Tempted by a Sinner
A.G. Henderson
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual places, events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All persons in this story are 18 or older.
Contents
Tempted by a Sinner
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Connect with Me
She was a craving I couldn’t shake…
Naomi
Famous last words: I have a plan.
Start my business. Stay out of trouble. Keep my secrets.
But nothing in all my careful planning accounted for him.
A dangerous biker.
A stalwart protector.
A valiant knight clad in leather instead of armor.
So yeah, I had a plan.
Except trouble didn't bother knocking on the door.
Trouble strode straight into my life on a cloud of sweet temptation that made me forget why this was a bad idea.
Tone
The new girl in town should be none of my business, especially with the giant chip on her shoulder.
I already have a purpose.
I should be dealing with the club’s latest enemies. Fulfilling a promise I made years ago.
Not extracting her smiles.
Not savoring her laughter.
Not marking her body as mine.
But I am a Sinner, after all.
And temptation has never looked this good.
Chapter One
Naomi
“Are you sure you’ve got everything you need?” My brother asked for what had to be the tenth time in the last half hour.
I’d started ignoring him after the sixth. No one could ever say Lawson Ives wasn’t persistent as an eye twitch you couldn’t quite get rid of. One that gave you a brief respite, just long enough to catch your breath and celebrate the victory before it came back again with a vengeance.
And...three...two...one...
“Don’t be a brat,” he said, voice dropping to a low, irritated rumble I knew so well. So, so well. I’d heard that I’m-annoyed-with-you tone at least once a week for the last twenty-five years of my life, and that was a stingy figure.
I'd heard it when I was nine and he was twelve, after throwing a fit of epic proportions to stay on the beach we were visiting for summer vacation. Who in their right mind wouldn't want to spend as long as they could smelling ocean salt and feeling coarse sand between their toes? Lawson, that was who. And because he hadn't applied enough sunscreen, he blamed me for the burn on his nose and shoulders dad had enjoyed poking at for the rest of the week.
I'd heard it at fourteen, when my boobs finally started showing themselves and his dumb, stinky friends had acted all weird whenever they came over the house. What was I supposed to do? Wrap myself in parkas year-round because they suddenly saw me as more than his baby sister? If he hadn't wanted to end up punching Grady in the face, he shouldn't have become buddies with such a handsy jerk.
I'd heard it at nineteen, when he caught me turned upside down over a keg at a house party. To be fair, that was one of the instances where I deserved being the focus of his aggravation. I was acting like an ungrateful brat, drinking in excess when I had no business drinking at all, given my condition. And then practically rubbing his face in it.
Our fairly predictable saga continued day after day. Year after year. The older we got, the worse it became. He hovered, overprotective and way too demanding. I would endure, until the need to break out of my cage grew too great.
Then I would rebel, some mixture of grief and impatience and sick of this shit pushing me to make bad decisions in the name of freedom.
At least until twenty came along, and I was forced to stare in the face of what consequences could come from my actions.
“Go right on ahead and keep pretending you don't hear me,” he dared. “You won't be going anywhere.”
I stopped pretending to pack my third suitcase—or was this the fourth?—and turned to face him. Law was doing what was probably his second favorite thing behind winning a case: hovering.
He stood in the doorway of my room in our parents’ house, arms folded over his blue-polo encased chest, a familiar pinch between his dark brows. It was familiar because it seemed to be there any time he looked at me these days.
No matter what other expression was on his face, when I walked into a room his lips thinned to a mulish line, his hazel eyes—so like my own—narrowed the tiniest fraction, and his forehead folded in on itself, settling into lines that no longer vanished when his features managed to relax.
I tossed my hands in the air, letting them fall against my thighs with a quiet slap. “I have everything,” I said, not hiding my irritation. “There. You happy? Go find somewhere else to linger, dude. It's getting on my nerves.”
Law crossed his legs at the ankles, khaki pants moving against each other with a soft sigh of fabric that I could only hear because the rest of the house was so quiet. If I listened closely, I could barely make out the distant sounds of the TV downstairs. Since I knew how much Dad hated subtitles, I was sure he'd turned it down so he could eavesdrop on us.
That was fine. Whatever. It wasn't stifling in the least to be around two people who were incapable of hearing me sneeze without wanting to rush me to a hospital and hook me up to machines. Again.
Nope. I wasn't salty about it. Not me.
It wasn't the entire reason I was in a hurry to get out of Raleigh, North Carolina as fast as my feet, and car, could take me.
Nah. I loved being smothered. Totally.
“License?” he asked, moving further into the room.
