by Lee Piper
Sin glares at his father. “You sick fuck. You think you can put your hands on my brother and get away with it?”
“Stupid boy. I own this town and everyone in it.” The Collector strolls toward Saint. Grabbing him by the hair, he yanks Saint’s head back, peering closely at his face. “My men have been busy. I like what they’ve done. It makes looking at my spawn bearable. I can barely recognize him now.”
“But you’re their father,” I exclaim, shocked at the hatred in his tone.
“It’s a curse I’m happy to break.”
Desperate to understand yet not wanting to know, I ask, “Why would you do this to your own family?”
“You already know why,” The Collector returns. “You were willing to kill your father.”
“In self-defense,” I throw back at him. “The guy screwed up my life from the moment I was born. What have Sin and Saint ever done to you?”
“They breathed.” It’s the viciousness of his declaration that shocks me most. There’s no deliberation or weighing up the consequences of his words. He spits them out like a venom that’s been polluting him for decades.
Rage rolls off Sin in waves.
“You had a choice, Temple. To let your father continue his life, or end it. You chose to put him in the ground. The fact you didn’t manage to is irrelevant, because the intention was there.” He glares at Sin. “And now it’s time for my son to make a similar choice.”
Fear holds me hostage.
The Collector walks over to us, power coiled in every step. “What do you think the price is for double-crossing me?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues. “Maybe you should ask Jack?”
“No point,” Sin answers. “Dude can’t talk when he’s dead.”
“Exactly. You know enough of my methods to know that I don’t brook betrayal. He had to go. But I’ve got something special lined up for you, Sin. See, I could shoot you in the head, burn your body, and bury it where no one will find you.”
“You could try.”
The corner of The Collector’s mouth quirks. “Or I could slit the throat of your girl right here.”
“No, you fucking couldn’t.”
Strangely, the thought of dying doesn’t compare to the pure, unadulterated terror of Sin being taken from me. I flatten myself against his side as though my presence will somehow prevent his psychotic father from acting out his threat against him.
Unmoved, The Collector spins to face Saint. “Or I could finish off your brother.” He scratches his chin. “There are so many ways I could fuck my boys up. Christmas came early this year.”
As if on cue, the dude on the right holds Saint up while the tattooed guy on the left punches him in the stomach.
Saint buckles forward, groaning. His matted hair flops onto his swollen face, sticking to the beads of sweat.
“Sin,” I hiss. “Do something.”
He reaches for the waistband of his jeans. Pulling out a gun, he removes the safety and aims it at his father. “Let him go.”
The bruisers drop Saint and point their guns at us.
“What the hell?” I shriek. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Put the gun away,” The Collector orders his son.
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
“If you don’t, you’re dead. But if you do, I’ll give you a chance to get out of here alive.” The Collector takes in my petrified expression. “That’s what you want, right? Not to die tonight.”
Wary, Sin lowers his weapon and puts it away. He keeps his hand on it though.
The Collector nods. “Good. Now, listen carefully. You’ve got a choice, son. You can either leave with Temple or your brother, but not both. One of them stays with me.” He holds my stare. “That’s your exit strategy.”
Oh, God.
The sound of the ocean rushes through my ears, and the floor undulates like a carnival ride, making me light-headed. “No.” My voice is so faraway, I can barely hear it. “You can’t.”
The Collector would make my father look like a priest.
Thoughts of what he’d do to me if I was forced to stay have bile burning the back of my throat. I’ve heard the stories muttered in the dingiest corners of dive bars. I’ve seen the evidence of limbs missing, teeth removed, and loved ones tortured. There’s no way I’d survive. Not again. He’d make sure of it.
I glance at Saint. He’s crumpled on the floor like a broken, discarded toy. I can’t wish the same fate on him, either.
“If I agree—” Sin begins.
“Are you out of your mind?” I exclaim. “You can’t seriously be considering his offer.”
He ignores me. “If I agree to your terms, no one can stop me or the person I choose to leave with.”
Dizzy, I reach for him. “Stop. You can’t—”
His father nods. “If you make a choice between Saint and Temple, no one will stop you. You have my word.”
Sin observes him closely, his expression unreadable. “And afterward, we have immunity. From you, the assholes you hire, and anyone connected with you or the mob—legit or otherwise. We’re off the grid for good.”
His father’s expression hardens, and a vein in his forehead pulses. “Only if you keep your mouth shut about sensitive issues. Permanently. You’ll know what’ll happen if you don’t.”
Disorientated and nauseous, I tug on Sin’s shirt. “Choose him. He’s your family, it’s the right thing to do. Choose Saint.”
Sin doesn’t look my way.
In my heart, I know it’s the right choice to make. “You heard me. I want you to choose Saint.”
“Temple is coming with me.”
“What?” I gape. “Are you insane? No, I’m swapping places with Saint.” I go to do exactly that.
Sin stops me. “I’ve made up my mind.”
“Pussy over blood. You always were a heartless bastard, you must get that from me.” The Collector saunters to Saint’s crumpled form. “I’m going to have fun with you.”
The door crashes open. “Police! Everybody on the ground, now!”
