by Lee Piper
“I think I’m in love,” Saint murmurs.
Sin glares at him, then tips his chin to Angel. “How long have we got?”
“Half an hour. Forty minutes, tops.”
“Let’s go.” He stalks off.
But Saint’s too busy gaping at me to reply.
“Stop it,” I mutter. “You’re making it weird.”
“Thirty-nine minutes,” Angel tells Saint. “Don’t screw it up, fucker.”
Saint flips him the bird, then follows Sin.
Unsure what to do, I teeter between right and wrong.
When it comes to Sin, life isn’t as simple as falling into either category. Everything is filled with gradients of both, each more convoluted than the last.
Glancing at Sin’s retreating back, I listen to the voice in my head telling me to go with him. It’s elemental, like this is the way it’s meant to be.
I don’t know why. He’s proven to be an asshole many times over. There’s no reason for me to want to be near him. Yet, the pull is there.
Once we’re in Bayside, all bets are off.
Chapter Fourteen
Sin
“Are you sure about this?” Saint asks as we jog ahead of Temple.
I don’t say shit. She’s still with us, that’s answer enough.
“Bro, I’m happy to play the game, but we still don’t know what her locked file says. It could fuck with our plan. You sure you want her to be a part of it?”
We head into a backstreet. It’s dark as hell and stinks like someone pissed on a week-old corpse.
I look over my shoulder. “She’s what we need. Dad won’t touch her because her old man did whatever the fuck he asked. She wasn’t in charge of the garage long enough to fuck with his goodwill, either.”
“You really think Pops will be cool about what we did?”
“Bit late to be asking questions.” I stare dead ahead. “You know what he’s like. He’ll think it’s the cartel. He’s always blaming them for shit.”
“And Temple?”
“Temple’s no use to him anymore. She won’t be on his radar.”
“What if he learns the truth?”
The thought of that asshole hurting Temple makes me want to break shit. “I’ll deal with it.”
“Careful, bro, sounds like you’re pussy whipped.”
“Fuck you.” But my cock twitches, ready for her mouth, cunt, ass, it doesn’t care. I’m going to claim her curves, hear her cries, and watch her submit to my control. She’s going to look fucking sensational on her knees. I’ll do it over and again until she’s out of my damn system.
The chick’s slaying me.
Temple scrunches her nose at the stench from the alley but doesn’t complain. With lithe movements, she follows us, glaring at me whenever I look her way.
Jesus. I take in the chain-link fence in front of us.
“What’s going to happen after tonight?” Saint launches over it.
I clear it easily. “We’ll see.”
Temple lands close behind.
Saint looks at her and smirks, the smug prick. “All right. Let’s do this.”
“Do what?” Temple puffs, her tits rising and falling.
“Sin, but later,” Saint jokes.
I glare.
“What did you say?” she sneers.
It makes him laugh harder. “Your faces.” When he sees I’m not in the mood, he chills. “Okay, okay. Tough crowd tonight.”
“Prick.”
The asshole flips me off before picking up the pace again. He’s going to get himself killed one of these days, and if Angel doesn’t do the honors, I sure as fuck will.
Chapter Fifteen
Temple
We jog through the backstreets, cutting through alleys and jumping over fences until we eventually slow and stop.
Before us stands a stadium. It’s a monolith of flashing lights and booming sounds warding off the darkness. Hundreds of people mill outside, talking, laughing, and drinking.
If I wasn’t so angry, I’d be impressed.
Saint grins. “You should see inside. The place will be packed tonight, it’ll feel electric.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
We dart around the back and clear a final gate that’s not nearly fortified enough to protect the rear of the stadium. Ducking low, we stick to the shadows before reaching a door recessed into the back wall.
“Have you ever been to a fight night?” Saint takes out his phone, taps the screen, then shows it to Sin.
Sin enters a code in the security panel, and the door unlocks.
“Sure.” My voice is quiet. “If you consider an illegal boxing match between an ex-con and a thief fight night.”
“Did they beat the shit out of each another?” Saint asks.
“Until one of them was either unconscious or dead.”
“Sounds like fun. Though I bet you didn’t have ring girls.” Solemnly, he plants a hand over his heart. “They’re what make the sport great.”
I brush past him when Sin opens the door. “There were strippers. I saw more than I needed.”
Stealthily, we creep along the corridor.
“Are we talking tasteful or downright filthy?”
I give Saint a pointed look. “I grew up in The Dunes. You already know the answer to that.”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up.” Sin retrieves a key from his pocket and inserts it into the side panel of the elevator. With a quick twist, the doors slide open, and the twins move inside.
His gaze finds mine.
The air grows heavy, filled with words unsaid and promises yet to be broken.
“Come here,” he orders.
Damn his authoritative tone that makes my knees weak. Not wanting to give in, and needing the assurance that this isn’t a trap, I stay where I am.
He stalks toward me, not stopping until our toes touch. He dives his fingers into my hair and clenches it in his fist. “I said, come here.”
