Deviant Sin: A Dark College Romance (Cruel Desires Book 1)

by Lee Piper

  He’s about to answer when Saint claps him on the shoulder. “Holy fucking shit. Bro, who’s that?”

  I follow Saint’s line of sight to the second story. A woman leans against the glass balcony opposite us, holding a drink in one hand. The manicured nails of her other hand tap the railing in the way the perpetually bored do.

  She’s beautiful in a Snow White kind of way, with pale skin, black hair, and red lips. Her white cocktail dress looks expensive, and everything about her screams opulence. But it’s not the woman who captures my attention, it’s where she’s positioned that has my mind kicking into overdrive.

  “Sin,” I murmur, uneasy.

  He’s too busy talking to Saint to hear.

  “Sin,” I repeat, louder this time.

  He turns to me. “Yeah?”

  “She’s not meant to be there.” My eyes scan the perimeter as questions and non-answers swirl before me like unsolved math equations.

  Noticing my seriousness, he shifts closer. “What do you mean?”

  Saint’s too busy gazing at the woman to notice the obvious.

  “The Collector’s last office overlooked the stadium, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And we’ve studied what floorplans we could get our hands on, but none were entirely accurate. There was always something off about them, like they were fixed.”

  His tall frame blocks out the strobe lights. “Babe, I know this. What’s your point?”

  “Well, the best vantage point of the club is from up there.” I point to the glass doors behind Snow White. “So, what’s she doing there? Alone? On the balcony outside what’s probably The Collector’s office?” I pause, trying to piece it all together. “Think about it. We assumed your dad would be here, security would be cloaking him, potential business partners would be hanging around the place, and even Jack might make an appearance. But her?” I shake my head. “She’s an anomaly we didn’t account for.”

  “She could be some bitch he’s fucking.”

  I give him a flat look. “When was the last time anyone saw your dad with a woman?”

  His expression hardens. “The day Mom died.”

  “Exactly. The circumstances surrounding her disappearance have fueled gossip sites for years. He’s never been seen with a woman since.” Glancing at the balcony, I will an answer to form.

  Nothing.

  “I don’t get it. What is she doing there?”

  Sin takes out his cell and types a quick message. The reply is almost instantaneous. After reading it, Sin shoves it back in his pocket. “Angel can’t find anything on her. He saw her before we did and put a trace on her, but nothing is showing up. He’ll let us know if anything changes.”

  Throat tight, I force the words out. “That’s not a good sign. If her record is wiped clean, she’s trouble. Either that, or the police have given her a locked file, which means there’s a damn good reason for it.”

  “We should tell Saint.” Turning to him, I find empty space. “Where’s he gone?”

  Muscles tense, Sin scans the club. “Fucker. I’m going to fuck him up.”

  Worried Saint might be in trouble, I look about me. “Do you think The Collector got to him?”

  “Dad?” He shakes his head. “Not his style. This is all Saint. He took one look at that chick and wanted a piece. Thinking with his dick is going to screw everything up.” He curses.

  All the blood drains from my face. “He’s going to get us killed.”

  “Not if I don’t beat the shit out of him first.” Taking my hand, he leads me through the crowd. “Come on.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Temple

  Sin leads me to the stairs, but as we’re about to reach them, I pull back. He glances at me over his shoulder. “What?”

  My eyes dart left and right. “It’s too open. We need to go where there’s less chance of being seen.”

  Changing direction, we stride back the way we came. After turning down a dark hallway, he uses the white key card he got from Tobias to unlock a door. It leads to the rear of the building.

  “It came in handy, then,” I murmur. “Why would a rock star have the key card to this club?”

  “Revenge.” Sin leads me down an unmarked corridor, this one darker than the last. “His dad’s a dick, has fingers in a lot of pies and none of them legit. It’s Tobias’s way of getting back at him.”

  “By using you?” I furrow my brow. “If anything happens, you’ll take the fall for it.”

