Sinful Hands: (Lucas & Chanel #1)

by T. L Smith

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” I scream at him.

  He jumps in surprise, popcorn flying everywhere, as his head whips toward me.

  I slam the door and storm over to him, shoving my hand in his face. “You little shit. I fucking warned you.”

  Brody rolls his eyes and focuses back on his movie.

  “I had to,” he mutters.

  “Had to?” I bite back.

  “Yes. You aren’t happy. I know you do what you do because of me. And he pays well,” Brody states, simply, still not looking my way.

  “It doesn’t matter if I’m happy. I didn’t sign a deal with the monster,” I reply.

  “You didn’t? Seems to me you did. You’ve been saying all month it’s your last night. Yet, here you are.” He waves his hand up and down, making a point about my outfit.

  “The money’s too good to pass up.” The words leave me on a stolen breath. It’s an excuse but also the truth. Working at a small clothing boutique during the day just isn’t cutting it. Feeding two people and paying for a roof over our heads requires extra cash.

  “Well, so is mine.” Brody pulls out a wad of cash from his pocket and throws it on the floor. “Now, quit like you said you were going to because I can help now.”

  “No, you’re going to college. That’s the plan,” I bite back at him.

  “I’m not. I dropped out of school a month ago.” My jaw hits the floor—this was not our plan.

  Not our plan at all.

  How could he do that to me? To us. After everything we’ve worked for.

  “Chanel.” He says my name and stands. Brody’s taller than me now, and not so much my baby brother anymore. Though he will always be to me. “I can help. Let me help now.”

  “I don’t want this life for you. It was meant to be different for you,” I say on a broken whisper.

  “There’s no escaping this life, only surviving it,” he replies. I want to argue with him and tell him how wrong he is, but the words get stuck in the back of my throat. How can I tell him he’s wrong when our mother and father couldn't escape this life no matter how much they tried? It seems our chances are slim to none.

  No matter how hard I try to change Brody’s path, it seems that it’s impossible, and I hate that fact. I hate that for him, and I hate that for us.

  We didn’t plan it to be this way. But somehow, we haven’t been able to crawl out of the hole our parents left us permanently buried in.

  I try to remember good memories of both of them, but every time I do, all I remember are bad ones.

  The only good memories I have are of Brody and me.

  It’s just us.

  Always has been.

  “I’ve been doing that. Surviving,” I say quietly. “For the both of us.”

  “And now you can stop doing that and only work at the boutique. I can earn cash, and we can both pitch in, instead of just you.”

  “I can make ends meet on my own. Go back to school.”

  He shrugs. “Can’t. Got kicked out.”

  My mouth drops open again. Seems I am doing that a lot as I learn more and more about what Brody’s been up to. “What for?”

  “I may have run a guy’s head through the bathroom wall.”

  I…I don’t even know what to say to that. How on earth…

  “Why?” I manage to ask. He rubs his hand down his face and looks away, mumbling something unintelligible. “Brody,” I push through gritted teeth.

  “Because he called you a whore.” I step back and sit on our ratty old chair. I can’t say I blame him. I’ve beaten people up for less than speaking ill of my brother.

  “Well, that sucks.”

  He turns away and looks back to the television. “Yep,” is all he says in return.

  I sit there watching Brody for a while before my mind drifts to him.

  Lucas.

  I know he’ll make me pay for what I did. No one threatens him, let alone makes him bleed.

  Stories are told all over the place regarding Lucas, and trust me when I say none of them are ever good. He may not be the leader of the mafia, but that does not make him weak. He runs our part of town with an iron fist, everyone knows his name, and everyone knows not to be anywhere near him.

  Women who have supposedly been with him have turned up dead. They say that his bedroom antics are rough and not for the faint-hearted. He likes blood, he likes to tie his women up. I’m sure there are many other things too, but that’s the main gist of what goes around about Lucas Rossi.

  A fist bangs on my door, and both Brody’s and my eyes snap to our entrance.