Shivers free-fall down my back, each tumbling harder, faster the longer we stare. Dizzy, I press my hands against his strong chest, needing his body to keep me upright. “Tell me what we’re doing. I won’t go into this blind.”
“When you need to know, I’ll tell you.”
“Not good enough. I need more than that.” I go to step backward. Only, I can’t because he won’t let go.
He pushes me into the elevator. “Deal with it. It’s all you’re getting.”
“You’re such an asshole.” The doors slide closed, and I glare at his reflection.
He smirks.
When the doors open, he steps forward, peering around the corner. “Clear.”
Saint tails him down the hall. Even though I want to make a point of not following his orders, getting stuck in an elevator isn’t the way to do it.
I’ll figure out another way.
The hallway lights are dim, and the paintings intermittently lining each wall seem expensive. We pass name-plated offices and not-so-subtly-placed security cameras.
Saint sees me staring at one. “Angel’s found a back entry to the mainframe network and is reconfiguring security.” He checks his phone, then looks at Sin, his expression tight. “We’ve got twenty-five minutes.”
Sin curses.
I glance from one to the other, uneasy.
Saint puts his phone away. “We need to get our asses into gear if we want to get out of here in time.”
“In time for what?”
They don’t meet my eyes.
“In time for fucking what?”
Saint waves my question away. “Keep your voice down.” But there’s no masking his apprehension.
We arrive at the end of the corridor and stop in front of an unidentified door.
“Whose office is this?” I ask, wondering why, in a sea of nameplates, this has none.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Saint murmurs.
“Trust you?” I scoff. “Yeah, let me get right on that.”
Jerk.
Sin eyes the door handle. “Gloves.” Both he and Saint retrieve black leather gloves from their jeans pockets and slide them on. Then Sin hands me a spare pair.
“I’m good.”
“Put them on.”
If it were anyone else barking directives at me, I’d throat punch them. Only, when Sin demands, for some reason my body wants to comply. “You know what? I’m sick of this cloak-and-dagger bullshit. Tell me what’s happening here.”
“No time, put the gloves on.”
I glare.
The pulse at the base of his neck throbs. “Put. Them. The. Fuck. On.”
When I don’t move, he grabs my hands and forcefully slides the gloves on. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
“You burned down my garage.”
He holds my stare for a long moment, his steel-gray irises promising half-truths and cruel lies. The look is akin to him reaching into my chest, taking my heart out, and squeezing it. “Had to.”
“Bullshit,” I sneer. “You’re a Brandt. Your family runs this town. You could have done anything else tonight, but instead you chose to destroy my place of business. I’ll never forgive you for that.”
He backs me into the wall, his hands braced on either side of my head. “Yes, you will.”
“Screw you, Sin.”
He thrusts his hips forward, his hardening length heavy against my stomach. “Any time, babe.”
“Jesus, I need a jet hose with you two,” Saint mumbles. “Come on, people, let’s go. Chop, chop. We’re on a deadline here, emphasis on the word ‘dead.’”
“This isn’t over,” Sin warns before turning his back and entering the office.
“It already is,” I lie.
Saint and I step over the threshold and pause.
“Arrogant fuck,” he mutters. “Doesn’t bother locking the door because he knows no one has the balls to enter without permission.”
“Until now.” Sin smirks.
Both brothers start scouring the office. They open filing cabinets, search the glass desk, and check inside the adjoining bathroom. Their movements are silent, precise, and purposeful. It’s like they’ve been planning this for years.
From my position just left of the door, I take stock of the room. It’s straightforward enough. There’s a flat-screen on one wall, a series of wooden panels opposite, and a desk in the center with floor-to-ceiling tinted windows behind. I sense no immediate threat so tread quietly to the windows, taking little notice of Sin working his way through the drawers nearby.
My hands itch to touch the glass window, but I don’t reach out. Even with gloves on, I know the consequences of leaving evidence at a crime scene. Innocent or guilty, the result is the same.
A world of pain.
Needing to take my mind off the dark thoughts that threaten to overtake me, I look down at the thousands of people filling the stadium. An announcer stands in the center of the ring, speaking into a microphone, his arms waving as he gestures to the crowd. They respond with screams and applause, those holding signs waving them in the air. The lights flicker, then dim, and smoke emits from the far corner as hip-hop music blares through the speakers. Through the fog, a robed fighter and his team appear.
They all look so happy.
“Fuck.”
I tear my gaze away.
Saint presses his ear against the door. “Someone’s coming.” He straightens. “Dude, I thought you said he wouldn’t be at his office on fight night.”
Sin points to whoever is in the hallway. “That’s not him.”
“Then who—”
“Listen,” Sin cuts in.
Both crane their heads.
I do too.
The stride of the person heading toward us is measured yet slightly unsteady.
“They’ve got a limp,” I murmur. “Are you guys expecting company?”
Sin and Saint share a quick look. Sin nods, and Saint quickly combs the room. His eyes light up. “Found it.”
