Sin Read online

  Summary:

  I am both heaven and hell. Sin and pleasure.

  The Devil she never sees coming…

  Everyone knows that Malcolm Asher owns Chicago. Nothing—not a single move is made in my city without my authorization. I’m ruthless. Conniving. Worshipped by those around me, and yet, it means nothing the moment my eyes meet hers…

  Clear blue and innocent, the delicate doll on this stage holds me captive against my will. She’s decadence personified—a corruptible angel I want to own.

  I’m hard for her. Starving for a taste. Eager for her to feel me.

  This little girl has no idea of the danger she’s in within my presence. How I will make her crave the darkness I control.

  How I will make her…Mine.

  SIN written by Elena M. Reyes

  Copyright 2019© Elena M. Reyes

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.

  Cover design by: Black Widow Designs

  Editor: Marti Lynch

  Publication Date: April 29th 2019

  Genre: FICTION/Romance/Erotica Suspense

  Copyright © 2019 Elena M. Reyes

  All rights reserved.

  Acknowledgements:

  Before we get to the book and its yumminess; I need to thank a few people that I adore:

  C.M. Steele: You push me to be better. To work when all I want to do is be lazy. Thank you for everything. For letting me bounce ideas off you and for getting on my case when I fall behind. You’ve become such an amazing friend and I love you.

  M. Robinson and Willow Winters: This blurb would’ve taken me a million years to write without your input. Thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedules to help me figure out the mess I had in my head. I admire you both so much.

  K.I. Lynn: My Boo. My wifey. It’s crazy how we met all those years ago and the paths our lives have taken. I know that I can always count on you to be there for me. To stop me from jumping off the ledge or when I threaten to erase over 45,000 words because I’m freaking out. You hold my hand and calm my fears. Thank you, babes. I love you with all my heart.

  Marti Lynch: You have the patience of a saint and I love you! I thought for sure this time you’d kill me, but like always, you calm my fears and work with my crazy schedule. Thank you. THANK YOU. This book wouldn’t be ready without your amazing work.

  Black Widow Designs: You nailed this cover out of the park. I’m so in love with it and its all thanks to your amazing work. You Slay Me.

  Sansa and Aliana: Thank you so much for jumping in to Beta read for me on a moment’s notice. I appreciate you both so much. I’m blessed to have you in my life as both readers and friends.

  Elena’s Marked Girls: This book is for you. You guys keep me going and always give me a reason to smile. Thank you for everything. For your unconditional support and love. Please know that I love you—that you mean everything to me.

  Tiffany Hernandez: Girl, you came into my life about two weeks ago to be my P.A. and have made your mark. Thank you so much for all the hard work, for keeping me on track, and stepping in without prompting. It’s because of you that I was able to focus all my energy on Sin and get it done on time. You ROCK!

  Hubs and Kiddo: You are my heart. My entire world. Everything I do, I do it for you always.

  Table of contents

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  Epilogue #1

  Epilogue #2

  1

  “MOTHERFUCKING IDIOT,” I hiss out, letting the steel door behind me slam shut. My head is throbbing—muscles coiling—as the urge to break the neck of the piece of shit errand boy my father asked me to hire runs deep. Ire flows like lava through my veins, and I need to get ahold of myself.

  Rash emotions lead to stupid decisions. Errors.

  Like the one I now need to eliminate. It was a mistake, and I know better than to ever mix familial ties with business decisions. Nevertheless, I gave in when asked, and here we fucking are.

  Millions could have been lost. Charges would have been pressed.

  Now, I’m left with no choice but to right a wrong that never should have been.

  The feds are now looking into the Jameson family and its ties to the dealing of stolen weaponry and narcotics. Because of a simple fuckup—something someone heard come out of Michael, a person under my employ, I’m making every tidbit of information on the Jameson account disappear.

  Nothing stays on that file. Not so much as a single cent.

  My IT department is making it as if they never existed. Moreover, in this country, they don’t.

  A few steps inside and the harsh scent of urine and perspiration invades my senses. My nose flares in disgust as I look toward the back—skipping over the three empty cells—and focus on the two near-naked men with their hands tied to a metal pipeline above their heads. Their feet are chained to the ground, limiting their movement.

  They are the cause, and I am the effect.

  Decisions have consequences. Repercussions. Rectifications that will appease the victims of their idiocy.

  One spoke about things he doesn’t understand, while the other tried to bribe the hand that feeds. Demanded that I kneel or else.

  Because of that, tonight, I am their judge, jury, and executioner. The God each one will beg forgiveness to.

  “Good evening.” At the sound of my voice, one of the men looks up and his eyes widen. His bare chest is heaving with each rapid intake of air that does nothing to calm his nerves. Instead, his eyes lock with mine while a whimper leaves his split lip.

  His fear is palpable, and it fails to move me. Motherfucking pathetic.