  “Bitch, open up.” I watch as relief surges through Brody, then he gets up and walks to his room, shutting the door. Standing and kicking off my heels, I pull the door open to find my friend, who is also a hooker, waiting there. She flicks her braids behind her ears and steps in, looking around. When her dark eyes land on me, she purses her lips.

  “You had to go and be a complete idiot.”

  News spreads fast around here.

  “What?” I ask her, feigning innocence. Merci and I have been friends for as long as I can remember. She lives in the same apartment building as us. If you can even call them apartments, more like shit boxes. When I had to go to work, she would come over and sit with Brody. Merci has her grandmother, and that’s it. She didn’t start hooking until way after I started, and that’s only because her granny took ill.

  “Do not ‘what’ me, woman. What the fuck? Everyone is talking.” I sit back down and lay my head in my hands. “He doesn’t play, girl, you know this. He’s a serpent. Evil as they come.”

  “He doesn’t know who I am.”

  She throws her head back and laughs. Her dark skin has body glitter spread all over it, making her shine beautifully.

  “Oh, he does. It’s why his car is parked out front right now.”

  Oh, fuck no. I run to the window and look outside, and there he is, leaning against his car, a cigarette between his lips, as he looks up at the building.

  “I would get away from the window. I don’t think he knows which one is yours… yet.”

  Thinking she’s right, because he would be in here already, I duck down, then lift up on my knees and peek out. I see him talking to a neighbor’s kid, then watch in horror as the kid points to my window. His eyes lock on mine, and I fall backward at the steely glare he sends my way.

  “He moves fast,” I breathe out.

  “You didn’t really think he wouldn’t, did you?”

  “Shut up. And get out before he comes up.” I push her, but she brushes me off.

  “Hand me one of your guns. I’ll sit with Brody.”

  That’s friendship right there.

  But…

  “I can’t drag you into this.” She waves a hand over her shoulder.

  “I’m already in this. Now, give me a gun, and I’ll let you handle him.” I reach for one and place it in her waiting palm. She checks that it’s loaded before she goes into Brody’s room, and just as she does, a knock is heard on the door.

  It’s not hard and fast like Merci’s, but it’s there.

  “Chanel Lilly. What a beautiful name.” I freeze at his voice.

  “Lucas Rossi. What a feral name.”

  He goes silent on the other side of the door. “Should I kick the door in, or do you plan to open it?” he asks after a moment of silence. “I’ll give you to five, but be warned, you will have made me extra fucking furious.”

  Then he starts counting.

  One.

  Two.

  My feet carry me toward the door.

  Three.

  I touch the handle.

  Four.

  Bracing myself, I pull it open to see Lucas standing there. He looks me over and then walks in, pushing straight past me, kicking the door shut behind him.

  I’m frozen in place as he strides around, his eyes assessing my space before they come back to land on me. “Nice shithole.”

  I can’t deny his
words, it is a shithole. But I attempt to keep it clean, at least.

  “Now, would you like to talk here, or in the bedroom?”

  4

  Chanel

  What the fuck?

  “Here,” I bite back.

  He looks over my shoulder to Brody’s bedroom, then quickly closes the few feet between us and Brody’s door. Once his hand is covering the knob, he turns and looks back at me, a serious but somehow slightly playful look in his eyes.

  “I don’t like company,” he says, then opens the door.

  I step up behind him to see Brody on his bed, with Merci next to him, pointing the gun at the door.

  “I would put that down and leave,” he commands.

  Neither of them move a muscle.

  I slip in next to him, my side touching his as I look at them. “You should go. Go to Merci’s and I’ll stay here.”

  Brody’s eyes lock on mine, and I see the worry etched there.

  Merci goes to speak, but I hold up my hand. “I’ll be there after, I promise.” She still doesn’t seem convinced. Lucas stays quiet next to me, so I walk in and grab the gun from her hand as she gets up.

  She leans in. “Shoot first, ask questions later,” she whispers. I know what she’s talking about. There have been a lot of rapes in the area, and all of us women have been carrying weapons of some sort around with us. But I have a feeling Lucas doesn’t need to rape a woman.

