ALTERED BY FIRE: UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 1

by James Tate

  I’m downright terrified in that moment … that, and turned the fuck on. I must be a crazy person.

  "Who's Weston?" I ask breathlessly, grasping the most normal part of what he just said like a life raft. I know Colt was the blond-haired, green-eyed devil I met last night, but I have no idea who Weston could be. A fifth fake-priest?

  Arsen grins at me, and it's the sort of grin I imagine demons wear as they tempt you into signing over your soul. Full of sex, and hunger.

  "I tell you they're worried I'll kill you, and all you want to know is 'who's Weston'?" His grin spreads wider until he’s just almost laughing. "Oh, Natalia Petrova, I am going to have some fun with you. Before I kill you, that is."

  The way he says fun makes it sounds like a dirty word. I fucking love it.

  I choose to ignore the comment about killing me, because he’s clearly trying to scare me.

  "Now, angel. I asked you a question, and I expect an answer. " His voice cracks with authority that makes me shiver with arousal.

  Jesus fucking Christ. I really am messed up.

  "Do I want to fuck you?" I repeat and my eyes dart from Arsen to the door, and then back again. I'm scared, yeah. Freaking terrified. But do I want to leave? "Yes, I do," I breathe out, so quiet I can barely hear myself. He hears me though, and his tongue runs over his lower lip as he appraises me standing there in nothing but a T-shirt.

  He leans his broad, tattooed back on the door, folding his massive arms over his chest and not making a single move to hide the enormous bulge in his pants.

  "Take the shirt off," he commands and my hands automatically respond to that tone, grasping at the hem of my top before I pause.

  "Wait. You didn't answer me before," I remind him, my teeth worrying at my lower lip. "Are you a priest? Like … a real one? Because you sure as shit don't seem like any priest I've ever met."

  Arsen clicks his tongue, and narrows his eyes in a way that inspires a little more fear through my sex-addled body.

  "Does it matter?" he challenges me, and I suck in a sharp breath. "Aren't you already soaking at the thought of fucking a priest?"

  Slowly, almost without my permission, my head nods in agreement.

  Damn, I really am going to hell for this.

  "Well, then. I gave you a commandment, and I expect to see my Will Be Done."

  Oh sweet Mary, mother of God … I'm so screwed.

  Even with my limited knowledge of anything religious, I recognize the reference to the Lord's Prayer. It’s not like I've never stepped foot in a church before. Hell, my Daddy sent me to a Catholic girls’ school for a few years—before I was expelled—so I have a vague recollection of some bits and pieces of the Bible.

  My hands inch the fabric of Colt's Metallica shirt up higher, powerless to refuse Arsen's order, while he watches me like he wants to eat me for lunch.

  "Arsen!" Hawke's voice cracks through the door like a whip and I startle, dropping my shirt. "Open this door immediately. That's an order."

  My eyes wide, I meet Arsen's smoldering gaze, and he sighs.

  "To be continued, angel." He winks at me lasciviously then unlocks the heavy wooden door and throws it open. "Hawke, so sorry. I didn't realize you needed the bathroom. Natalia and I were just … having a chat."

  His wicked grin says he doesn't give a shit how weak that lie is, and my pussy clenches again in arousal. Fucking unhinged assholes are my weakness.

  "Natalia, are you okay?" Hawke demands, pushing past Arsen's sexy tattooed body and taking my chin in his fingers.

  "Yeah, fine," I croak as he turns my face side to side like he's checking for … what? Bruises?

  Hawke peers at me with a deep frown on his beautiful face before nodding sharply.

  "Very well. Mace, take Natalia back to the kitchen for breakfast. I need a word with Arsen." His tone brooks no arguments, and I feel my eyes widen even further.

  Shit, is that even possible?

  How the hell have I managed to end up here, in a church with five—five!—men who I’m at least eighty percent sure are not real priests? The fifth man of cloth standing beside Colt, lazily spinning a heavy looking handgun on his finger, has to be Weston.

  He’s just as delicious as the other four … how is that even humanly possible?

