Page 43 of Heist in Paradise

“The hell is it?” I gestured to the notebook.

She handed it to me despondently. I flipped it open to a random page, then paused at the list of handwritten scrawls. Names and dates. A guestbook. It was no signed confession or serial killer scrapbook, nothing blatantly incriminating like Olivia obviously hoped it would be. I scrutinized the names, pressing my side against hers. “Do you recognize any of the names?”

“No,” she said, sniffling. “It’s weird, right? He must host some big parties. Why else would he need a record of attendance?”

My mind went to underground orgies and sex clubs—discreet, undocumented. If Salvadore was manufacturing date rape drugs, he had to be using them somewhere. But the guestbook didn’t make sense.

Perverts didn’t typically keep records. Not unless…

My brain stalled on the dark red smears by each name.

“It looks like blood,” Olivia observed with a cute wrinkled nose. “God, it’s so archaic. Like voodoo or something.”

“Or collateral.” My brain was piecing it together quicker than I could communicate. “It’s like a blood signature. DNA. Indisputable proof that they were really here.”

“Ew. But why?”

“Blackmail. It buys their silence.” A sharp emotion daggered into my chest. “Fuck this. We’re leaving.”

“What?” Her eyes widened. “No, you can’t! Not yet. Jax—”

“We had a deal,” I reminded her firmly. “You hold what you find until my crew is far away from this place.”

“But I don’t know what any of it means yet!” Olivia clambered onto her knees and shuffled closer until she could grab onto my shoulders. My hand automatically went to her waist to steady her. “This isn’t enough. You owe me until sunset. That was the deal.”

At my furious glare, she softened. “We can wait and hide until he leaves.”

“You’re not so good at the waiting part.”

Her expression turned sheepish. “I saw an opportunity. I’m not sorry for that.” She waved the guestbook between us. “This proves there is something fishy going on. We haven’t looked outside the mansion. He might have other hiding spots.”

I shook my head and extracted her claws from my shoulders. “Not happening. This was already too close. Others could be coming.”

Olivia chewed her lip, looking stubborn.

“I’m not leaving,” she decided. “Not yet. I owe Molly that much.”

I bared my teeth. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

“Better than being a coward.”

A harsh, bitter laugh escaped me as I got to my feet. The word was a trigger, a hatchet to my aforementioned daddy issues. It took every ounce of willpower not to grip that pouty mouth and force her to take it back.

I stood over her instead, taking sick satisfaction in the way she looked up at me, eyes fluttering nervously at the danger on my face.

My voice was dark. “Good luck then, princess.”

“Wait,” she said, softly, regretfully. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.”

I faltered.

“I’m just—shit.” She scrambled, clearly flustered. “I can’t think when you look at me like that.”

My lips twitched, despite myself. “Like what?”

“Like you want to murder me and flush me down the toilet.”

“This your first apology?”