Page 42 of Lawless Sinners

“And there’s your problem,” she says. “Narcissism. You’re only important inside this house.”

“You mean the house you’re standing in.”

“Not for long.” She steels her spine. “Eilish can get a lift home with her parents. I’m bored with the pantomime.”

This woman has a bad habit of poking me when she should know better. Every time she bites back, I want her to sink her teeth in harder.

“What a shame.” I pull my sleeve up and note the time.

She frowns. “That I'm leaving?”

“That you think you can.” I glance over my shoulder, checking that we’re alone, then look back at her in that damn dress with a slit so high I could rip the fabric in two.

Moving into the room, I undo the clasp on my watch, slide it off my wrist, and slip it into my pocket.

“Don’t come any closer.” She backs up, looking left and right, but her pupils flare and the vein in her neck pulses faster.

“You had the nerve to walk into my house, come to my event, and think you’d walk out untouched.” I take another step closer. “I know you’re smart, Sera. I didn’t need to be told you were top of the class, or that you're the brains behind your family business. I already know.”

She kicks off her heels, then lowers to her haunches and gathers them in one hand. The slit in her dress falls open, baring her leg to the top of her thigh.

“Why did you really come tonight?”

“Why aren’t ya at the party charming your guests?” She glances at the French doors beside her and inches toward them. “You don’t need a mask when your face hides your lies.”

I laugh and shrug off my suit jacket, draping it over the arm of the couch.

“It takes a liar to know a liar.” I fold my arms. “If I can’t catch you within ten minutes, then I promise you’ll leave my home untouched.”

“And if ya do?” She puts one hand on the door handle, the other bunching her dress at the thigh.

“Do you want to find out now, or are you going to run because your survival depends on it?” I ask, cocking my head sideways.

She stares at me, blinking, as if her mind is turning over the options, coming up with a strategy to win. She won’t, though.

After a beat, she pushes open the door and slips out into the dark without another word.

Cold air rushes into the orangery behind her, carrying the scent of rain and the manicured gardens my mother uses to soften this place.

I stand there and let her go.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then I move.

The terrace drops into formal gardens, the lawns open too wide under the security lights, the hedges clipped too low to hide a woman in a black dress. She can only follow the gravel path toward the converted barn.

The party continues inside the house, all music, champagne, and dull conversations with people who never do anything without wanting something in return.

My shoes hit the paving hard as I jog through the night air and pick up my pace when I reach the stones. Ten minutes is all I have to teach her a lesson before someone comes looking for me.

I’ve chased men through warehouses and across concrete transport yards. I’ve hunted problems and put an end to them. But fuck, I’ve never chased a woman. Never got a kick out of hunting someone so full of hatred that I could fuck more into her if she begged me.

That thought drags something rough through me.