And it all goes to hell.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Temple
Five cops rush inside, their guns drawn.
“Everybody on the ground,” the first calls.
The Collector grabs Sin around the neck and, using his son like a human shield, jams a gun against the side of his head.
“Sin!” I scream.
“Easy, Aaiden,” the first cop warns. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like entering my office without a warrant?” The Collector sneers. “I’ll have your badge for this, Decker.”
Sin whips out a six-inch serrated blade. “Fuck you, old man.”
Oh, God.
“I’m going to paint the walls with your blood, boy.”
“Sin,” Decker yells, his gun raised. “We’ve got him in sight. You don’t need to do this. No one is leaving this room. We’ve got the exits covered.”
Another cop turns to me. “Miss, my name’s Taylor. Come here. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Like fuck you will.” Sin struggles, but The Collector cracks him in the skull with the barrel of his gun.
Sin grunts.
Terrified, I stay where I am.
“Miss?” Taylor repeats.
I glance between him and the man who owns my soul, not wanting to go anywhere without him.
Beside me, a fight breaks out between Saint and The Collector’s men. Grabbing him in a headlock, the tattooed bruiser pummels Saint’s face with his fist while the other kicks him in the ribs.
“Hey!” Decker calls. “On the ground, all of you!”
With a final punch, tattooed bruiser knocks Saint out cold. He throws Saint over his shoulder and legs it through the concealed exit, his companion close behind.
“The fuck, man?” Sin yells. “You said you had the exits covered!”
The Collector flips the safety.
Panicked, Decker gestures to his colleagu
es. “Barrett, Romano, Jones, don’t let them escape.”
With my gaze fixed on The Collector, I silently beg, Don’t do this. Please don’t hurt Sin.
“I’m going to enjoy this.” The Collector smirks.
“Back the fuck up, asshole or you’ll regret it,” Sin grits out.
“You’re as pathetic as your mother. All talk and no action.”
Like a goddamn warrior, Sin fists the knife and slams it into his father’s thigh. The Collector howls in pain, dropping his gun. Desperate, he reaches for the knife, but Sin is too quick. He tears it from his father’s leg, spins to face him, and plunges the blade deep in The Collector’s neck.
Blood spurts from the wound, showering Sin in scarlet rain. Expression fierce, he twists the knife and yanks the blade forward, tearing his father’s larynx.
A sickening gurgling noise turns my stomach as the mob boss collapses.
Sin sprints to me, his strong arms enveloping my body.
Heart racing, breaths ragged, and uncaring that he’s covered in blood, I hold tight. “Sin, oh my God. I thought I lost you.”
“Not a fucking chance, babe.”
Cops kneel beside The Collector. Blood gushes from the wound, pooling around him like toxic waste. He twitches, once, twice, then lies still. Eyes unseeing, he stares at the ceiling, the hand reaching for the knife dropping uselessly to his side.
“Fuck you, motherfucker,” Sin spits out. “Rot in hell.”
Decker takes out his cuffs. “Sinclair Brandt, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain—”
“Fuck that. We tipped you off, asshole. We did your work. You saw what happened, he would’ve killed me if I didn’t protect myself. Call my lawyer. You can question me later.”
Barret sprints inside, his face red with exertion. “Decker, we lost them,” he pants. “Romano and Jones are casing the perimeter, but it’s not looking good.”
Decker curses.
Sin takes my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
“But what about Saint?” I protest. “Is he alive? Is he okay? Why did they take him?”
“Not sure, but I’m going to find out.”
I look at The Collector’s body.
Sin notices. “Forget about him. He’s in hell where he belongs. A life for a life. Prick deserved everything he got.”
Since I know what he’s feeling, I don’t argue. Instead, I take in his blood-soaked features. “Are you sure?”
“Took three years, but Mom finally got justice.” We stride past the cops. “I’m fucking sure.”
“I’ll be speaking with your lawyer, Sinclair,” Decker yells. “Don’t do anything reckless like hunt down your brother. Leave it to the professionals.”
“Fuck you, asshole.” Sin leads me from the club.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Temple
I slide inside Angel’s car. “I hope Saint’s okay. It doesn’t feel right leaving without him.” Glancing out the window, I search for any sign that he’s escaped.
Nothing.
Sin gets in next to me. “He should be easy enough to track. The cops don’t know the mob safehouses like we do.” He leans forward. “You get everything I sent you?”
Head down, Angel types on his laptop. “Going through it now. Did you get his cell?”
Sin pats his pocket. “Sure did.”
“Fuck, yes.” Angel’s screen turns black, green code appearing like a patchwork pattern.
“What’s all that?” I ask.
From the passenger seat, Eve glances at me. “Don’t ask. He’ll never shut up about it if you do.”
Angel’s fingers fly across the laptop keys. “Screw you.”
“Not even if you drugged me.”
“Where were you, by the way?” I ask Angel. “I didn’t see you doing anything to prevent guns being pulled on us or Saint almost being beaten to death. You could have locked their torture chamber, prevented them from dragging Saint down there. Maybe even set off a fire alarm and force everyone to evacuate. You could have done something to protect him.”
“Trash, let Angel do his job.” Eve opens her compact, applying more powder. “It’s the one thing he’s good at.”