  You knew better.

  My eyes flicker to the other man and take account of the few bruises already forming on his face. He seems to be muttering a low prayer under his breath, tears running down his cheeks while his eyes look toward the wall past me. Avoiding his reality.

  No begging. No pleading for leniency.

  They’re smarter than I expect. Know better.

  Nothing pisses me off more than someone who can’t accept their fate with dignity.

  “Evening, boss,” everyone answers, a low rumble that reverberates off the walls. Unlike other men in my position, I don’t wait for my clean-up crew to arrive. Instead, they stand at the ready wearing protective gear and white masks. Their faces are bowed, arms behind their backs as I pass them on my way toward the two men who’ve caused me this unnecessary headache.

  “Any problem getting them here?” I ask Javier, the head of my security and right-hand man.

  “None.” He’s watching the two squirm, smirking as he hands me my favorite knife.

/>   “Thank you.” Taking it from his hand, I flick my wrist and admire the sleek blade. This small token came from my father the day I took over. A sharp blade with a solid gold handle—the exact replica of the one he kept inside his desk upstairs when he was the CEO of Asher Holdings. Back when the bank played a smaller part in the underground world of money laundering.

  A phone rings, and Javier is quick to remove it from his pocket. I recognize it, and know it belongs to the gossiping fuck. Both men cease all movement, their eyes on me as I accept the phone from Javi’s outstretched hand.

  I know who it is. I know what he’ll say.

  Pressing the green button, I put the call on speakerphone and wait. Silence looms, and the harsh breathing on the other end comes from a man I still admire. Someone who should’ve taught his son a few lessons early on.

  “What is your decision, Malcolm?” Straight to the point, his tone not showing his true emotions.

  “What do you want it to be?” I toss back, walking slowly over to his son. A son that reeks of fear and his own piss. Who couldn’t keep his mouth shut after I gave him the opportunity to work for me. Work his way up the ranks.

  “Family is the most—”

  At my godfather’s lame attempt, I laugh. It’s harsh and sardonic, causing another scared whimper to leave the men. “Save that sanctimonious drivel for someone who buys it, Henry. We both know it’s bullshit.”

  “Agreed, but he is my only son.” That I can understand. The need for a man to have a male heir, someone to take over. “Spare him and I’ll pay for the damages myself. Buy the forgiveness of your client.”

  “What else?” I take the few remaining steps between myself and Michael, his son. His eyes are on mine, throat bobbing as words fail to escape. True fear has a way of paralyzing people, and their basic motor functions become nonexistent. “Because you’ll be paying me every last cent either way.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Blood.” My reply is automatic, and so is my hand as I lash out, cutting a jagged line down Michael’s forearm. His scream curls around the room—penetrates every square inch and then breaks his father’s heart. At once, my lips stretch into a wide smile as a soothing calmness settles over my limbs.

  Their pain brings peace.

  Beside him, the wannabe blackmailer fights against his bindings. He winces but doesn’t stop moving as the steel around his wrist cuts the skin there. “This is a mistake! Please, I’ll never say another word about—”

  Javier backhands him with the butt of his gun. “Silence.”

  “Malcolm, please. Don’t do this to our family.” Henry’s voice rings through, cutting off the pathetic pleading of his son’s friend. Same low-life punk that thought he could blackmail me. “Discipline them, but don’t kill my son.”

  “I’ve learned my lesson,” Michael adds, face tight with pain. “I’ll do whatever you want...fix this...but please...no more.”

  “Interesting.” Blood flows from the wound, dripping down and onto the concrete floor. It pools near the center—follows the small slope down and into the drain I had the foresight to add into the room’s design when I remodeled the bank. This is the lowest floor, two below what the actual building plans show.

  “Okay.” Once more, I punish him, this time sinking the blade of my knife deep into his thigh. My fingers manipulate the steel tip, twisting it as I tear through muscle. Crimson splatters all over my white shirt, ruining another garment.

  Michael’s sobs turn into a loud scream as I pull the knife from his flesh. He writhes, bowing as he tries to move away from me.

  In the background I hear his father’s outrage, revel in his pleading, but it’s still not enough. I want more.

  More blood. More destruction. More compensation for my time.

  Within my rage, there is also the compulsion to teach this boy a lesson he will never forget. Prevent him from ever doing this again—save his family both the embarrassment and grief.

  “Untie him, Javier, and bring over a chair,” I instruct, taking a few steps forward and over to the other man. A man who’s currently giving in to his panic. That fight or flight response that is coded deep into our DNA. That helps people survive disastrous situations.

  He won’t be as lucky.

  Javi unlocks Michael’s handcuffs and lets him fall to the floor: a crumpled, bleeding mess. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor follows, and it’s loud within this space. Heightens the anxiety.

