
Damn him, how did he know?
My thighs clench, and I suck in a deep breath before attempting to reply. "Not a thing," I purr back, then mentally kick myself.
Seriously, Natty? Weston is lying there bleeding from a bullet wound and you're trying to proposition three men at once? One of whom is lying there bleeding? Ugh!
Fuck it. I've got issues. Who gives a rat’s ass?
"Actually, Talia," Mace interjects with a cough. "We could maybe use some help. How are your needlework skills?"
"Uh," I hesitate, a bit confused at the change of pace. "Pretty good, actually. Daddy wanted me to be an 'accomplished young woman', so I had to learn all those bullshit sexist 'skills' like sewing, singing, piano …" I was rambling because my mind had just connected the dots on why they would need needlework. "Uh ah. No way, I'm not stitching up Weston's flesh. Are you kidding me? I'm not qualified for that!"
Weston barks a harsh coughing laugh then groans. "It's either you or this asshole." He nods towards Mace. "And I dunno if you've seen those sausages he calls fingers, but they sure don't look nimble to me."
Mace holds up his fingers to show me and damn it if Weston doesn’t have a point. Mace's hands are enormous; I'd be amazed if he could even hold a needle.
"What about Colt?" I flail. "His hands are smaller."
"Hey!" Colt objects. "I'll have you know—"
"Colt can't do it," Weston cuts him off. "He gets squeamish around blood. That's why he's down there and not looking at me."
I arch a brow at Colt, and he just shrugs. A faint blush stains his cheeks, so I guess it must be true. But how inconvenient for a mercenary to be squeamish around blood?
Looking between the three men, I find myself nodding before my better judgement can take over. "Okay fine. But don't expect it to be pretty."
Mace lets out a heavy sigh of relief and scoots out of the way for me. Without his huge body obscuring the view, I can clearly see the raw wound in the top of Weston's shoulder, and I too, sigh with relief.
"Oh," I nod. "That's not so bad. That's just a flesh wound, right? Here I was thinking he got shot in the chest."
