Page 6 of Protected By the Sinner

I’m all for women being honest about what they want, but I have zero tolerance for pretense. Didn’t take long to realize there’s nothing real about Analia.

“If she asks to reschedule . . .?”

“Tell her I’ll be busy for the next few months.”

Chapter 2

Dallas – Texas

Hazard Night Club

Opening Night

It’s been half an hour since I came downstairs, and I’m already ready to leave my own party.

I thought a change of scenery, coming to Texas, might ease the boredom, since I’ve been spending more time in New Orleans than anywhere else, but the truth is, no matter where I am, I can always predict how the night will go.

I move through the VIP lounge, not focusing on anyone in particular.

Sweaty bodies sway to the music, and I have no doubt most of them have more alcohol in their systems than they can handle.

I’m about to head back to my office on the third floor when I spot someone near the bar, sitting on a stool, someone who might just save my night.

“Reed Gray,” I call out as I approach.

He turns around, smiling. “Your voice is unmistakable.”

Funny hearing that from a Texan, since their accent sounds pretty exotic to me.

Reed always teases me about my French intonation, which I can’t even call a second language—it’s as first as English in my life.

At home, my mother and I only ever spoke in French.

Before I knew I was adopted, I thought my ease with the language came from the woman I believed to be my mother, since she was one hundred percent Cajun.

Landon, whenever he rarely showed up at home, only spoke to us in English. I never understood why Aurellie insisted on bringing me into the Cajun culture she belonged to.

Only on her deathbed, when she revealed the truth—that my biological parents were Cajun too—did it finally make sense.

Maybe the guilt over what Landon did, and her own lies, letting me believe I was their child, made her try to give me back a culture I would never have claimed otherwise, because I never felt I had roots.

They say kids start forming memories at three. They took me at four. Now I understand my nightmares, probably fragments from the day my parents were murdered.

Reed stands to greet me, and I feel the eyes of those around us turning to look.

I rarely interact with customers in any of my clubs, so it must be a surprise that I even came down to the VIP lounge to begin with.

He glances at the drink in my hand and smiles. We’ve hung out a few times. Reed knows I don’t drink or touch anything that could mess with my head.

Even before I started planning my revenge against Angelo Brambilla—the man behind my parents’ deaths and nephew of the Sicilian mafia boss in Louisiana—I’d already cultivated my image as a nightlife entrepreneur, a carefree playboy. That façade was essential for what I was really doing.

The press watches my every move, but they’ve never found a damn thing. They only know what I allow them to know—which is almost nothing.

I erased my past. Changed my birth certificate.

I could be anyone and come from anywhere.

All those constant moves we were forced to make because of Landon’s activities only helped deepen the mystery.