Mr. Sin: Book One of the Sin Series
Mr. Sin: Chapter 6

“V

incent, quit sulking.”

I glance over at my dad before focusing my attention back out the window. I want to tell him how dumb and boring these stupid lunches are, but I know that’ll just get me into more trouble. Why couldn’t I just have gone over to Angelo’s house. We could be playing his Nintendo right now. And his mom lets us drink as much pop as we want. I grit my teeth. Instead, I’m going to be stuck drinking gross water with lemon and eating something equally lame.

I use the toe of my shoe to kick at the bottom of the driver’s seat in front of me. It’s childish, but the driver, Henry, won’t rat me out. And dad’s already back deep in conversation with his bodyguard, so he doesn’t notice.

I know I’m being a little shit. I just can’t help it. I have no interest in taking over Dad’s businesses when I’m older. I want to be a pilot. Travel the world. Not spend my days in stuffy meetings or fancy restaurants with a bunch of old men.

The car slows as Henry pulls to a stop in front of the valet at Dad’s favorite restaurant.

I fold my arms over my chest as the bodyguard gets out of the passenger seat and my dad opens his door.

“Vincent, get out of the car,” Dad snaps before climbing out and slamming his door, cutting off my reply.

I roll my eyes and take my time unbuckling my seatbelt. Grumbling to myself about how unfair this is, I reach for the door handle. But when I tug, the door doesn’t open. Henry must have forgotten to take the child lock off my door. That makes me even madder. I’m not a fucking child anymore. I’m 12 years old. Practically a man.

I open my mouth to smart off to Henry when movement across the street catches my attention.

Two men are climbing out of a van that’s parked in a loading zone. They have long black jackets on, and as they cross the street, they pull down on the front of their winter hats until the black material covers their faces. Only their eyes are showing, and it makes them look scary.

My heart rate picks up. This isn’t good. Something is wrong.

Both men reach inside their jackets and when their hands come back up, they’re holding guns.

They walk right into the street, stepping in front of cars. Then in unison, the guns raise. And they’re pointed right at my dad.

My dad’s still standing next to our car, talking with his bodyguard. Neither of them see the danger approaching. The car is between dad and the scary men, but they’re getting closer.

I pull on the handle. I need to get out. I need to warn my dad.

The door still doesn’t open.

“Dad!” I scream.

He doesn’t hear me. My eyes bounce back and forth between my dad and the gunmen.

“Dad!” I scream again.

Henry asks me what’s wrong, he apparently hasn’t seen the bad guys, but there’s no time to explain.

I start to scramble across the seat. I can get out using my dad’s door. But that’s when the gunfire starts.

It doesn’t sound like the movies. It’s louder. Harsher. The bangs seem impossibly close.

The rear window breaks into a million pieces, showering me in glass.

I open my mouth to scream for my dad…

30 years. 30 fucking years of this dream. This memory. And I always wake up at the same exact spot. A second before I witness a bullet slamming into my father’s chest. Two seconds before I curl up on the floor in the backseat of the family car. Five seconds before Henry slumps over the steering wheel, blood dripping down what’s left of the windshield.

At least with all these years of practice, I no longer wake on a scream. Instead, I wake on a deep exhale. The pain is less now and the dream itself has become rare. But when it decides to appear in the dark of night, it still claws at my throat. Fuck.

I take a deep inhale and breathe in the scent of her. Sasha. Talk about a mind fuck. One night. Just a few hours. And she’s already seeped into the cracks of my soul. I don’t know what it is exactly about that woman, but I’m drawn to her. It could be her beauty. Her shiny chestnut hair that I want wrapped around my fist. Her mouthwatering curves. Her blushing cheeks. Her pouty lips. It could be her bravado. Her backbone. Her clever wit. Most likely, it’s all of those things combined into one delectable package. But whatever it is, I want more.

The second I spotted her downstairs I knew I had to approach her. I tried to hold off, to mind my own fucking business. But then I watched, caught off guard, as that fuckwit accosted her. The second he grabbed her; I was on my feet. I don’t put up with shit like that. Not ever. And definitely not with a woman who’s mine. Who felt like mine.

Rage and I are old friends, but it’s been awhile since I’ve felt it so completely. It took all my willpower to hold that man still and not rip him apart with my bare hands. I wanted him to pay for his actions. I wanted him to hurt. The only thing keeping me in check was the knowledge that my men would take care of him.

It was cute the way Sasha laughed when I said they would break his arms. Of course, she’d think I was joking. But I’m not really a joking kind of guy. And I sure as fuck wasn’t joking tonight. That man’s lucky he got off so easy. Restraint might be one of the traits I inherited from my father, but so is ruthlessness.

I sigh out another exhale thinking of my father. My parents. Sasha hit a cord earlier when she asked about the women in my life. I don’t talk about them often, and I sure as hell don’t mess around when it comes to their safety. I’m as protective as I am possessive of the women that belong to me. And somehow, Sasha automatically fell into that category. I don’t know how a total stranger could wedge her way so firmly into my psyche, but she did.

It doesn’t matter though. One night is all I get with Sasha, and it’s all I have to give. She’s leaving in the morning, and my exit isn’t far behind. I don’t know where home is for her, and I don’t want to know. I don’t need to be tempted into tracking her down. Stalking is not a hobby I have time for.

But her flight isn’t for a few more hours, and that means I can have her one more time. Twice wasn’t enough. And I can’t leave her with the slow fuck we ended on. It was too intimate. Too personal. Too much like making love. If I’m going to get Sasha off my mind, I need to have her one more time. And it needs to be fast. Intense. I need to burn her essence out of my system.

Just thinking about it has me hardening. I’m not a college kid anymore. I don’t even remember the last time I fucked three times in one night. But I don’t plan to forget tonight. I’m going to sear this memory into my brain. Savor it for my nights alone. Sasha’s so responsive. It’s like her body was made to fit perfectly with mine. She’s a fucking siren and I’d willingly wade into the darkest waters for one more touch.

Rolling over I reach out for my Sasha. My sweetheart. My temptation.

When my hand lands on empty bedding, my eyes open and I scan the room. Empty. I stay still, listening for a moment. Hoping that she’s still here. But all I’m met with is silence.

She’s gone. I’m alone.

My hands curl into fists. I knew I only had one night with her. I knew she’d be leaving. I accepted that. But she cut our time short. She left before she was supposed to.

Sasha stole that from us. She stole that from me. And she did it without saying a word.