  “I’d advise against that. I’m hard to kill,” Lucas replies, overhearing what she said.

  Merci pulls back and reaches for Brody’s hand, tugging him out the door.

  I turn to face Lucas. “I’m sure a bullet to your brain would suffice.”

  “You’d have to aim it at me first.” He licks his lips.

  I hear the front door shut and I do just that. Lifting the gun, the safety already off, I aim. But before I can get it at his height, he has disarmed me.

  How in the hell?

  “I’d punish for a lot less,” he rasps, then takes the gun to the counter, removes the bullets, and places it down as if it’s an everyday occurrence for him.

  “Why are you here?” I ask as he steps back over to me. The cut on his throat is still red, blood now dried in a neat line, but he doesn’t seem to care. He leans in and smells me, before pulling back and sitting on the sofa. His hands splay out against the back of it, and he locks those eyes on me.

  I don’t move from where I’m standing, waiting for him to say, or do, whatever he came here to. But then his gaze drifts to my bathroom and he nods to it. The door is open, and from where he’s sitting, he can see the shower-bath cubicle inside.

  “Get naked and bath yourself. You’re dirty.” His eyes roam me. “I can smell other men on you.”

  “I’d rather have a bath with a toaster turned on than one with you.”

  “Strip.”

  “I’m not fucking you or having a bath with you.”

  “Strip,” he repeats.

  I huff out a breath and place my hand on my dress strap, letting it drop, then do the same with the other. While I shimmy it down my body, my hair tickles my back, until I’m standing in front of him in nothing but the strap on my leg that holds the knife I cut him with. I’m sure his blood is still on the blade. I go to remove it, but he speaks.

  “Leave it.” I let my arms hang at my sides as I stand there, naked and unashamed. I’m not shy about my body. I was a dancer all through school, so I have toned legs and a great ass. My tits aren’t very large, but they’re flattering on my smaller frame.

  “I’m not fucking you,” I say again.

  He waves his hand in a circle.

  “Turn.”

  I do, slowly, trying to keep him in my sights the whole time. For all I know, the minute my eyes are off him, he’ll put a bullet in the back of my head.

  But once my back is to him, he speaks again, “Stop.”

  I do and look over my shoulder. His eyes have darkened, and his hands are clenched.

  “Bend over and touch your toes.” His voice stays the same, with no change in his tone. Like this is the kind of request he makes everyday.

  “We aren’t doing Ring Around the Rosie,” I say snarkily. He shuts me up from saying any more with a sharp glare.

  “Bend,” he commands, angrier now.

  “So fucking bossy,” I mutter to myself and do as he asks. Granted, I’ve been asked for worse. I once had a guy pay me five thousand to shit on his chest. Do you know how hard it is to force a shit with someone watching you?

  It’s fucked.

  Bending over is a walk in the park.

  Until him.

  Because for some reason, he makes me feel even more naked than I am, and that’s not possible. Considering I am butt-ass naked.

  “Stand.” I do as he says. He indicates with a finger for me to come to him. When I reach him, he looks up at me again. “Turn.” Again, I follow his instruction. Fucking hell, what game is he playing? “Stop.” My ass is more than likely in his face. “Now, bend.” If I do, my ass will literally be in his face, no doubt about that at all.

  “Are you serious?” I ask, not quite shocked but completely bewildered.

  “Did you come into my establishment and cut me?” he barks.

  “Yes.”

  “Now, bend.” I relent and do as he says, then a second of silence later, I feel him right there. At my entrance. But he doesn’t touch me, just breathes me in.

  What the fuck is wrong with him?

  And why does it turn me on?

  He takes his time, and when I feel him pull away, I stand and turn around to face him.

  “You can leave now.” I’m impressed that my voice doesn’t come out shaky at my demand.