  Tall and broad-shouldered, his almond shaped eyes hint at an Asian heritage, while his bronze tan suggests something more exotic. His coffee-brown gaze is heavy on me, and my insides seem to liquefy.

  "Come on," Mace says in his deep, quiet voice as he takes my elbow in one of his massive hands and leads me past the other four "priests" and back to the kitchen.

  "Mace …" I start to say, but he shakes his head, holding out a chair for me to sit in at the table.

  "Pancakes?" he offers, removing the smoking pan from the stovetop and dumping it in the sink. "That fucking unstable dick cooked quite a few before he, uh …" he trails off with a small, apologetic shrug, and places a huge stack of pancakes down on the table.

  "They might be a bit cold now, but—" Mace starts to say, sitting opposite me, but is cut off by loud yelling in the hallway.

  "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Hawke!" Arsen yells, and Hawke replies something too quiet for me to make out. There’s a pause, and then Arsen, I assume, barks a laugh.

  "She's not as dumb as you think, Boss. I'm pretty sure she's figured out the whole fake-priest thing by now." He's making no attempt to keep his voice down, so I make no attempt to pretend I can't hear him and arch a brow at Mace.

  "Ah," he hedges, "you should eat some of those. You're too thin."

  "So you're not priests?" I ask aloud, “I thought maybe you were just, I don’t know, bad priests?” Chills trace down my spine as Mace turns a dark, heady gaze on me. The look he casts my way is almost … pitying? That's not good, right?

  Arsen storms into the room, a fury of ink and muscles and male smugness that makes my stomach clench tight. Oh God. He yanks a chair out from the table, spins it around, and flops into it. Crossing his arms on the back, he leans his chin against it and stares at me.

  "You are so fucking lucky you stumbled into this mess."

  "This mess?" I ask as Arsen reaches out and takes the plate of pancakes, slapping several on my plate and then tossing it onto the table in front of me. The plate shivers for a moment before settling, and I raise an eyebrow.

  "Leave her alone," Hawke says, moving into the room … dressed in Kevlar? Why is he wearing Kevlar and black cargo pants and … and so many guns? So, so, so many fucking guns. Holy shit. "It's not too late, Arsen, so keep your goddamn mouth shut."

  "We're not priests at all and you know it, I know it, but the problem is, nobody else can know it." Arsen ignores what’s clearly an order, continuing to stare at me as he speaks. Hawke pauses next to him and leans down, nostrils flaring.

  "I will knock you out if necessary," he growls, but the golden-haired psycho in front of him just twitches his lips into a crazy smile as his gaze slides off me and meets Hawke’s.

  "I could kill you if I wanted," Arsen tells him with a casual air which totally freaks me the fuck out because, like, who says something like that to their friend? "It's only out of respect that I don't."

  "Let the girl make her own choice," Hawke snarls, standing back up and staring at me across the suddenly heated space. There's so much testosterone and violence in the room that I feel like I'm choking on it. "I can take her to the nunnery right now. It’s not too late."

  "Get ye to a nunnery," Colt quotes, coming into the room dressed in his priest robes and chuckling under his breaths. "That's from a Shakespeare play except, like, it doesn't mean nunnery. It means brothel. Like, he's literally telling the chick to go to a whorehouse. Messed up, right?"

  "Shut the fuck up!" Hawke roars and everyone goes quiet.

  Wow.

  Guess we know who the leader is here.

  The fifth man, Weston, walks into the room, also dressed in some sort of religious uniform. Now that he’s out of the dim corrido
r, I can see his hair is streaked with a brilliant emerald green color. He's got piercings on either side of his lip and in his eyebrow, and he doesn't look a goddamn thing like a man of the cloth.

  "Bro, take your piercings out," Colt whispers, tapping the side of his mouth.

  I'm so confused at that point that all I can do is sit there and gawp.

  "Natalia. Do you want me to take you to the nunnery?" Hawke repeats, and I slowly, carefully, tear my eyes from him to look over at leader of the group. I sense an or lying in wait there, so I sit still and watch him, the scent of pancakes wafting around me. "Or do you want … something else?"

  "Something else?" I choke out as Arsen grins, like a shark. "What do you mean, something else?"

