Sinful Hands: (Lucas & Chanel #1)

by T. L Smith

  “Answer. Now,” he barks at Chase.

  “Yes, sir.” Lucas’ tongue clicks to the top of his mouth. His eyes stay on me, then the gun between my legs disappears and he lifts it, shoots, not even aiming. I hear a loud thump and I’m too afraid to turn and look.

  “You are mine now. No one touches you.”

  “I am not yours.” Lucas gets up from the bed and looks to the floor. I follow his gaze and see Chase, dead, in pool of his own blood. “You monster,” I scream as he steps over him like he’s some sort of shit left on the floor.

  “I would strongly suggest you keep your lovers away from me. If you want them to breathe again, that is.”

  “I’m not yours, you fucking sociopath!” I scream out. My hands clench in tight fists. Who does he think he is? How could he do that?

  Lucas walks to the door without a backward glance, leaving me tied to the bed with a dead body to my left.

  How the hell did I get myself into this situation?

  9

  Lucas

  “Let her go,” Joey says to me the next day. He’s standing in my bar by himself.

  “No.”

  “I know you have her. I went to her place. Her brother was tight-lipped, but her friend was willing to share. Now, where is she?”

  I shrug, unwilling to answer.

  “Okay, I’ll call Keir and tell him you aren’t willing to play.” He’s always up his damn brother’s ass.

  “Do you call him to tell him when you take a shit too?” I open the bottle of tequila and pour myself a shot. It’s been a while since I’ve held a woman against her will. “Actually, go ahead and call Keir, maybe he can give me some advice on holding women captive.” I cheers to him and take the shot.

  “Fucking hell, Lucas, you’re holding her captive? What the fuck? You better not have fucked with her, or else—” Joey snatches the bottle from my hand, and in the next instant I have him pinned against the bar with one hand around his neck and the bottle that was in his hand in my other one.

  “It would be wise to not threaten me, Joey.” I say his name with extra emphasis. He pushes at me, and I let him up and he coughs and shakes his head.

  “Clearly, you feel something for this woman. Why do you think Keir took an interest in her?” Joey says, rubbing his neck. “If you ever do that to me again, I’ll shoot you.”

  “No, you won’t,” I bite out, sitting back down with my bottle of tequila. “Because I would end your life before you even got the chance to raise your gun.” Joey and I are close in age. Keir being the eldest, and I respect him for who he is and what he does. But that doesn’t mean I’ll take shit from his brother. We all grew up together, and at one time, Joey and I may have been considered close.

  But time changes people.

  Life changes people.

  I’ve discovered I like the darker side of life.

  I could have been crucified for my likes and dislikes. But Keir lets me go, knowing that, in the end, I am loyal to him.

  He may be the king of the underworld, but I’m the king of these city streets.

  “You finished measuring cocks now? Tell me where she is,” Joey pushes again. “This isn’t me asking, and you know it. Sailor is expecting her tomorrow, and I need to give her the info on where to go.”

  Sailor is a sweet woman with a vicious mouth who can hold her own against Keir. I’ve never seen him put in his place the way she can do it.

  “I’ll bring her to you.”

  “Soon,” Joey warns.

  I wave him off and he shakes his head as he leaves.

  Damn! I guess it’s time to go free my little sugar.

  Her eyes are closed when I enter. I step up to the side of the bed and see her jeans are covered in piss. Well, forgot about that now, didn’t I.

  “I know you’re awake,” I state, looking her over.

  Reaching for her cheek, I stroke it gently. Her skin feels soft to the touch and bare of makeup. Just as I fix my gaze on her lips, she turns quickly and bites my hand until I feel her break the skin.

  I go to pull it free, but she clamps down harder, holding on to it as much as she can without breaking her mouthful. I move, not even caring that she could possibly chew my finger off, and climb on top of her, pressing my body down onto hers until she can feel my cock at her entrance through our clothes.