  “I know what I signed up for.”

  We come to a stop in front of three doors. All are closed, locked, and identical.

  Sin looks at each of them, and I do the same, my mind piecing together the layout of the building until a virtual map forms in my mind. I tug on his hand and point to the door on the left. “This one.”

  He glances from me, to the door, and back again. “You sure?”

  “Are you seriously asking me that?”

  Despite the shitstorm we’ve found ourselves in, he smirks.

  Goddamn. He makes my breasts heavy and nipples harden. Needing space so my mind stays on the job, I slip out of his hold, reach into the front pocket of my pants, and pull out a hairpin. Waving it in the air, I smile. “Want to see how the pros do it?”

  “Go for it. But put gloves on first.”

  “Like I’d forget,” I mutter, slipping them on. Then, crouching before the lock, I get to work. It takes less than a minute for the familiar click to sound. Satisfied, I stand, putting the hairpin away.

  When I face Sin, his eyes are dark.

  Intense.

  Passionate.

  He stalks toward me. Thrusting his hands into my hair, he steals my mouth in a deep kiss.

  I forget to breathe, think, do anything but melt in his hold.

  When at last he pulls away, we’re both panting.

  “I’m so fucking hard for you right now,” he rasps, his lips glistening.

  Snaking my arms around his neck, I press my aching breasts against his hard torso. “I’m so wet for you.”

  Sin groans, biting down on my neck. “The second this is over, you’re naked and beneath me. Understand?”

  “Done,” I murmur. With effort, I disentangle myself and straighten my top.

  Sin adjusts himself before checking his phone. “Angel says the other side of the doorway is clear.” He pauses. “And if he wants porn, he’ll ask for it.”

  I flip off the security camera.

  Sin gestures for me to get behind him before sliding on his gloves. Cautiously, he opens the door, and we both move into another, darker, corridor. We follow it until we reach a set of stairs. With our gaze set overhead, we ascend them silently, sticking to the shadows.

  There’s another door, this time with a digital keypad to the side of it. I try to judge by the faded numbers what the code might be, only there are too many possibilities. A device like this offers three chances before setting off an alarm. Since I don’t want the entire club to go into lockdown, I don’t risk it. “I can’t pick the code. There are too many variables.”

  His cell vibrates. Taking it from his pocket, he stares at the screen before typing a series of numbers into the keypad. The small flashing light in the corner changes from red to green.

  “Angel’s good, huh?” I murmur.

  “Sure is. Dude can hack anything.” Sin puts his phone away. “Let’s do this.”

  We both make our way inside, then pause. I turn in a quick circle, the hairs on my nape standing to attention. “That was too easy. Breaking into The Collector’s office should have been harder than this.”

  In front of us is the glass balcony overlooking the club. Snow White is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Saint. All that stands between us and the glass is a replica layout of the stadium’s office.

  Only, there’s a slight discrepancy I can’t name. It’s screaming at me to notice, open my eyes and see what’s in front of me. Acting on autopilot, I catalogue the room. Two hidden doors,
one to the bathroom, the other we entered through. A desk looking out to the club below with a high-backed leather chair sitting pride of place behind it. A flat-screen on one wall, wooden panels on the other.

  I exhale a frustrated breath. “Something’s not right, I can feel it.”

  Sin is too busy searching the desk to respond. He finds a laptop, opens it, and starts typing. Taking out his cell, he shoots off a quick text.

  I push my hair from my face, annoyed that it’s taking me so long to put two and two together. “Come on, Temple. Think.” When I drop my hands and cast my eyes downward, I see it.

  My heart stops.

  Air is trapped in my lungs.

  Fear curls its way up the back of my throat, choking me.

  “Shit. Shit, fuck, shit.” Eyes wild, I beg for Sin to see it too. “We need to get out of here.” I try to back away, but my legs shake, my knees turn soft, and I barely make it two feet before the trapdoor opens, and from it emerges The Collector.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sin

  Motherfucker.

