Page 112 of Untamed Sinner

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fine.” I sigh like he finally got me. “My dentist knows.”

He backhands me.

My head snaps sideways. I breathe through the burst of pain, cupping my face.

That one was unnecessary. I’m going to enjoy breaking his nose.

Eventually.

81

HENDRICKS

Harper’s voice comes through the comms. “Mandy’s wire’s gone dead.”

82

MANDY

The asshole turns toward the door.

Shit. If he leaves, the comm leaves with him, and Hendricks follows the signal right out of the room. I need him here. “Turner played Ashford,” I call out.

He stops and turns around. “What did you say?”

Pretending I’m delicate, I hold my face and try to look whipped. I think it’s time I had some fun. “I said your boss got played.”

“He trusted Turner. Turner kept something from him, didn’t he? The boss thinks you took Turner out, but I doubt it.” Coming back toward me, he looks me over like I’m contemptuously weak. “Is he going to double-cross him with the Whitlock girl?”

“You mean, when he takes her?” I frown like I’m thinking about it. “If I were Turner, I’d pin it on Ashford.”

That stops Asshole in his tracks. He shakes his head. “No, Turner can’t do that. The Reyes family is out to get him for embezzling. He needs them out of the way. Framing Mr. Ashford doesn’t help.”

The Reyes family? I blink. I know Turner stole from them—that’s why Gabriel took him. Payback’s a bitch.

I remember what Gabriel said: that the Reyes and the Whitlocks are enemies.

And then it falls into place. If Turner has Clara Whitlock abducted and blames the Reyes family, a war to end all wars begins. The Reyes family is wiped out, and like the Whitlocks too. And who’s left standing to pick up all the financial pieces? Turner and Ashford.

And I sent Gabriel to pick up Clara.

I close my eyes. Fuck.

83

HENDRICKS

Mason's clipped voice comes through from the tree line where he's already set up. "I've got eyes on the whole east face. Two guards by the bay, one roaming the fence line. Building's mostly dark—looks like activity's contained to the main floor."

"Copy," Jake says. "Take overwatch. Anything moves wrong, you call it."

"Copy."

We pull off a quarter mile out, engine dying under Jake's hand, and the four of us move fast and quiet through the tree line toward the fence. My pulse is doing something I don't like—too fast, too loud in my own ears. I force it down. Focus.