“Right. Let’s see if Temple can too.” In four strides, Sin is before me. “It’s showtime, babe.”
“What are you talking about?”
He doesn’t answer, instead posing a question. “If you were stuck in this room and couldn’t leave the way you came, what would you do?”
“Simple.” I point to one of the wooden side panels. “I’d use the private door.”
Saint, the idiot, grins. “She fucking knew. That’s part two of the initiation she’s aced.” He pushes the left side of the panel, and it swings open. Without a backward glance, he leaves.
“Part two?” I furrow my brow. “What’s he talking about? What was part one?”
Sin doesn’t respond.
It pisses me off. “Every time I ask you a question, you ignore it. Are you ever going to answer me?”
His gaze doesn’t waver.
“Screw this, I’ll ask Saint.” I go to leave.
Before I can take a step, Sin grabs my nape, yanks me back, and claims my mouth with his.
Sweet Lord.
His lips are unrelenting. They demand entrance, forcing me to open to him. His tongue dives into my mouth and swallows my breath. Time and again, he owns my soul, the heat of his skin and the bite of his teeth merciless.
Everything becomes white noise as I drown in salt and ocean. For one second, then two, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to care for a man like him.
He pulls back. “Fuck.”
Then he pushes me away.
Stumbling, I right myself before spinning to face him. “What the hell? What was that for?”
His eyes, once clear, are conflicted. “Later, babe.” The private exit clicks shut behind him.
The office door opens.
My heart drops as I fight back the hurt, betrayal, and anger.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Chapter Sixteen
Temple
“Who are you?” A reed-thin man with bilious yellow skin makes his way into the office. Even with the slight limp, he moves quicker than a guy of his age should. With barely concealed hunger, his rheumy eyes scan my figure.
He’s bad news.
Schooling my shock at being left for dead by Sin and Saint, I counter, “I think the real question is, who are you?”
A macabre grin splits his angular features. “A friend.”
“Not of mine, you’re not.” I edge around the desk, intending to walk past him.
He grasps my bicep. “I’m The Collector’s friend, and this is his office, so….”
The Collector?
Ice pours through my veins, freezing me in place as I try to make sense of this information.
Irish mob boss.
Criminal mastermind.
Feared by the sane.
Admired by the insane.
Sin and Saint’s dad.
Holy. Motherfucking. Fuck.
The longer I stay, the angrier I get. At myself, Sin, and the voice in my head who told me to follow him.
The stranger’s cracked yellow nails dig into my skin. “I asked you a question, pretty lady. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
I think over my options. The odds aren’t great. This guy is wily, I can tell. He reeks of cheap liquor and dirty tricks. I wouldn’t put it past him to shoot me in the back of the head the moment I turn away.
But I’ve been in worse situations.
My heart rate spikes at the memory. Desperate screams echo in my mind, growing louder, more frantic with each breath.
Unbidden reminders of the way my T-shirt was torn from me, of the rough hands that held me down, of my futile attempts to get away, and how, no matter what I said or did, there was no escape.
I force myself back to the present. Falling into the darkness of my past won’t help me now.
Yet it lingers. Hiding in the shadows, taunting, haunting, terrorizing me.
I try to regain control. “Ge
t your hand off me.”
He smirks, his sharp features contorting into a series of ugly lines. “What are you going to do, little lamb? Scream?” He leans in close, his breath rancid. “I love it when women scream.”
Clearing my mind, I forget my past. There’s no way I’ll give this stranger the satisfaction of seeing me anxious. Apart from a busted kneecap and a broken leg, he’s getting nothing from me.
I look from his hand to his face. “Let go.”
His gaze hardens. “I won’t do shit except hold you down while you cry for mercy. There’s a price for entering The Collector’s office. You walked into the lion’s den, and now you’re going to pay.”
Unbidden images bombard me. Dad’s friends, high on meth, pinning my arms and legs to the floor. Dad undoing his belt and the top button of his jeans, his dilated pupils glazed as fuck as he savors my impotent terror.
Then, pain.
So. Much. Pain.
As he steals from me what was never his to take.
Throat tight and eyes stinging, I internally yell, Get your fucking shit together, Temple. This stranger isn’t your dad. He’s a pathetic gremlin who doesn’t know what’s about to hit him. Woman up, already. Show him what you’re made of.
Fortifying myself, I take in my surroundings. There’s a corner that will be a bitch to get out of, so I need to avoid it. The flat-screen and its electrical cords will double up as weapons if I need them, and the corner of the glass desk will knock this guy unconscious, possibly even kill him if I get the angle right. But first….
He grins, it’s sick and twisted.
“You should have listened to me when you had the chance,” I warn, my voice low.
“And miss out on all the fun? No way.”
With more speed than I gave him credit for, he darts behind me, traps my arms, and thrusts his hips forward. The bulge in his pants rubs against my lower back making me want to gag.
Sweat, cheap deodorant, and misdirected testosterone flood my nostrils. They drown out the other smells, making my head swim. Come on, Temple. Do something. You’re not a victim.