  It’s been three years, and I still want to put a bullet in his head. Prick’s got the same smarmy as fuck expression and cocky swagger. He’s too old for that shit.

  Can’t believe I didn’t notice the trapdoor. Damn thing sticks out like dog’s balls. Thank fuck I got to the laptop in time.

  Eyes on my target, I press the enter key. Angel will blow his load over the intel I’m gifting him. He’d better come through on my text. Our lives are riding on it

  “Well, well. What do we have here?” The Collector’s smug face needs a crowbar to it.

  Don’t need a reason. The fact he’s alive and Mom is dead is enough. Fucker’s gotten away with shit for too long.

  People have tried to take him out. Dude’s had more attempts on his life than a hooker’s sucked dick. But the worthless prick won’t die, making his list of enemies almost as long as his disciples.

  Some call it luck. I call it bad planning. There’s no way the boys and I are leaving tonight without fucking him up real good.

  I slide the thin silver box I found into my back pocket.

  His reign over Bayside ends now.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Temple

  He’s taller than I expected. Stronger, too. Even though the guy must be pushing mid-fifties, he’s got the appearance of a thirty-year-old. Everything about him is hard, sharp, and dangerous.

  The Collector strides from the trapdoor like the devil emerging from hell. He straightens the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, his platinum cuff links catching the light. “It took you long enough. You’re slipping, Sin.”

  “Fuck you,” Sin growls.

  “Are you trying to get us killed?” I whisper-hiss at him.

  The pulse at the base of his neck throbs.

  Two security guards flank The Collector. The trapdoor slides closed behind them as they watch us in with cold, dead eyes.

  The Collector clicks his fingers. “Cover the exits.”

  One of the guards touches his earpiece and murmurs something I can’t hear. Then they leave.

  The quiet is deafening.

  It’s only broken by The Collector taking a small remote from his pocket and pushing a button. The glass windows turn a milky white, obscuring our view of the club below. He slides his hands and the remote into the pockets of his tailored suit pants. “We meet at last, Temple.”

  Blood pounding, I reach behind me, gripping the edge of the desk.

  His gray stare is hard, like granite buried in a snowstorm. “You were running the garage because your father is imprisoned. That’s very… brave.”

  Asshole.

  “It seems my son,” he sneers, “has taken an interest in you.” He stares at me as though sifting my vulnerabilities from my strengths until they’re piles of cause and effect he can torment me with. “How’s your father? I owe him a visit. Bayside Penitentiary can be hazardous if you don’t know the right people.”

  My knuckles turn white. “I hope you die in there alongside him.”

  A flash of something so quick I can’t name it lights his handsome features. “You’ve got balls. I’m going to have fun breaking you.”

  Sin moves to my side. “No, you fucking won’t.”

  The Collector shakes his head. “Have I taught you nothing? Never show your cards, son. Especially against a man like me.”

  “I learned from the best, old man.”

  Confused, I silently beg Sin to tell me what’s going on, because this no longer feels like a simple crash and grab job. It’s darker, more treacherous.

  He doesn’t look at me.

  The Collector does though. Turning from Sin, his gaze skims my body with detached interest. “You’re not his usual type. You’re smaller, more…” He waves one hand in the air, as though searching for words. “Tits and ass.”

  When he sees Sin’s reaction, he grins, his white, wolfish teeth a slash across his face. “A lesser man would commit murder for a woman like you.” He gives Sin an impenetrable stare. “Wouldn’t he?”

  “Careful. I’ve got a headstone with your name on it,” Sin warns.

  “See?” The Collector glances at me like we’re sharing a private joke. “You’ve known Sin for a couple of months, and he’s already willing to die for you.” His tone turns biting. “Pathetic. What about you, Temple? Would you die for him?”

  Sin blocks my view of The Collector. “Your issue is with me. Leave her out of it.”

