OWNED BY A SINNER
A.G. Henderson
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual places, events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Blurb
If I was a good man, hell, even a decent one, I would've let her go.
But I wasn't
I was born a Sinner, the worst of us all. It took all that and more to build a thriving empire among outlaws.
But I wasn’t ashamed.
No, I reveled in it. There was no room for mercy at the top.
Especially not for the sister of a man who had betrayed me. A man I once trusted with my life.
Caitlin was mine. Nothing in all of creation was going to change that. Mine to taste. Mine to claim.
Mine. To. Own.
Table of Contents
OWNED BY A SINNER
Blurb
CHAPTER 1 - Caitlin
CHAPTER 2 - Caitlin
CHAPTER 3 - Creed
CHAPTER 4 - Caitlin
CHAPTER 5 - Creed
CHAPTER 6 - Creed
CHAPTER 7 - Caitlin
CHAPTER 8 - Caitlin
CHAPTER 9 - Creed
CHAPTER 10 - Caitlin
CHAPTER 11 - Creed
CHAPTER 12 - Caitlin
Epilogue - Creed
The End
Author’s Note
CHAPTER 1 - Carlos
CHAPTER 1 - Caitlin
48 hours ago
The front door of the bar chimed open and I lifted my head from the glass I was scrubbing, a sunny smile on my face for whoever was coming in. A smile that withered and died by pieces as I recognized the devil striding across the hardwoods towards me, green eyes empty and measuring. My fingers trembled as I put the glass down and I briefly considered running for the kitchen, grabbing Bubba’s attention, and dashing out the back door to my car.
There was no love lost between the two of them and I knew Bubba would cover for me. Stall if he had to. Despite the fact that scenario would end with him bleeding in the parking lot.
But what would be the point of even setting that in motion? The devil would find me. He always did. And he was already pulling out a barstool and folding his tall frame onto it, so my escape would hardly be inconspicuous.
The devil looked me over, a calculating appraisal that started at my shoulder length red hair twisted up into a bun, and traced over my Star Wars shirt and pale, bare arms before coming back to my eyes when the countertop blocked the rest of me from sight. There was nothing sexual in that look, for which I was grateful. But the fact that he looked at me like I was property instead of a person sure didn’t make it much better.
His lips curled up into a charming grin as I watched him quietly, noting that no emotion managed to reach his eyes. Then the devil spoke, voice low and cheerful. “How’s it going, sis?”
When I was a little girl, I used to dream of being part of a real family. In those dreams, my dad was a mild mannered accountant with ridiculous coke bottle glasses and floppy hair that always fell in his eyes. My mom was an elegant and gorgeous Southern Belle who loved him despite his odd quirks and cooked an extravagant dinner every Sunday after church. My brother was the dashing gentleman of the town who helped old ladies across the street and was set on marrying his childhood sweetheart.
As far as crafting fantasies go, I had to admit that I had done a pretty damn good job with that one. Back in those early days, it had been so strong that when I retreated to it, I could smell the ink my dad's study. Taste the blueberry cobbler mom made for desert. Feel their warm affection and approval.
Too bad the whole thing was a fat fucking lie.
On his good days, dad was simply an emotionally abusive piece of shit with a permanent, yellow stain to his teeth and a knack for making a person feel like less than dirt. On the bad ones, when he'd had too much to drink for even his Irish blood to handle, and he returned to the trailer with his face red as his hair, well...he turned into a whole different kind of asshole that liked to throw his fists around.
Mom was absent for the worst of it, mentally at least, which I suppose was a twisted sort of blessing, at least for her. Why care about the rantings and ravings of a madman when you could shoot poison into your veins or throw it down your throat and disappear into Lala Land until it was time for the next dose? And that's exactly what she did, all the way up until it inevitably killed her.
Then there was the devil himself. My brother, Samuel, older than me by a few years. He was dashing, there was truth to that. He also had enough charm to fill a stadium.
At one point in our lives, he was my knight in shining armor. Especially so on the day he had saved me from our dad. I had the scar from the bullet beneath my collarbone to prove it. For a while, we were inseparable. The two Keane siblings shaking our fists at the world, daring it to come for us.
And come for us it did.
First, in the form of the system finally deciding they gave a shit and splitting us up into separate homes. Second, in the form of two years without contact. Two years where my brother seemed to drop off the face of the planet. Then, even another state away, I started hearing things.
My new foster parents were good people. As a matter of fact, James and Diana came oddly close to the family I had crafted in my daydreams. But I was used to the low lifes by then. The degenerates. The people that society considered to be worth no more than the trash they trampled beneath their feet. Hanging around with them, I was able to catch all the gossip about the three, hot headed, teenage bikers coming onto the scene and making a name for themselves.
