Daring Devlin (Lost Boys #1) - Jessica Lemmon Page 0,15

lied. I hated lying. But in this case, for Paul’s sake, I couldn’t tell Sonny the truth. I hadn’t made any headway. Paul had ignored my last several phone calls—and I wasn’t stupid enough to go to his house again and risk being jumped by Thing 1 and Thing 2.

So. Sonny. Here went nothing.

I walked in and inhaled the aroma of rich, seasoned marinara sauce and melting, fresh mozzarella. I’d had my first slice of Sonny’s Pizza when Paul brought me here years ago. Unlike the cold, wet air that chilled me to the bone the night I’d gone to Rena’s, that day had been balmy. A perfect seventy-four-degree May day with a slight breeze. A good day, all things considered.

I thought I’d only been invited here to eat, but it turned out I’d been brought to meet Sonny, who, after my dad died, offered to help with the restaurant. Paul thought this was a great idea. I was skeptical, knowing how much cash my dad owed this guy, but Sonny kept his word. He helped me. I helped him. We still helped each other, me more bound by loyalty than debt. If I asked, he would probably call us square at this point. I didn’t want him to call us square. What would my life look like without Sonny Laurence? Not much scared me, but I was afraid to think about the answer to that question.

“Son!” I called across the empty restaurant, lifting my chin in greeting to the new girl behind the counter. Her blue eyes widened and round cheeks lifted before shading pink. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and leaned a hip on the counter. “Slice of Triple Threat,” I ordered. Italian sausage, pepperoni, and salami. You couldn’t beat it.

The girl—Donna, her name tag read—averted her eyes shyly, her hand shaking over the cash register buttons. She placed her free hand over her throat and toyed with her necklace, keeping her eyes on the screen. I categorized her as another good girl who’d fallen mute in the midst of a black leather jacket. It’d taken some doing, but I tracked my stolen coat down to near where I’d been dumped the other day. Not in perfect condition, but I told myself the scuffed sleeve added some personality. I thought of Rena and how she didn’t act like every other girl around me—flushed and batting her lashes. Of course, Rena hadn’t seen the leather jacket yet, I thought with a slight smile.

Donna tapped in my order and called back to the kitchen, her voice thin. She pulled the ends of her ponytail. A ponytail that made me think of Rena’s sloppy bun.

But then, lately everything had me thinking of the cute brunette who had practically carried me over her threshold.

“Four-fifty.” Donna batted her eyelashes. I almost smiled at the expected reaction.

I leaned in and licked my lips, watching her eyes go wider, and handed over a ten-dollar bill. “Why don’t you keep it?”

I winked. What the hell. Always leave ’em wanting more.

“Dev!” Sonny startled the filly I was play-flirting with. He liked me to be friendly with the staff. He’d taught me ages ago a little charm went a long way. Which made me think of Rena. Again.

I hadn’t charmed her. I’d been trying not to charm her.

Sonny slapped me on the back with one broad mitt. The man stood a few inches shorter than me, a square brick wall of a man. His hair, sticking up in the front no matter what he did to keep it down, was more black than gray, even for his age—which I guessed in the sixties. He might have looked young if it wasn’t for his weathered face. The man had a love for late nights, whiskey, and cigars. It showed.

“Can we talk?” I asked him, keeping my voice even.

He didn’t flinch. The man didn’t do drama. If someone caused drama, we removed the drama. Not easy to avoid drama in our line of work, but he liked keeping things neat. I thought of Paul again, of what Sonny might ask me, or Nat, to do in retaliation. It gave me more incentive to keep the cause of my injuries to myself.

“Donna, bring the slice, and a fresh cup of coffee for me, over to the corner booth, will ya?” Sonny, his palm on my back, steered me to the back of the dining room. The show of propriety told anyone watching that I was revered and respected. Or