  “Get up and sit,” Javier instructs, standing over Michael. “Show some appreciation for Mr. Asher’s hospitality.”

  A few men in the room chuckle and I hold a hand up, effectively shutting them up. While Javier’s words are funny, now is not the time to give in to amusement.

  “My leg—”

  “Isn’t broken,” I interrupt, not bothering to look back. “Shut the fuck up and move.”

  “Michael, I swear to Christ! Do as he says,” his father pleads, choking on his own desperation. That parental urge to take care of his offspring. It’s instinctual. A deep-seated need that I can understand—respect—even if it means shit at the end of the day.

  It didn’t change the disaster his son’s stupidity caused.

  Leaving Javier to accommodate our guest, I focus wholly on the other one. “Name?”

  “Please, I…son of a bitch!” he howls, body cringing back as I slice through the back of his right ankle, then his left. It’s a shallow cut. Just the first of many.

  “Name?” I ask once more, the tip of my blade slowly sawing back and forth over the back of each calf—going lower with each cut until the sharp edge slices over the first. Just enough to hurt. For him to slowly begin to drip down all over my floor.

  “I told you my name that day inside your office.” Another lie.

  “This is your second offense. You get one more.”

  “But it’s the truth.” No, it isn’t. His eyes shift downward and a shiver runs through him, giving away his nervousness. Fear.

  Moreover, he has every reason to be scared.

  “Last chance,” I grit out, stretching my neck from side to side while my hand clenches around the golden handle. Adrenaline pulses through my veins—licks at the tips of my fingers as I drive the knife forward and into his stomach. Deep enough that I feel as it tears through flesh. Blood seeps from the wound, but I want more.

  Twisting the blade, I pull it halfway out and take a step back—leave it right where it is below his belly button. “Are you ready to be honest with me now?”

  “I’m telling you…fuck!” he yells out as the heel of my shoe kicks the weapon in deeper. I bury it—lodge it within his stomach where only half the handle is left visible.

  Michael shifts in his chair, trying to stand, pulling my attention back to him. “Please stop.”

  “Why should I?” Another strike; this time I land a punch to the right side of his friend’s ribs. He cries out a curse, body trying to fold into itself. It’s a mistake, one that causes him to freeze when the pain magnifies.

  “Please stop. I’m not lying.”

  “Boss, we’re so sorry. It was a huge—”

  Michael’s word die as Javier places a gun to his temple. “Placing a bullet in you will be a pleasure, one that my boss won’t begrudge me for. Keep testing his patience.”

  “Michael, please, son, stay quiet!”

  With a smirk, I nod at Javi and watch with pleasure as he pistol-whips the idiot across the face, breaking his nose in the process. “Listen to your father, Michael.”

  “No more,” he says, his tone tinged with pain. Regret.

  I can almost taste his acceptance. Can see the glimpse of resolve in his eyes.

  “That’s up to you. If you sit there silently, things will progress without further incident. Talk, and…” I trail off as Javier lands a second direct hit, and a gash opens over the bridge of his nose. Rivulets of red pour down his face and neck, staining his chest with his life’s essence. “Understood?”

&n
bsp; With his right eye beginning to swell, Michael nods and looks back at the piece of shit still strung up. At the man who befriended him with one goal in mind: getting to me.

  He’s finally understanding that someone needs to pay, and it’s either him or…

  Grabbing the end of the knife, I pull out the handle, leaving the blade inside. At once he screams, the anguished sound rending the air as I slide it up his flesh.

  More blood seeps from the wound; my hands are soaked. “Lying to me was your biggest mistake.” His pain is not enough. Another inch up, and I stop. “You’re second was not being smart enough to hide your tracks.”

  At this his eyes widen, lips parting to deny what we both know to be the truth, but I shake my head. Moreover, the idiot listens for once and closes his pale lips.

  “Your name is Phillip Mitchell…” the knife slices upward a bit more and he strains to move away from me “…and you take on certain jobs for the head of EMB Financial Group. The same man I turned down three weeks ago, when he asked that we merge a certain department—the one you demanded twenty million dollars for in exchange for your silence.”

  I pause and look down, admiring the clean line that starts below his belly button and stops at the center of his abdomen. It’s deep, but not enough to kill him yet, although the internal damage is done.

  His life’s essence is slowly bathing my floor with each drop that splashes below.

  “End me already,” Phillip groans, head lolling forward from the loss of blood. He’s dying.

  “Not until you tell me why Jonathan sent you.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Then who?” Because we both know he isn’t working for himself. Phillip is nothing more than a low-level soldier—a follower—and this entire bullshit scheme didn’t come from his simpleton mind.

  I’ve read his rap sheet. Know where he lives and whom he associates himself with, and none have a position of wealth or power in Chicago. They’re nothing more than thugs and “wannabe” gangsters that admire TV crime lords and wish to live a life of infamy.