I heard all about the viciousness of Creed, so full of violence and wrath that before long people only whispered his name. Robbery, murder, torture, apparently there was nothing in his wheelhouse that he considered too far.
Texas was his polar opposite but no less dangerous for it. With Creed, you might get a chance to fight your death, futile as it may be. But Texas had no qualms about looking through a scope and taking out his opposition from five hundred yards.
Then there was Rebel, and my ears always perked up to listen in when people talked about the smooth talking charmer with green eyes and flame red hair to match the temper that rarely saw the light of day. He never got his own hands dirty, or at least he was never caught. The third founding member of the Seven Sinners was perfectly content to hit people where it really hurt: their pockets. There was hardly even a takeover when the Sinners decided to fully claim Oakdale and the surrounding areas as their turf, everyone else was simply becoming too poor to operate.
I was sixteen by the time Samuel blew back into my life with a purring, black motorcycle underneath him and a leather jacket with Rebel sewn into the breast. My excitement lasted about as long as it took to realize the smiles on his face hardly ever made it to his eyes but by then it was too late. The money was coming into the account he helped me open and from then on, no matter what move I made, I always pictured him looking down at my life like a chess player and I was another piece to be relocated.
There may have been a time where I could’ve gotten out. But that would’ve meant leaving my brother. And despite what he’d turned into, a too large part of me would always see the boy who held me in his arms and promised everything would be okay.
I sighed loudly, shaking off the memories before grabbing another dirty glass and scrubbing at it like my life depended on it. Maybe it did. “What can I do for you, Sam?” I winced as the name he’d discarded left my mouth, a side effect of my stroll down memory lane.
My whole body tensed, fingers squeaking on the glass as I waited for his outburst. The fact that
he simply shrugged only made me dread what might be coming next instead. “Oh, come on,” he chided gently, adjusting the brim of his baseball cap. “Maybe I just wanted to come visit my sister, see how things were going. Make sure being in the bar business is treatin’ her right.”
I bit my tongue, holding back my first response. Which would’ve been: I’m not in the bar business. You are. My name’s only on the deed so people never look too close at what you’re doing. That would’ve gone over about as well as throwing a wolf into a hen house.
Instead, I settled for, “I’m surprised you had time to make it out this way, I thought that with the Sinners growing, they had you traveling all over.”
His brow furrowed slightly, pain flashing across his eyes so quickly I might have imagined it. “We’ve actually had a bit of a falling out.”
My fingers paused on the glass as I gave him my full attention. “Run that by me again?” I must’ve heard him wrong. If there was anything that managed to get through the persona that was Rebel and down into the Sam I remembered, it was his friendship with Creed and Texas. Whenever he told me of their latest exploits, either of a gang they got the better of or a new piece of real estate they acquired, there was real pride in his voice and a genuine smile on his face. They were thicker than thieves. They didn’t ‘fall out.’
Rebel looked around the bar, nodding at a few of the regulars milling around by the jukebox, smiling and shooting a little two finger salute at the cluster of girls on the far side of the bar who had been sneaking glances this way since he walked in. They giggled amongst themselves and I rolled my eyes. At least they were still topped off on fruity umbrella drinks. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the way those damn things tasted but I still hated making them.
Satisfied that he didn’t have an audience in easy earshot, Rebel brought his focus back to me, any emotion from a moment ago shuttering behind a cold mask that he wore when no one was observing him. “I’ve been stealing from the club, almost since the beginning.”
“Say what?!” I screeched, slamming the clean glass down on the counter so hard I was surprised it didn’t shatter.
“Lower your voice.”
“Screw you,” I hissed, balancing on the bar as I leaned into his face. “What the hell were you thinking?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked but he didn’t respond otherwise. I knew why, even if I didn’t really understand it. Two years of his life were completely unaccounted for. I knew deep down there was a reason my brother had turned into this hard, cold thing that only cared for money, but I didn’t know what it was. The only people that might’ve known him during that time were Creed and Texas, but Rebel had been adamant from day one that they were never supposed to know I existed.
“It doesn’t matter what I was thinking,” he told me easily, like it really was no big deal. “What matters is that they know. I got comfortable a ways back and brought in this weasel because he was easy to maneuver. But he turned out to be even more of an idiot than I expected.”
He shook his head as if the thought of making such a mistake physically pained him. “I knew that when he was found in an alley with a hole perfectly placed between his eyes that Tex had gotten to him. Since then I’ve been laying low, trying to keep my head down.”
I snorted. “Is that what the hat is for?” I flicked the brim, ignoring his scowl. “You have to know that makes for a completely shitty disguise.”