  Lucas stands before I can even think to move, and he grabs me by my throat, looking me in the eyes. My breathing picks up and I feel my heart start racing in my chest—I like his hands on me. I hate his hands on me. His other hand comes down on my thigh, stopping me from grabbing my knife, and he whispers against my mouth, “It’s a dangerous thing to play with the viper.” He runs his tongue along my lips and it’s not a kiss, more of a taste, my breath hitching at the sensation. “Once we have a taste, we become addicted to the poison. And then, there is no escape.” I close my eyes at his touch, and when his lips leave mine, he pulls back and stares at me. “You like it. You’re just as fucked-up as I am.”

  Then he turns and walks out the door, leaving me standing there, naked and wondering what the fuck just happened. And why I didn’t hate it.

  As they walk in the door, I manage to pull my dress down. Brody shakes his head as he looks me over and Merci just locks eyes with me.

  “What did he make you do?” she asks, her arms crossing over her chest.

  Fuck that! I don’t want to tell her. How would I even begin to do that? I mean, I’ve told her everything I do for clients, including the down-right dirty shit, but somehow this feels…different.

  “Don’t worry.”

  Her eyes pinch and she looks to Brody.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Brody says, lifting his hand and rubbing the back of his head. I forget that he’s almost a grown man. When I look back to Merci, I see her biting her lip.

  “It’s fine. Go watch a movie. I’m gonna shower and change.”

  Brody nods and goes to his room.

  “He’s trying, you know. He knows what you have to deal with.”

  “He got kicked out of school.” I huff and walk into the kitchen, more than a little fed up with everything right now. I unclip the strap around my thigh and put the knife on the counter. She looks at it, and her brows pinch.

  “What did you do?” She picks it up. “It has blood on it.”

  “His blood,” I tell her.

  She drops the knife like it’s on fire and shakes her head.

  “You know better than that, Chanel. Why would you do that? Are you wanting us to bury you?” She grinds her teeth and then takes in a long breath.

 
; “No. Brody shouldn’t have been there. He knows better.” I try to keep my voice low, so Brody doesn’t hear me.

  Merci shakes her head, glances back to the knife, then whispers, “What did you do?”

  I shrug, as if it’s nothing. “I put the knife to his throat.”

  She gasps so loudly that Brody opens his door and looks out. When he sees it’s just us, he goes back into his room and shuts the door again.

  “This can’t happen. You need to pack your shit and we need to work out where you can go, because now you’re on his hit list, and we know everyone who turns up on his list ends up dead.”

  “I have nowhere to go,” I respond on an exasperated sigh.

  And I’m not lying when I say those words. I literally have nowhere to go. Our parents were both only children, and they hardly had any friends. It was Brody and me, no one else. It’s pretty much the same thing now, the only difference being that I have Merci, who’s practically a sister to me. She’s helped me so much with Brody. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.

  I shrug, and she does this thing where she sucks her bottom lip in, then pops it out, before she turns and walks back to our tattered little couch, sitting down and groaning.

  “He will kill you.” I should be worried because what she says is what we know is the truth. Lucas is, as he says, a viper, with large extendable fangs that can reach anywhere.

  A viper hunts, they strike, then they kill.

  And I absolutely hate the fact that he’s the first man ever in my life to make me feel something other than it’s just sex. Yes, it would still be just that, but why did my stomach flutter when he was near?

  And why is he so good-looking?

  It has to be because of the power he holds, right? Or maybe it’s just my concern and my body is acting a different way to protect myself. Yeah, that has to be it.

  I understand the appeal toward him now, though. Why he’s whispered about. I always thought it was a joke. I mean, some women even want to risk their own lives to be with him. What a bunch of idiots.

  “As long as he doesn’t kill Brody, that’s all I care about.”

  Merci shakes her head at that. I’ve never really lived this life for me. I dropped out of school to look after Brody. I sold myself—my body—so I could put a roof over our heads and food in our mouths. When you love someone and you come from nothing, you will do anything possible just to have something. No matter how shoddy this place is, it’s what we call home. And to Brody, it’s his safe place. No work comes here, no drama comes here—it’s just Merci and us.