  She spits my finger out of her mouth and pins me with a glare that makes my cock twitch.

  “You are fucking demented, you know that, right? No normal person would get off on that.” I apply more pressure, and she eyes me. “Get the fuck off me.”

  “If you ask nicely,” I reply.

  “Get off of me, you sick fuck.”

  After those sweet words, I do as she says.

  “Was that so hard?” I undo the first strap and let go of her wrist, then undo the other. She pulls both wrists down and rubs them before she sits up and looks around, her eyes going to the door, then coming back to me. “You could run, but I’d catch you.”

  “I’m not your mouse. You can’t keep me locked up.”

  I step closer to her and breathe her in. She stinks, but I can still smell…her. And that aroma is intoxicating. Amazing. Phenomenal. I wonder if I killed her if she would keep her scent. If she pisses me off enough, we may just have to find out.

  “Did your mother not hug you enough as a child?” she asks, standing on shaky legs.

  “She hugged me all the time. I’m a momma’s boy.”

  Chanel moves toward the door, and I make a clicking sound with my tongue from the other side of the bed. I stay still as she makes her way around the bed to me and we’re eye-to-eye.

  “You have issues. You are aware of that, right?” she asks.

  “I consider it more…advancement. I don’t just take anyone into my home.” I pick up a stray piece of hair and push it behind her ear.

  “This isn’t your home.”

  “No, but I own it.” Her mouth opens in surprise, her eyes flicking to Chase, who’s still lying on the floor, and then back to me.

  I wonder how long she stared at him. Minutes? Hours?

  “A man like you should be locked up and the key thrown away.”

  “I don’t disagree, but they would have to kill me first, because they sure as shit will never take me alive.”

  “Lucas…” She leans in, and I lean into her as well, until I feel her breath tickle my ear, “… eat dick and die, asshole.” Then I feel it! Jesus Christ, she knees me in the balls, hard, followed by a kick in the face. When I drop, she knocks me back and reaches for the car keys in my pocket as I cup myself and then she runs out the door.

  The sneaky little bitch.

  10

  Chanel

  I run, and it’s probably the stupidest thing I have ever done, but I run anyway. He knows where I live, so he can find me, but I needed to get out of that place where he kept me all night. I have to be home where I plan to barricade the door and never leave the damn shower. How dare he leave me like that? In a dank, dark room with the smell of a rotting dead body and my own piss. Lucas is a goddamn animal.

  Eventually, in what feels like forever, I make it home and leave his car parked on the street. It’s a nice car, probably one of the nicest I will ever get to drive in my life. But, to be honest, I wasn’t paying all that much attention to the luxurious details as I sped away to get home. Opening my door, Brody jumps from the couch and gapes at me.

  “Chanel.”

  Quickly, I wave him off and start pushing the couch to the door to barricade it. It probably won’t stop him, but it may give me a head start.

  Brody helps me manuever it. “Is he coming back for you?”

  I stand back once the couch is in place and walk toward the bathroom. “Of course he is,” I shout as I step into the shower after stripping off my soiled clothes.

  I let the steaming hot water hit me and manage to wash my body before my eyes snap open when the bathroom door is kicked in by fucking Lucas.

  That
didn’t take him long.

  Through the glass shower door, I can see Brody run in behind him, but he quickly looks away when he enters the bathroom. “He got in. I couldn’t stop him.”

  “It’s fine, Brody. Shut the door.”

  He hesitates, then does what I ask. I continue on with what I was doing and start lathering shampoo in my hair while Lucas stands there and watches. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve washed the stench he left me in from my body. And I don’t give two fucks that he is standing there watching me either.

  “I’ll leave, if you kiss me.”

  Honestly, what the actual fuck!

  My gaze flies to his face, and I see a smirk on his lips—beautiful, full, sinister lips. Those lips could tell horror stories, I’m sure.

  “Get in, then.” I don’t think he actually will when I say this, but he surprises me as he steps in, fully clothed, and stands in front of me.