  "We know who you are," Arsen whispers, almost hisses. "We know who your father is and all the naughty things your family is responsible for."

  In an instant, I'm up and backing away from five monstrous men with muscles that are too big, and tattoos, and angry facial expressions. Good God, and I'm standing here in a t-shirt with no underwear.

  "How?" I whisper, horrified, and Arsen smiles that shark smile again.

  "We're hunting him, that's how, and then here you are, falling, almost literally, into our laps."

  "Arsen," Hawke warns, moving around him to take a few steps closer to me. Colt and Weston exchange glances as Mace sighs and leans his ass against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Listen, Natalia," he starts as I look for a way out.

  Just a few feet away from me is a back door. There are a few boxes stacked in front of it, like it hasn't been used for a while. Without waiting to hear what Hawke's going to say, I lunge for it, turning the deadbolt and the handle at the same time.

  The door opens inward, pushing the boxes out of the way, and I stumble forward, hitting the screen at about the same time Hawke wraps an arm around my waist and yanks me back, my shirt rising up and flashing … everything.

  To an old lady standing outside on the lawn in a big, floppy white hat.

  "Mrs. Carroll," Hawke says, setting me down suddenly and grabbing the hem of my shirt. He jerks it back into place and covers up all my lady bits.

  "Father Dell used to … set a box outside this door to collect donations for the homeless," the woman says, staring, not at the giant man in the body armor and guns, but at me. Me!

  I try to move, but Hawke tightens his grip, the muscles in his arm bulging and tensing like steel. I can hardly even breathe. But having that big, solid form behind me is exhilarating. Hawke smells like leather and musk and man.

  "Yes, well, that's an excellent idea," he grumbles as I stand there like the typical mob-daughter that I am. Here is a person, unconnected to all of this shit, and I’m not screaming or calling out for help. Because back home, all that would do is get the old woman killed.

  That's what my father would've done, and what if these men are worse?

  "We'll look into that," he continues, reaching past me with a big hand, and slamming the door closed in the old woman's face.

  "Your cover is fucked," I breathe, but Hawke just grunts and lets go of me, before putting his hands on my shoulders and spinning me around to face him. His eyes bore into mine as I swallow past the lump in my throat. I look up, up, up at him and wonder if this is the moment where it all ends. "So, are you going to kill me now?"

  Strangely, this idea doesn’t fill me with the fear it once would have. Maybe because I know death here, by a bullet in the brain, will be far more merciful than anything my father would do to me now.

  "Kill you?" Hawke asks with a long exhale. "Not exactly."

  He steps back and gives me a look, propping his hands on his hips.

  "Not … exactly?" I choke out as our gazes meet and a hot thrill takes over my body.

  "You have two choices, Natalia: let us take you to the nunnery or stay here."

  "And if you do go to the nunnery," Arsen says, grinning maniacally, "you best be careful. We have agents there, too. And they'll be watching."

  "Agents?" I echo as Hawke looks me straight in the face.

  "If you stay here, you also have two choices," Hawke continues. "Wait us out until we finish what we came here to do or let me teach you."

  "Teach me?" I ask as Hawke sucks in a breath.

  "Dude, are you serious?" Colt exclaims, storming over to us and looking between me and Hawke like he's crazy. "Just let her go, man! She doesn’t need to get dragged into this.”

  "I can't let her go!' Hawke roars, and my skin erupts in goose bumps. "I can't let her go now."

  "She doesn't know anything," Colt says, sounding exasperated. "Let her walk, man."

  "She knows enough," Hawke says with a sigh. "And she's Konstantin’s daughter. I can't let her go." He stares at me, and I imagine that in a different scenario, hearing those words—I can't let her go—would be a breathtaking experience. “I won’t. Not while she can still threaten our mission.”

  "So, my choices are go to the nunnery or … you really are going to kill me?"

  "You can stay here until we're finished with our mission. And then we'll let you go. But, if you stay, consider signing on with us. After that life you've led, you'd be a perfect candidate."

  "This is ridiculous!" Colt shouts, throwing up his hands and pacing a short, wild rut in the floor. "You can't hire her."

