Page 54 of My Beautiful Sin

He might as well have opened a floodgate. I start slow, but soon the whole story pours out. About the threat to my mother, and how Uncle Peter didn’t do a thing about it.

“He knew that if he didn’t make it right with your father, that my mother would pay. He knew, he absolutely, one hundred percent knew, but he did it anyway. He loved that life—he loved taking those risks even more than he loved his sister. I don’t understand how that’s possible. And why did your father let him live afterwards? Peter stole from The Wolf, and yet he survived to do it all over again years later in Laguna Cortez. It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

Devlin’s face has gone completely pale. “Christ.” He shakes his head. “I don’t have answers for you, baby. Not really. As for why, my guess is that Peter didn’t believe it. He loved your mom, and he was the kind of guy who got away with things. He had an inflated sense of his own importance, and he probably assumed he was enough of a friend to my father that he wouldn’t get punished.”

Devlin shrugs before continuing. “I think they were friends. But he wasn’t punished by Daniel Lopez. He was punished by The Wolf. And most people in the fold—even those closest to him—never fully understood the difference.”

“Not Uncle Peter,” I protest. “He knew the score. He knew what The Wolf did to your mom, didn’t he? Which means he knew The Wolf would hurt my mom, too, and he let it happen.”

“I don’t have an answer for you. Maybe he thought it was a risk that he could afford to take.”

“That’s the crux of it though, isn’t it? He was willing to put the people he loved in danger so that he could take a risk.” I take a sip of cocoa, wanting its comforting warmth, but it’s already too cool. “That’s what I want to understand. I want to figure out what made him that way. What changed him. And right now I’m so damn frustrated because I honestly don’t have a clue.”

I drag my fingers through my hair then wipe my damp eyes. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what to do. What to feel. I want to hate him, but I can’t. I remember him more than I remember her. I thought he was taking care of me because he loved me. But the truth is he felt guilty.”

Devlin reaches out and takes a firm hold of both my hands. “He loved you.”

I lift my head and meet his eyes. “Did you know?”

“That he loved you?”

I shake my head. “About my mother.”

Devlin’s eyes go wide as he slowly shakes his head. “No. I swear on my own mother’s grave, I had no idea.”

I nod, glad he hadn’t been burdened with that truth. “Longfeld said Peter got off on the thrill. Thought that if he survived it meant that nothing could hurt him and so he was always flirting with danger. But in the end he got burned big time, didn’t he?”

Devlin doesn’t answer right away. Instead he studies my face, the silence lingering for so long that I start to squirm under his heavy gaze. Finally, he says, “You’re not like him, El.”

I make a scoffing sound, both hating and relishing how well this man can read me.

“People have facets. You can still love him, El. It’s allowed. And you can hate him too, for what he did. Whatever you’re feeling, give yourself permission to simply feel it.”

“Is it horrible that right now, all I want to do is sleep?”

A sad smile touches his lips as he slides off the stool then reaches for me. He helps me down, then immediately picks me up, cradling me in his arms as he carries me to bed. He helps me out of my clothes, and I slide in naked between the sheets. It’s only early evening, but I can already feel the pull of exhaustion drawing me down towards sleep. “Will you hold me?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

He strips and gets in bed beside me. I move closer, craving the feel of his warm skin against mine. His arms go around me, and I close my eyes, letting the world fall away until the only thing keeping me tethered to this earth is his touch as I float free in memories, losing myself in the recollections of my mother, of Peter, of Alex…

I’m safe in this place where dreams meet memories, where Alex and my mother share the same patio looking out toward the ocean. Where I can stand between them, holding each of their hands in mine.

Then I realize I’m holding nothing at all. I’m standing on the beach with my arms outstretched and my eyes closed as I listen to waves crash against the shore.

I hear someone behind me, and I turn to face Peter, my heart skipping a beat when I realize that I’m looking not only at him, but right down the barrel of a gun.

My heart begins to pound. I want to scream, I can’t. The pulse in my throat is too powerful.

I hear a click, but Peter’s hand hasn’t moved, and no bullet has been fired.

Terrified, I whirl around to see Devlin.

He’s just cocked the hammer of a revolver.

And as I stare—as I scream—he fires.

Chapter Nineteen