  “Don’t threaten me, boy. The fact you’re still alive is a mistake I’m willing to fix. Temple knows what I’m talking about. She’s done it before.”

  No.

  Please, no.

  Don’t bring that up now.

  The Collector maneuvers himself until he’s facing me. “Haven’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, while the world threatens to crash around me.

  The Collector’s eyes bore into mine, stealing my darkest secrets. “Yes, you do. You almost killed your father.”

  My blood runs cold. “No, I—”

  “Tried to strangle him with a cell phone cord, if I remember correctly.” He smirks, as though recounting a funny memory. “Ingenious use of leverage. I laughed when I heard about it.”

  My tongue feels like sandpaper scraping against the roof of my mouth. “How did you—”

  “How did I know? It’s my job to know. And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s getting information.” Like the past is written in my features, he lists the atrocities against me. “Rape, abuse, neglect, psychological manipulation. Your father racked up debts along the West Coast with his gambling, prostitutes, and drugs. He was foolish enough to steal from me, if you can believe it. Me.” He plants a hand on his chest, like the notion is ridiculous. “Fucker deserved to die. Pity the police got to him before you finished the job.”

  Agreed.

  Dad was a useless junkie whose only thought was how to get his next fix. It didn’t matter what he had to do or who he had to hurt. If it promised a high, he’d do it.

  Even hurt his only daughter.

  Fear, fury, disgust, and helplessness swirl inside me. The combination makes me sick. But I won’t react. Not here, and not in front of a man like The Collector. He can go screw himself.

  I’d done the right thing. I protected myself when no one else did. Forced into a life of misery, I did what I had to, to survive. And I don’t regret my actions. I’d kill my father every day of the week if it meant I could escape the nightmare he created.

  After the court hearing, I stayed busy. With my file locked, I was free to make a new life for myself. I kept to myself, worked hard, and studied harder. I did everything I could to craft the future I wanted. And no one, not even The goddamn Collector, is going to take that from me.

  “You did me a favor, Temple,” the mob boss continues. “But I’m not the kind of man to return it.”

  And I’m not the kind of woman who e
xpects it. “My dad was a certified asshole. I wished him dead a million times and in a million different ways. Over the years, I saw and did stuff no kid should have to. If there’s one positive to come from all of it, it’s this: I learned to fight. I’ve got him to thank for that, and you to thank for reminding me.”

  Shifting past Sin, I stand before the man who haunts Bayside’s nightmares. “Hurry up with whatever it is we’re doing here. I’ve got better things to do than listen to you talk all night.”

  Dark pools of animosity shimmer across his chiseled features like water reflecting off stone.

  Sin takes my hand, pulling me beside him once more.

  Heartbeat erratic, I wait for The Collector’s next move.

  “Very well.” He takes the remote from his pocket and presses a different button, opening the trapdoor.

  From it saunters Snow White, her expression bored. “He’s coming,” she tells The Collector in a detached tone. Moving to the window, she leans against it and inspects her nails. She might as well be waiting for a damn bus.

  I glance at Sin, wondering what the hell is going on.

  He doesn’t pay me any attention, because his stare is fixed on two massive dudes, one covered in tattoos. They’re dragging something behind them, the heavy bulk thumping against each step.

  When I realize who it is, I instinctively step forward. “Saint.”

  “Don’t,” Sin orders.

  Covering my mouth with my free hand, I choke back a scream. “Oh my God! What’s happened to you?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Temple

  Saint’s face is barely distinguishable. Bruises paint his cheekbones, and one eye is swollen shut. Blood seeps from a deep cut on his lip, and his clothes are filthy and torn.

  “What did you do to him?” I scream. Mob boss or not, the sight of Saint hurt is enough to make me want vengeance.

  Over the past few weeks, Saint and I have found an easy comradery. He dishes shit out, and I dish it back. He’s made me smile more times than I’d care to admit. Which is why seeing him like this hurts.