PART ONE
WHEN YOU'RE IN HELL, JUST KEEP GOING.
CHAPTER 1
Ask any priest, rabbi, minister, or pastor, and they will probably say lying is a sin. Consult Dante's Inferno, and liars got banished to the eighth ring of hell. Technically, even the ninth commandment mentioned not bearing false witness against one's neighbor. However, it was unlikely any of those characters had ever been in Roan’s predicament where their ex-Navy SEAL best friend almost walked in on him having sex with aforementioned best friend’s little sister.
Said very adult little sister was currently hiding (mostly naked) in Roan’s study because the sixth commandment explicitly forbade murder.
Tristan, aka Tank, Saint-Claire knew a hundred ways to kill someone with his bare hands and probably another thousand more using regular household items.
Dr. Roan Marin had been in tight situations before, but not many were closer than trying to throw Tank off the trail of why there was a pink mitten stuck on Roan's jacket.
Walking past the kitchen counter to the sliding glass backdoor, Tank picked up the offending pink mitten.
“Where is she?”
“Not here.” Roan excused the lie, as Clarissa wasn’t technically in the kitchen with them at that particular moment. Though her shadow was looming plenty large, and he'd need to play it beyond cool. Tank's chosen post-Navy retirement job was bounty hunting, and when he got the scent of his prey, he was relentless.
Fortunately, Roan was the MetroGen Hospital Chief of Anesthesia and made it a career of keeping his cool while surgeries went haywire.
“Then why is this mitten wet?” Tank clearly wasn't buying what Roan was selling. Which meant he'd better sell harder.
“She forgot it here, and I was going to return it to her next time I see her at the hospital.”
A great not lie. Thousands of people worked at MetroGen Hospital. Not just second-year pediatric residents who were related to Tank.
“Huh,” Tank said, peering out the door to the back yard. “Were you playing in the snow? Are those snow cocks?”
Clarissa had tried to build Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, only to end up giving off a phallic Stonehenge vibe.
“Yeah, she gave me shit about being from Florida and never touching snow. I was... building that to send her a photo with the mitten on it.” Roan invented rapidly, telling enough truth to cover the half-truths. Clarissa had taught him to make snow angels and extolled the virtues of Frosty the Snowman. He'd also learned she was into photography, so it would be conceivable he could snap a photo for her.
“Creative dick pics. Weird yet kinky.” Tank dropped the telltale mitten on the floor next to Roan's black winter coat. “Does this mean she's kinky as fuck? How's the pussy?”
Another question the authors of the 'lying is a sin' group had not considered. What reality did they live in if he was supposed to answer Tank truthfully about how his little sister was between the sheets?
There was no diplomatic or safe way to explain the Clarissa-Roan sexual dynamic. They had a solid dirty daddy-innocent virgin dom-sub vibe in their regular games. Clarissa was into being ordered to serve and service him. She did it with such enthusiasm and inventiveness, Roan was near obsessed with keeping her under him.
Telling Tank that Roan'd unknowingly taken her virginity last June would not be comforting. Especially since he had de-virginized each and every one of her holes in that single night.
Yeah, bestie, I taught your sister anal after I pounded her sweet, sweet pussy. Never had one better in my life, and you have no idea how phenomenal it feels to take her bareback.
A road leading directly to homicide.
“It's solid.”
An understatement less likely to get him struck by a bolt of lightning.
“Bullshit. Our intelligence operation needs a definition of 'solid.' It's forgivably okay cause she's hotter than hell? Pretty good making it worthwhile, but you'll train her up? Or damn near perfect since she's just as good as that nasty kinky chick last summer who ghosted on you?”
Again, also Tank's sister.
When Roan had met her at a bar in June, he'd thought she was the woman he'd been talking to online. After Clarissa had left in the morning, the messages on his phone told him she was not. Roan had arranged to meet again in person a week later for coffee and brought Tank along to be a low-key wingman in case she was batshit crazy. Clarissa had seen them through the door and... it had taken them another six months to get their identities and shared hospital drama sorted out.
“Comparable.”
Not a lie.