Don't be bitchy. Cooperate and get out. You're so close.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, fighting the dramatic eye roll I wanted to grace him with. “Purse,” I said instead, pointing at the green clutch on the bed beside my other luggage. I smiled at the sight of it.
How long had it been since I was able to leave the house only carrying something small enough for a few necessities? I knew all the bottles and supplies and monitors I carried were stashed inside the duffel bag instead, but the illusion was nice enough for me to hold onto the lie.
In said illusion, I had my shit together.
I was capable instead of frail.
Normal instead of different.
Healthy instead of...not.
“Prescriptions?” he continued, oblivious to how his incessan
t questions were a pick to the thin shelf of ice my carefully crafted lie rested on top of.
“Topped off.” I grabbed another jacket from my nearly empty closet and tossed it on the heap of clothes I hadn't sealed yet. I probably didn't need it. By January, winters in my hometown were bearable, and I was only going a few hours away. I could come back for whatever I needed in a single day. Although I wasn't planning on coming back for a long, long while. “And before you ask, I've already had all the information transferred to the local pharmacy. They'll have everything I need before I need it.”
Law rolled his lips from side to side. He was stalling. I loved it and hated it.
In a hidden corner of my mind, I could admit I was going to miss him. Badly. I hadn't even stepped outside, and yet the thought of not being able to wake up and walk right down the hall to see his stupid face made my throat close.
But I had to go.
I had to. My reasons were mostly selfish, but some of them weren't.
I had to leave, or he never would. He would stay in this house he hated, around a man he no longer knew how to have conversations with, all in the name of watching out for a sister who was breaking beneath the weight of his concern.
“Passport?”
I snorted and a small smile broke through his you'll-be-the-death-of-me stare. “I'm not going out of the county, Law. You know exactly where I'll be.” I turned away from him and zipped my last bag, strengthening my resolve while I could. “I wouldn't have even known about that town if not for you.”
“Don't remind me,” he groaned. “I never would've brought it up if I'd thought there would be a chance in hell you would open your business there.” The last word was venom dripping from his mouth. Which was pretty funny, considering the same clients who kept him filthy rich lived there.
I took one last look around the room that had been mine since childhood. The antique white walls had been stripped of posters and picture frames, leaving the holes from tacks and nails alike plainly visible. Most of them were coming with me, an effort to make a home of my new home. Only one painting was staying, the one hanging directly over my bed. The one I saw each time I opened my eyes in the morning and heard her voice whispered in my ear.
It was no great masterpiece. She hadn't painted for fame or fortune. She'd done it because she enjoyed it. I could close my eyes and see the green landscape, the orange sky and gray clouds, the yellow sun lifting into view.
The sun will always rise on a new day.
When my focus returned to my brother, he was resigned. He pinned me with a lingering look, eyes tracing across my features. Looking for a chance I could be talked out of this, maybe?
His lips thinned more, and he nodded. “I'll start taking your bags out.” He brushed by me and grabbed two suitcases easily, throwing one over his shoulder before picking up my duffel bag. “Is the car unlocked?”
“Yeah,” I answered softly. He briefly paused at the threshold, back tight, posture rigid. Then he disappeared out into the hall and down the stairs, one creaking footstep at a time. I grabbed my last piece of luggage and took a deep breath before following him down.
This is it, I steeled myself, ignoring the flutter in my stomach that only worsened with each step.
It didn't take as long as I might've hoped to reach the living room. I fidgeted nervously, tucking stray, black curls back into the bun they'd slipped from. Another face I knew well—so, so well—turned from facing the television screen. Gray-blue eyes focused on me, a slight grin on thin lips.
Still pretending.
The grin was a lie so well worn it barely even upset me anymore. That's what happened after you swallowed a false truth for five years straight. But this was routine for us.
Dad smiled, lying that he was okay.
Despite the weight loss.
Despite the drinking.
Despite the fact he barely left the house anymore.
And I lied back.
Despite the pang in my chest.
Despite my concern.
Despite how much I missed when we could still talk to each other without there having to be a reason for it.
“About that time, kiddo.” His formerly blonde hair was closer to the color of wheat, but still just as full as it had always been. He had to get some momentum going to rock up and out of his recliner, but once he did, he wasted no time before spreading his arms wide.
I filled those arms without delay, inhaling the musky aftershave he always used. My body tried to tremble when he pulled me closer, but I fought it off, shifting from foot to foot.
Almost there. Stay on the path.
I pulled back slightly, keeping my arms around his midsection so I could smile up at a tanned, weathered face. “Don't get into trouble, old man. I'm charging you for gas money if I have to come back up here because you aren't doing what you're supposed to.”