  “My cock is sore.”

  “I’m not kissing your fucking cock better,” I point out.

  “Figured as much.”

  I lean forward and, just as he thinks I’m going to kiss his lips, I move to kiss the side of his neck. It was a mistake because when I smell him, and feel his skin under my lips—and believe me, he smells devine—and the way he feels, it makes my lips tingle but I would never tell him that, so I pull back. “Now, leave,” I tell him, lifting my hands again to rinse out the shampoo. The water sprays over him, but he acts like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  “I should have stipulated where.”

  “But you didn’t, so leave,” I bite back. His eyes drop to my bare breasts, and he leans forward. “You can’t afford to touch them.”

  “If Chase can, I can,” he replies.

  “No, you cannot. Because I set the price for each client. And for a client like you, the price is incredibly high.” His lip pulls at the side, when I reach for the conditioner.

  Lucas doesn’t touch, he just keeps watching.

  Eventually, he asks, “What’s my price?”

  Not being able to help myself, I chuckle at his words then bite back with, “Your death,” with as much venom as I can muster.

  Then he steps out of the shower, his black button-up shirt now clinging to him like a second skin. The lines beneath show me just how fit he is underneath it all.

  “Joey will come to collect you tomorrow.” I’m surprised by his words. “You are working for the boss’ wife, so best behavior. I would hate to have to kill you so early.” He heads to the door. I’m stunned by his words, but I’m excited to start something new.

  “Lucas.” He glances back over his shoulder, and I lean through the open glass door to continue, my hair dripping onto the linoleum. “Go… fuck off and die in a damn ditch somewhere.”

  “See, it’s the sweet words like that, that keep me coming back, sugar.” He winks before he walks out and shuts the door behind him.

  Argh. Stepping out, I dry myself and manage to find my pajamas before I slide them on and walk out to where I find Brody counting money on the couch, which is now back in place.

  He looks up at me and smiles.

  “Lucas paid me and gave me a bonus for awesome work.” He shakes the money in the air.

  “You should burn it,” I say as I go into our small, dingy kitchen and open the fridge to find it bare.

  Shit.

  I’m literally starving.

  A knock sounds on the door, and I stand there afraid of who or what could be on the other side. Brody looks back at me as he reaches for the knob, and I grab a knife in the kitchen just as he pulls it open.

  “From Lucas.” I don’t see the man behind the voice, but Brody nods and turns to me with a bag in his hand. When he shuts the door, I smell food. Sweet, glorious Italian food. I move around him to lock the door—for all the good it does—then reach for the bag. Inside of it is my shitty cell and some pasta. I love pasta. Carbonara is my weakness.

  “How did he know I liked this?” I ask more to myself, not expecting an answer.

  “He asked me,” Brody replies.

  Is this his way of coping with the bad shit he does? Like, here, I’m going to kidnap you, then break into your house when you escape, but it’s okay because I’ll bring you food after!

  Honestly, I want to tell Brody to throw it out, but my stomach says otherwise.

  Opening my cell, there are several missed calls. I take the pasta and hand Brody the rest as I head to the counter and sit on a stool. Taking the first bite is magnificent, so much so, I almost want to die from happiness just from eating it.

  “Lucas isn’t that bad, you know. If you’re not on his bad side.” I look over my shoulder to Brody who’s watching me, and I shake my head at him in disbelief. I guess all it takes is a good payday to make anyone’s moral compass turn gray.

  I would know.

  I look back down at my cell and call the number that I have missed several times and a deep voice comes over the line.

  “Chanel.”

  “Umm, yes?” I answer, confused.

  “This is Joey. I see he let you go and gave you your cell back.”

  How did he know?

  “Yes,” is all I can manage to get out.

  “Okay. Well, tomorrow, I plan to pick you up at six, so please be ready. We don’t like tardiness.” Then he hangs up without another word from me.

  Really?