It really did. Despite his personality, my brother was a beautiful man and a hat couldn’t hide that, just ask the still chirping co-eds at the other end of the bar. He was tall, pale and leanly muscled with the jawline of a leading man and bright, emerald eyes. Walking around in a potato sack wouldn’t garner him any less attention.
Rebel shrugged, wide shoulders lifting his leather jacket. “I’ll take the miniscule difference a hat might make when the other option is being strapped to a table at Creed’s mercy.”
My whole body chilled as I suddenly realized just how serious this was.
He observed the goosebumps on my arms and nodded, “Now you’re gettin’ it. Texas has been on my trail like a bloodhound and the fact that he’s not obviously sniffing around anymore is...worrisome.”
I chewed on my lip, letting my brain process. “Can’t you just pay them back?”
Rebel blinked at me slowly. “I’ve told you what kind of men we are. Even if I had that kind of cash on hand, which I don’t, do you really think it would matter? Please tell me you aren’t that damn stupid, sis.”
“Fuck you,” I spat. “I haven’t exactly had time to come up with a plan. I just don’t want to see you in a box.”
He laughed as if I had said something funny, eyes sliding to the group of women as they started to filter out before settling back on me. “It’s cute that you think there would be enough left to put in a box after they got their hands on me.”
I let my anger fall away, knowing it wouldn’t do me any good. I put my hand on top of his where it rested on the bar and I did my best to ignore what it did to my heart when he didn’t pull away. “How can you be so flippant about this? They’re your best friends. Y’all have been through everything together.”
His jaw ticked and he stared at our pale hands overlapping. “They were my brothers. But that doesn’t count for shit now.” He pulled his hand away and flexed the fingers, staring hard at them for reasons that were lost to me. “I need them off my trail so I can finish what I started.”
More cryptic bullshit. It seriously never ends.
“I obviously don’t have a brilliant plan at the moment so enlighten me. How can I help?”
Rebel’s eyes narrowed on me but then they blanked, turning so empty that my body automatically took a step back. “I already have a plan,” he told me, voice solemn. “I always do.”
He snapped his fingers and the men still chattering and drinking around the jukebox shuffled over to us, their faces full of the same dread I was suddenly feeling. There were about a dozen of them, and they huddled around the small bar quickly enough, boxing me in. I looked from face to face but no one but my brother seemed to be able to meet my eyes.
“What’s going on?” I asked, hating the way my voice trembled. The music I hadn’t even been paying attention to cut off and it was silent as the grave without it. I scanned the assembled, familiar faces again, trying to get a hint of what the fuck was happening. I saw most of these men at least five days a week. Sat down with all of them a time or two to shoot the shit about how their wives were doing or what kind of record their favorite team was pulling this season. The thought that they would ever hurt me had never crossed my mind. Even as the net closed further around me, I still refused the idea that it was a possibility.
Rebel slowly stood from his barstool, chair scraping discordantly against the floor. “You’re going to offer yourself to Creed in exchange for my debt.”
“No, I’m not.” I searched for my Samuel in his eyes. Searched harder than I can remember trying in the last several years. This was ridiculous. He wouldn’t do this to me. Except even as I thought it, I took another step back, angling towards the door leading to the kitchen, hoping Bubba had taken out his headphones long enough to realize what was going on. “Creed is a monster. You can’t be serious.”
“You’ll be the perfect distraction,” my brother continued as if I hadn’t spoken and I could barely hear him over the pounding of my heart in my chest. The rushing blood in my ears. “All the hate he can’t take out on me will go to you, and by the time he’s done playing with his new toy, I would have had enough time to do what I need to do and disappear.”
“You’re crazy,” I told him, voice thick with the tears closing my throat and brimming in my eyes. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known that he wasn’t just broken and waiting to be patched up. He was ruined. My brother was gone. “Listen to me, you bastard. I am not doing this.” The kitchen door was almost at my back and with them all still on the other side of the bar, I had a chance. If I could get to th
e woods behind the bar I could probably lose them and-
The door leading to the kitchen squeaked and I silently thanked the Lord that Bubba was coming to my rescue as I felt him come up behind me. A former linebacker with a craving for potato wedges, he was big enough to be intimidating but soft enough that we became fast friends when I took over. I dashed my arm across my eyes, shooting Rebel a triumphant smile as I got ready to make my escape.
Except he didn’t look the least bit bothered by this turn of events, and my heart sank as the tears started falling freely.
“No,” I whispered, a second before two huge arms banded across my chest and lifted me off the floor, marching back towards the bar. “NO!”
I screamed at the top of my lungs.
I thrashed, kicking at everything within reach because everyone around me was an enemy. A traitor. A lie of comfort I had been force fed into believing.
And when they pinned me to the bar top, strong grips bruising where they held me down, I pleaded.
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