His low chuckle was forced, the squinty eyes he set on me not so much. “Don't think you're too old for me to go get my belt. The only smart thing I want to hear coming from your mouth is that you're going to be safe, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I promised easily enough. I wasn't leaving because I wanted danger or thrills. I was leaving because I wanted to live.
I wanted—needed—to prove to myself I could make it on my own. Even if starting that journey meant accepting a little bit of help from an account I'd flat out refused to touch when it was first set up for me.
We stepped away from each other. The floorboards shifted and creaked again behind me. Dad's eyes drifted over my shoulder towards Law, and the two said nothing to each other. The air quickly grew so stale I wondered how I managed to breathe it for as long as I had.
Foot tapping inside my boots, I raised a hand, snagging Dad's attention. “I'll call,” I told him once he was looking at me.
God, how had this become our life?
Me awkwardly waving goodbye to the man who had worked himself to the bone making sure I had everything I needed.
Law and Dad existing in the same space but speaking more in grunts than actual words.
A once-happy family reduced to tiptoeing around each other, our only adhesive their shared worry for anything related to me.
Mom would've been disappointed in all of us. But I kept that sentiment to myself.
She was the open wound on each of our hearts. Time had sloppily stitched it together, but it had never closed. And any mention of her would only rip those temporary stitches from their place.
“You better,” said Dad. “If you look up and need a dang toothbrush, I want to hear about it. And make sure you show those rascals who the boss is.”
No matter what else was going on, Dad using the word rascals would never fail to bring a smile to my face.
I was out the door in the next beat, breath fogging in the chilly air, Law trailing on my heels. The sight of my used Honda Civic greeted me, loaded up with everything I would need. Satisfaction had me breathing easier. I was so close now I could almost taste it.
“You're sure there's no place else you want to open up instead?”
My hand was already on the driver's side door, fingers closing around the cool metal when I stopped. Turned. Gave Law the popped eyebrow and are-you-serious look his question deserved. “The shop is all but open and I'm the only thing missing. You know this. I didn’t run myself ragged over the last few months to quit now.” I glanced up and down the sleepy street, glad our neighbors weren’t outside to involve themselves so early in the morning. “Don’t ask me to quit now.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. “Even if I asked, you wouldn’t listen, would you?”
I shook my head in answer.
He hung his head, staring intently at the faded cement walkway beneath his feet. “Why do you always have to be so goddamn stubborn?” The quiet curse surprised me, earning him a wide-eyed blink. I hadn’t heard him swear since the day they lowered her casket in the ground. His head lifted, annoyance shifting closer to anger. “If y
ou wanted to prove a point, you could’ve done so close by. There are a hundred spots in this city I could’ve gotten you in with a single email. A thousand more would’ve gladly let you use their space if I made a single phone call. There’s-”
“Stop,” I whispered, tugging on the sleeve of my sweater. He didn’t miss the motion or the nerves it contained. I was sure if his lips pressed together any harder, they were going to disappear completely. “Do you even hear yourself right now? Don’t you realize this is exactly why I’m doing this?”
He stomped closer to me and I stood my ground. “Why? Because I care?” he demanded, a red flush creeping up his neck. “Because I don’t want you three hours away from your support network?”
“Lynn is there,” I tried, playing the best friend card. Hoping to not make this worse than it already was. My mistake.
“Lynn is not me,” he whispered angrily, fists clenching. My heart was already in my stomach, burning uncomfortably. The measured breath he then took and the forced calm to his next words made the pain worse instead of better. “Is it so wrong that I want to take care of my baby sister? Should I apologize for making a promise to always make sure you were safe?”
I had to reach to put my hands on his shoulders, but I did. He tried to loosen his body at my touch, but the tension was apparent. I felt it. He knew I felt it, and how I felt about it. He was too young to carry so much on his shoulders.
And while he would never admit that the load was heavy and that he was so, so tired of carrying it with him everywhere he went, I knew that too.
It was more than intuition. He was my brother. My flesh and blood.
He was the same guy who had carried me home on his back when we went too deep in the woods when we were younger.
He was the same guy who had kept a roof over our heads after Dad gave up doing anything other than existing.
He was also the same guy who had put his bigger dreams and ambitions of being the greatest defense attorney the country had ever seen on hold. Who had let opportunity after opportunity slip away from him. Lawson was a big fish in a pond grown so small it could barely fit him anymore. But he hadn’t left for deeper waters or greater challenges.
Tempted by a Sinner (Seven Sinners Book 4) Page 1