  "She's perfect," Arsen says, slinking up behind Hawke and taking a seat on the edge of the table. "With all the shit she must know."

  "I'm willing to hire you to be a part of my team," Hawke says, "but you'll have to be willing to work."

  "Work for what?" I ask, and he gives me a tight smile.

  "If you joined our team, your life would change forever. I'll give you a rundown, and if you think you're up for it then we'd love to have you." Hawke arches a brow at me like it’s a challenge.

  I love a challenge.

  "Hear that?" Arsen smirks and throws me a wink. "We'd love to have you."

  Blinking at the group of men in front of me, I have a bad, bad feeling about this.

  Chapter 3

  HAWKE

  I'm probably making a huge mistake with this girl.

  Colossal.

  But there’s no way I’m backing down now.

  "You think with your dick too often, Hawke," Weston drawls, sitting at the table and tapping his fingers rhythmically against the wood.

  "Nah," Arsen sneers, slamming a mug of coffee down, "he thinks with his heart, aww." Arsen taps his palm against his chest, and it takes everything I have inside of me not to lift up my gun and shoot him in the face. The only reason I keep him around is because I figure I either have to kill him or keep an eye on him. He's too crazy to be set free on the world.

  "She didn't know enough for us to be concerned," Mace grumbles, running his fingers through his hair. "Not until you idiots started blabbering at her. She just figured we were really shitty priests."

  "She's Konstantin’s fucking daughter," Arsen scoffs with another scowl. “The second we found out who she was, we should've tied her up and sent him a ransom video. But letting her join the team? Hmm. Yeah, I’m down with that. We can fuck the information out of her before the week is out, everything we need to know about Konstantin and his connections, his habits, the nitty-gritty of his personal life. Easy."

  "You aren't going to fuck it out of her," I say with a scowl, and Arsen grins like a shark.

  "Really? Because she was about to get naked in the bathroom before you started shouting at me. And did you see the way she was looking at us in the kitchen? That girl was more than willing for any one of us. But I call dibs on first taste."

  "You're sick," I growl at him, grabbing my own coffee and chugging a mouthful.

  "Really?" Arsen asks with heavy sarcasm, canting his head to one side. "The numerous medical diagnoses I've received gave me no clue."

  Sighing, I rub at my forehead. Maybe I should just kill the fucker and be done with it. Sure would make my life a whole hell of a lot easier. Higher-
ups wouldn’t question me on it either. Hell, I might even get a promotion for it.

  "Look, here's what we're going to do. Clearly I don't have the authority to recruit for a permanent position within our company, but she doesn't know that. For now, let's give her some on the job training and use her as an asset to take her family down. You can all agree that she could be our ace in the hole." I look around at my team for their reactions.

  “I’d like to be the ace in her hole,” Colt snickers and exchanges a high five with Weston.

  The two of them look like they always do: playful, mischievous, and curious. They're on my side, for sure. Mace looks concerned, but I know he’ll agree in order to keep Natalia safe. The big lug has already taken a shining to her after she cried, naked in his lap. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

  Arsen is my only wild card. Always fucking Arsen. He’s been a thorn in my side for too damn long, and it’s wearing thin on my patience.

  Without really noticing what I'm doing, my thumb strokes over one of the guns strapped to my waist.

  "You don't have the balls," Arsen taunts, holding my gaze and correctly interpreting my thoughts. Of course he does. If anyone thinks more about killing people than myself and the rest of the team, it’s this psychotic fucker.

  "One of these days, Arsen," I promise him in a deathly quiet voice, "you'll push me far enough."

  "But that day ain't today, padre." He grins a shit-eating grin that makes me want to plow a fist into his face.

  Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I look around at the room. "All in favor of training Natalia?"

  Weston coughs a laugh and gives me a sly smirk. "Training Natalia? Or training her? Big difference we're talking about here, boss."

  Both.

  My dick twitches in my pants at the thought of tying that beautiful mess down and having my way with her. She’d make the perfect sexual submissive, with a little encouragement.

  "Training her to stay alive and help us take down the most ruthless mob family in this state, Weston," I growl at him, even though my mind is already wandering deep into a daydream of training that lush piece of ass.