Page 49 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
Lucky for us, we don't give a rat’s ass about rules. When we saw an opportunity open, with a new priest coming to take over Our Lady of Sorrows, we just swooped in and took his place. Not that we killed the guy; this incident with Sister Frances is a total accident. Father James is just tied up in the basement until our job is done and Petrov is dead.
Our plan, if all goes accordingly, is to identify the members of Petrov's mob and pluck them off one by one until he has no support system in place to take over. And then kill him, of course.
"He's a smart prick, I'll give him that," I mutter aloud as I stare out the window, a bit lost in my own thoughts.
"Who is?" Hawke asks.
"Petrov," I clarify. "Keeping the identities of his inner circle secret is a fucking smart move for a mobster. If we'd known who they all were, this bullshit would be over and done with by now."
"He had to know we'd work it out sooner or later," Mace rumbles from the backseat. "After what he did to Portia, he has to know this is personal now."
"Also, we have a secret weapon." The tight smile on Hawke's face sends a shiver through me. For all my teasing Mace, I actually kind of like Natalia, too … like, for real. Not just to gain her trust like we're supposed to be doing. Or for a stupid bet.
"Boss, we're not doing anything to hurt her, are we?" I ask hesitantly. I'm not totally sure I want to hear his answer when he cuts a glare at me before turning his eyes back on the road.
"We'll do with her whatever we need to, to get the job done. Understood?" His voice is cold, and I exchange a worried look with Mace in the mirror.
"Yes, boss," we both respond, but the conversation falls flat after that. Portia's death affected all of us, but it hit Hawke and Arsen the hardest. They're way more alike than they're comfortable with.
This new cruel streak Hawke is showing concerns me though. None of us are any fucking saints, but usually Hawke is the strongest moral voice amongst us. Now though … well I think I'll stick a bit closer to Tzarina. Just in case.Chapter 14NATALIAWeston's broad shoulders shuffling around the kitchen make me sigh. He's trying to make coffee, by the looks of things, but he should be resting.
"Hey, West," I bark from the doorway, making him jump.
"Jesus fucking tits, Natalia," he curses, sucking spilled coffee off his fingers. "Don't sneak up on a guy like that! I could have killed you or something."
"Uh-huh, sure," I snicker. "Pretty sure the only thing you're killing is that cup of coffee. It's about to—" My warning is cut short by his elbow catching his mug on the edge of the bench and sending it crashing to the floor "—fall."
"Shit," he groans, pouting down at the mess on the tiles. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to make coffee with only one hand?" He indicates to his other arm, still strapped across his body with a sling to stop the gunshot wound reopening.
"I can imagine," I grin. "Shouldn't you be resting anyway? Why don't you head back upstairs, and I'll bring the coffee up to you? I'll clean all this up, too."
Weston hesitates, looking at the puddle of coffee and broken cup shards around his feet. "Are you sure? I feel bad, but …" he trails off and grimaces down at his immobile arm.
"It's totally fine. After all, you did get shot saving my life. You have no idea what Dmitri would have done to me if you guys hadn't been there." I shudder at the morbid, blood-splattered thoughts skittering across my mind.
"Ah well," Weston gives me a sly smile, "when you put it like that, perhaps you'll deliver that coffee in that sexy fucking nun's outfit you wore the other day."
I grin back at him, even as my nipples are tightening with arousal. "We'll see. Now get upstairs, I won't be long here."
Weston does as he's told, stepping away from the mess and smacking a quick kiss on my lips as he passes me. As fucked up as this whole situation I'm in is, that little gesture of normal affection brings a tear to my eye and within moments I find myself sobbing silent tears as I mop up coffee from the floor.
If I'm totally honest, I don't really know why I'm crying. But given a good guess, it could be the fact that in my life I've never really had a "boyfriend". Not someone who gives quick kisses on his way out of the room … or maybe I'm crying for the fact that I won't ever really get to enjoy the bonds I'm forming with these bad boys.