Angel shows Sin his laptop. “Done. The debt is wiped, the trail is cleared, and no one can trace it back to us.”
“Good man. Did you find out who the fuckers were that took Saint?”
“Give me a minute.” Silent, Angel types. Then, he lets out a low whistle. “Dude, you’re not going to like this.”
Sin looks over his shoulder. “Shit.”
“Shit is right.”
“When did you last see your screwup brother?”
“He was cut off from the family years ago. I didn’t recognize him with all those tats.”
“Storm must have been promoted to second-in-command when Saint and I told Dad to go fuck himself.”
Angel nods. “We need to move fast. He’ll fuck Saint up if we don’t find him soon.”
“We will. He can’t get far.”
Stashing his equipment, Angel starts the car and slides into traffic.
Sin pulls me to him, maneuvering my body until I’m cradled on his lap. He presses my head against his chest, holding me close. “Do you trust me?”
Despite everything, the sound of his heartbeat is calming. “I want to.”
I sense his smirk.
“How you can think anything is funny when your brother is being tortured by Angel’s brother?”
“He’s not my brother,” Angel says bitterly. “Hasn’t been in a long time.”
Sin tucks some loose hair behind my ear. “If anyone will make that fucker regret his decision, it’s Saint. You’ve lived with the guy. You know what I’m talking about. He’s annoying as fuck, stubborn as hell, and will stay alive to spite Storm. Saint will have the asshole wanting to shoot himself in the head by the time he’s through.” He skims his knuckles across my cheeks. “It was all part of the plan, babe. Not our first, but it was one of them.”
I stare at him. “What do you mean? We’ve been working on the plan for weeks, and offering Saint up as a sacrifice never came into it.”
“Yeah, it did,” Eve quips. “It was one of our backups. The boys didn’t want you knowing about it.” She snaps her compact shut. “For obvious reasons.”
Red-hot rage rips through me. “What didn’t you want me to know?”
“Babe, you’re a tough talker and a killer fighter, but your acting is shit. Everyone would’ve seen through you.” Sin shrugs. “Nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal?” I repeat slowly, like he hadn’t reached into my chest cavity and torn out my heart. “You think you can lie to me, again, use me, again, and nothing personal is going to cut it?” Staring unseeing out the window, I shake with untapped fury. “You’re something else, Sin Brandt.”
He’s smart enough to stay quiet.
Everything we shared was a lie, and I’m an idiot for expecting anything different. Nothing changed over the past few weeks. Sin is still using me and leaving me out of the loop because it suits his end game. I’m the convenience that’ll help him get what he wants. He doesn’t care about me, not really. All he cares about is himself and his stupid revenge plot against his father.
But I’m no one’s puppet.
“Don’t,” Sin warns. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”
“Or what?” I hiss. “What are you going to do about it, huh?” When he doesn’t respond, I glare. “Exactly.”
The moment the car pulls into the drive, I get out, beelining for the front door.
“Temple,” Sin calls to my back.
Screw him. Screw all of them. I’m out of here.
Once inside, I head straight for Sin’s room, kick his door open, and grab my bag.
He catches up to me, takes my hand, and yanks it from my hold. Spinning me in a half circle, he turns me to face him.
My hand instinctively reaches out and connects with his chest.
His strong, powerful chest.
Awareness cuts through my anger, making me want to scream. Screw it. “Get off me!”
“Not until you calm the fuck down.”
I knee him in the thigh, annoyed that I miss his junk. “I’m not going to calm down until there’s miles of distance between us. We’re over.”
He grips my face, and, with his fingers digging so deeply into my cheeks I’m going to bruise, walks me backward until I hit the far wall. “Nothing ends. You hear me? Nothing.”
“Fuck you, Sin. I’m done playing these games. Find another woman to do your dirty work. I’m not going to anymore.”
“You think that’s all you are to me?” His expression is incredulous. “Some hot piece of ass I can use when I want?”
“Aren’t I?” I fire back. “From the moment we met, that’s all I’ve been to you. You’ve lied to me, used me, and fucked me as a side bonus.”
“Careful,” he warns, his voice low. “You’re starting to piss me off, babe.”
But I’m too far gone to care. “Does it look like I give a shit? I’m telling you, Sin, we’re finished. I’m not doing this anymore.”
“Like hell you’re not.”
I push against him. “It’s not your decision to make.”
Like I weigh nothing, he throws me over his shoulder and storms into the bathroom.
“Get your hands off me,” I pummel his back with my fists. “So help me, Sin, if you don’t put me down, I’m going to—”
Cold water rains down on me. I gasp as the sensation of ice sliding down my nape makes my skin so cold it burns.
Sin shoves me against the tiles, grabs my hands, and pins them above my head. “You think I use you?”
I hate that my knees turn weak.
Grabbing my hip, he yanks me against him. “You think this is all some joke?” Lifting my leg, he wraps it around his waist, pressing his hardening cock against my center. “Does this feel like a motherfucking joke to you?”
No, it doesn’t.
And that’s what makes him so cruel.
He palms one of my breasts before teasing my hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re more than a decent fuck, Temple.”