AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A busy year is the understatement of the century, having to take over as the leader of the Sin Eaters after my father died in a shootout last year. At twenty-two, I’m now responsible for the most powerful crime organization in the city of Noxport, California. But my age doesn’t keep my men from falling in line. It’s a family legacy I wasn’t quite ready for but I’ve managed. Especially with Byzantine and Bastian at the helm with me. One as my second-in-command, and the other as the best hacker you’ll find on the West Coast, maybe even the country.
“Some coffees and a piece of that world famous pie, would you Martha?” I say, flashing her my equally world famous smile.
“Of course dear, of course.” She sticks her pen into her tight bun before turning around and shuffling back to the counter, yelling something unintelligible to her husband who’s loitering in the back.
“I wanted some pie too… ” Bastian mutters beside me.
“Well next time try speaking out loud, it might help,” I respond in exasperation, picking up a sugar packet and flinging it at his face, but Byzantine is quicker, somehow intercepting the flying thing mid-air from across the booth.
“Knock it off,” Byzantine grunts.
I let out a loud laugh. “He’ll be fine. The kid barely speaks, it’s unnerving.” I pretend to shiver, my shoulders shuddering in exaggeration. “I can’t believe we’re fucking related.”
Bastian says nothing, choosing to simply glare at me.
“Not everyone can be as loud and annoying as you, Connor. I’d fucking shoot myself if that was the case,” Byzantine says dryly while standing up, probably heading to the counter to order some more pie. My hand lands on my gun, the urge to whip it out just to fuck with him undeniable. My holster snaps open at the same time as the bell over the door chimes and a rush of white staggers inside.
There’s a girl under all that white—fifteen, maybe sixteen—her eyes wild as they flit across the restaurant. Her gaze lands at our table for half a second, before quickly fixing on the floor, her chin tucked to her chest, features barely visible as she walks to a table and sits down facing away from us.
“Is she wearing… a wedding dress?” Bastian whispers.
“Now he speaks,” I utter, his elbow finding my ribs in a short jab.
I don’t have time to question it myself before I hear Martha’s loud squawk, rushing over to the girl. It’s quiet enough in the diner that we overhear what Martha says from all the way over there.
“Sugar are you alright? What happened?” she says, her tone high-pitched with worry. “Are you hurt?” Concern twists her features.
The girl responds in a low whisper I can’t hear while Martha flutters about her like a startled bird. After a short exchange, she swivels around, pours a glass of water behind the counter and brings it promptly over, quickly setting it in front of the young girl.
Byzantine is back at our booth with our coffees when I catch Martha’s attention and give her a quick jerk of my head, calling her over.
Flustered, she practically runs to our table.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Oh dear,” Martha whispers, busy wringing her shaky hands, eyes wide with worry. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” she continues to repeat while glancing back to the table where the girl is still sitting eerily motionless, back ramrod straight. “I think she’s a runaway… from that weird culty commune a few miles from here. I don’t know how she even got here. Did you see herdress?” She hisses the last word and I nod.
I’m not sure what makes me so goddamn charitable all of sudden but I pull a wad of cash from my coat pocket and hand it over to Martha while telling her, “Find her a place to stay and keep her off the streets.”
Her eyes go watery as she nods profusely and I’m suddenly suffocating under the emotion swirling around in her gaze. I need to get out of here. This whole situation is grating at a feeling I can’t even describe. I stand up. “Let’s go,” I bark at the guys, giving the girl one last quick glance before heading for the door.
“But what about the pie?” I hear behind me.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I bite out. “Fuck the fucking pie Bastian,” I yell, not even bothering to check if they’re following me. I know they are. I get the hell out of the diner as quickly as I can, gulping down the evening air as I head for the car.
When I finally tear out of the parking lot, Byzantine riding shotgun beside me, the last thing I see in the rearview mirror is the lone shadowy figure of the runaway sitting alone at the diner table, Martha on her way back to her.
Chapter 3
Thirteen years later
Iwatchthedildoslide into Prisha’s pussy, the harness digging into my hips with every thrust—but I don’t care. I’ll tolerate the slight irritation if it means I can slide my fingers over her dewy brown skin, tug on her open bottom lip and hear her small gasps as I circle her clit with my other hand.
I’m enamored. I’m obsessed.
She’s fucking divine.
But I also know as soon as she comes, I’ll orbit out of this near perfect veneration of her body and itch for her to get the hell out of my apartment. So I lose myself in the moment, my skin bursting into goosebumps when I finally hear her moan out my name like a siren’s song.