  Shit.

  I have missed calls from clients, but I ignore them—I hope to never go back to that life. Not even if Lucas paid me a million dollars do I plan to fuck him. Ever.

  “Merci is on her way,” Brody says, standing at the door. Just then, Merci appears and smiles when she sees me. Then she rushes over and hugs me from behind.

  “That smells amazing, and it’s expensive. I’ve always wanted to try that restaurant.” I push the bowl toward her so she can sample the food, and she does, moaning as she chews. Then her eyes soften when she looks at me. “I’m sorry we couldn’t help you. We tried.”

  “I don’t think anyone can do much against him,” I tell her honestly.

  “That’s not the point. You would blow up a house if you thought you could help me.”

  Yes, that’s true, I would.

  “But you got him out of there, that’s the main thing,” I say, nodding to Brody.

  “He said if we followed, he would come back and slice Brody’s throat while he slept. And that he wasn’t going to hurt you, just talk to your arrogant ass.” She shrugs. “So, did he hurt you?” She leans in, her expression is of concern.

  “No, he tied me to a bed and left me.” I don’t mention the dead body or the fact I pissed myself. I am mortified enough as it is about that little indiscretion.

  “But he didn’t, you know…”

  I know what she’s asking.

  And again, I don’t tell her about anything else.

  Instead, I go back to my food, and she tells me about her day.

  Joey is at my door the next morning, and I open it to him checking his watch. When he looks at me, he nods in approval.

  “Should I be dressed a certain way?” I ask, not even knowing what he needs me to do. But they offered me work—work that doesn’t involve selling my body—and I’m down with that, even if I’m selling my soul instead.

  “What you have on is fine. You’ll find Sailor won’t care much.”

  “Is she who I’m working for?” I ask, and he nods.

  “She’s Keir’s wife. She needs help, so he said he would find her someone. She asked months ago, and to say she’s getting angry about his lack of willingness to address it would be an understatement.” He smiles, and I can’t help but smile back at him. He makes you want to smile. I like Joey, he is different from the rest of them.

  “I’ll just grab my cell,” I state, darting back inside. When I turn around after grabbing the phone from the counter, I find Joey has stepped inside and is looking around.

  “When did your parents die? How old were you?” he
asks.

  “I figured you may already know since you seem to know so much.”

  “I’ve done a full check on you. You have no priors, your record is clean. How you managed to stay clean doing what you do is…” he trails off but sounds impressed.

  “They died just before I turned eighteen,” I tell him. “We waited, though, until my eighteenth birthday to report their bodies so I could have custody of Brody.” I give him a meaningful look before I ask, “Is that all? Should we go?” He turns and walks out the door, and I give Brody a wave as he sits in his bedroom, then shut the door behind me.

  “Sailor doesn’t know anything about you,” he tells me as we get into the car.

  “What does she need help with?”

  “Everything you can think of. Just do whatever you can to help her.” I nod, not really getting a clear answer, but I know I can wing it when the need arises.

  We ride mostly in silence. Joey will ask me an occasional question every now and then, but for the most part we’re quiet.

  When we finally arrive in the city, he parks at a two-story brownstone and slides out, then comes around to open my door. I get out and follow him up the stairs. When he opens the door, a woman’s voice echoes down the hall.

  “Wren, you better get back here and eat your breakfast before I call your father.”

  A little girl with curly dark hair comes running right over, straight into Joey’s arms. She grips his face and kisses his cheeks. “Uncle,” she says, but in that cute little toddler voice that makes it sound like funcle.

  “Where is your mom?” he asks, putting her back down. He grips her hand and walks in, then looks back to me. “This way.” I follow him inside and shut the front door.

  This place is unreal. I don’t think I have ever stepped into a house of this magnitude and opulence before in my life.

  This is family money.

  And a lot of it.

  The marble floors are smooth beneath my runners and the pristine white walls are littered with paintings that probably cost more than everything I own combined.