Page 5 of Craving Sin

“I will. Thank you,” Cillian replies, and for the first time since Moira died, I feel some of the weight leave my chest…and I feel some hope.

“You’re very welcome. And I’m sorry.”

I turn, go into my office, and once I’m behind the door, for the first time since my wife died, I break down and cry.

CHAPTER ONE

Rian

“It’s busy out there tonight,” I say, looking through the one-way glass and down at the club below. Paradise is one of the many ways we clean the money we make through our…less-than-legal channels. Not that everything about Paradise is legal either, but it looks that way from the surface.

“It’s summer. Everyone wants to be out and having fun,” Conan says from the office chair. He runs the club, though Finan also has his hands in it some. Conan is good with numbers, though. Honestly, there’s not much Conan isn’t good with. He’s responsible for a little bit of everything, and this family wouldn’t be half of what it is without him.

When my brother was alive, he didn’t appreciate Conan the way he should have, and now that I run the family, it’s not a mistake I’m willing to make.

“I’d like to be out there having fun too,” Finan says, before snorting a bump of cocaine off his hand.

“You would do nothing except have fun if you had the choice,” Flynn teases him. They’re the three men in our organization that I’m closest to. I would trust them with my life. Hell, I do trust them with my life every fucking day.

“Except every Sunday morning when you’re in Mass.” I cock a brow at him. He’s the only one of us who does everything in their power not to miss a Sunday. I rarely go anymore. We went more when Moira was alive, but after all the things I’ve seen in my life—after all of the things I’ve done—I find it hard to believe anymore.

“I’m fairly certain I’m the only one of us getting into Heaven,” Finan teases.

“You literally just snorted coke and killed three people last night,” Conan argues.

“You were there too,” Finan replies.

“I doubt there are hookers in Heaven, though.” Flynn nudges his best friend.

Finan leans back against the couch with a loud sigh. “Fuck. Looks like I need to do even more bad shit so I don’t get sent to that place.” Finan grins, and the rest of us laugh. “Speaking of bad shit, are we going to talk about the fact that Bobby is most definitely skimming off the top?”

Bobby is our money guy. Conan has noticed discrepancies over the last few months—too many to ignore—so we set a trap for him, and our hunch was proven true early this morning.

There’s no coming back from this for Bobby. He had to have known that. I don’t know why he risked it, but it’s going to be a painful and deadly mistake.

“Kill him.” I nod at Finan. He’s the most bloodthirsty of my men, and I know he would be disappointed if I didn’t give him this job. “Make it slow to prove a point. I want him displayed, so anyone else who is thinking about pulling the same shit will think twice.”

“You got it, Boss,” Finan says before turning to Flynn. “You wanna go with me?”

“Fuck yes,” Flynn replies. “Mayhem and murder are two of my favorite things.”

“You and me both, brother.” Finan nods and he and Flynn head out, both laughing, the jittery excitement from them palpable.

“They enjoy this way too much.”

“And you don’t?” I ask.

“Not in the same way.” Conan is ruthless, but he doesn’t show much of his enjoyment for anything, really. He’s different than the rest of us; he’s been in love with Fia for as long as I can remember and has chosen to spend his life alone since he can’t have her.

“Yeah, I get it.” I’m on edge tonight, but I don’t know why. I wouldn’t have minded going with Finan and Flynn to blow off some energy.

Conan and I talk business and share a joint—which honestly, I need—before I head out. I’m halfway home with Metamorphosen, one of my favorite moody, atmospheric orchestral pieces playing softly in the background, when I pull into the empty convenience store parking lot—quite frankly, craving an apple pie after smoking with Conan. Sweets have always been a secret weakness of mine.

I nod at the young woman behind the counter when I go in. She can’t be any older than twenty-one or twenty-two, working the graveyard shift alone in what isn’t one of the best neighborhoods in the city.

I find the apple pies by the donuts and grab two before moving toward the back of the store to see what else I might want.

I stop in front of the freezer in the far right-hand corner that’s holding a shitty choice of ice cream flavors, but one that might have to work.