Page 58 of Burned By Sin
But I do have a plan. I’m going to catch the bastard who’s been messing with us and give Harper what Clayton never could. Sweet revenge. I’ll string the fucker up and let her decide what happens next. And if she’s merciful enough to let him walk away with his voice box intact, I’ll take the blame. I can afford the best lawyers in the country. I’ll take the bail, the fines, whatever headline they want to make out of me. Given the same chance, Clayton would talk her out of it and tell her to let the police handle things.
My girl doesn’t take the pussy’s way out. Then, once she’s fully avenged and free to move on with her life, she’ll fall for me once and for all. Me being the true hero. The sinner who’s willing to do whatever it takes in the name of her happiness. The only man she sees when she walks into a room. The one she looks for when I’m not there. No, scratch that. I’ll always be there.
Although right now, that means I have to do the impossible and leave her in Clayton’s care. Gently moving her off my lap and setting her beside me on the sofa, my hands linger on her arms. I lean in and press my lips to hers, a soft touch with just enough bite to remind her who she belongs to.
“I’m going to check something out,” I say quietly but clearly so she can read my lips. It takes every last drop of restraint to stand, because she insists on batting those thick lashes over her wide, green eyes, eyes that keep flicking between my mouth and my gaze. Fuck what I’d give to drag her upstairs and remind her exactly how I can make her tremble. But now’s not the time. I need to put an end to the shadow that’s hanging over us once and for all.
Straightening my Gucci hoodie, I glance toward Clayton and sneer.
“Stay with her until I get back. Don’t leave this house, for anything.” The growl in my voice is aimed at both of us. I hate leaving her at the best of times, but now, with her safety in his useless hands, it feels like walking away from a loaded gun with the safety off.
I head out the back door and into the side garage. The Porsche sits gleaming under its tarp, but I don’t even glance at her. Whipping the cover off Nina, my Kawasaki Ninja, I drag my hand down her sleek, black frame in my usual ritual. She purrs for me, waiting to be used like the filthy slut she is.
The garage door slides open as I swing a leg over and start the engine. The roar of the bike between my legs vibrates through my chest like a second heartbeat. Finally, something I can control. Sunlight bleeds through low clouds that recently coated the world in rain. The air’s heavy, thick with the promise of another storm, but I don’t care. My mind is centered around one simple objective. Get in. Get the information. Get back to Harper.
I take the turns hard, cutting through the quiet streets that wrap around the campus. The wind claws at my helmet, the smell of wet asphalt rising in waves as the bike hums beneath me. The faster I go, the quieter my mind gets, until I pull into the narrow alley behind the admin block and kill the engine. Tugging off my helmet, I leave it on the seat. There’s no one around, but I pull up my hood anyway.
Jogging up the building’s stone steps, I ignore the intercom and push through the red door that’s always unlocked anyway. The air is imbedded with the scent of burnt coffee and cheap paper. The shiny, bald circle on Mitch’s head shoots up as I enter, his round frame being dragged down by the chair when he tries to stand to greet me.
“Master Waversea! It’s so good of you to come in person,” he fumbles while tugging his strained shirt over his gut. I stop a few steps past the desk, my sneakers skidding sharply against the tiles. I take a single, deliberate step back until my hip hits the counter, resting one arm casually on the polished wood.
“Say that again,” I demand. Mitch freezes, his eyes darting between the floor, the wall, his desk, and finally back to me like a mouse cornered by a snake.
“I was just… all I meant was… it’s nice for you to come in person these days.” I tilt my head, fighting the snarl that’s threatening to rise. My patience is a loaded gun, and this idiot keeps pulling the trigger.
“I always come explosively, thank you very much.” I scoff at him. Sweat beads his upper lip, the increasing pants leaving his lungs probably the most exercise he’s had in years. I lean further over the counter, forcing Mitch to take a step back and fall into his leather chair. My shadow swallows him whole as I drum my fingers on the surface.
“Start talking.”
“Well, there's just that guy. You know, the one you’ve been sending to do your... dirty work,” he whispers the last part, his eyes glancing to the cameras and back. Inside of me, something snaps. My pulse spikes, but I keep my face carved from stone, ignoring the screams ricocheting around my skull.
“See that’s where we have a problem, Mitch.” I drag out his name, savoring the way it makes him squirm. “No one knows I come here, nor did I send anyone on my behalf. So, you’d better start talking. What does this guy look like and what’s he been doing under the pretense of my name?” The color drains from Mitch’s face, his jaws trembling as dread settles in. I can already tell this is going to be bad.
“Well, he’s real nice. Tall and skinny. Always wears a black beanie hat. I don’t know what he does, but he brings me a soya caramel macchiato every time he visits though.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, turning slightly so the cameras catch nothing but my back and shoulder. I already know without checking the surveillance footage that the imposter would have known to do the same. My lungs ache from the effort it takes to keep breathing evenly. I roll my shoulders, loosening the tension crawling up my spine.
“You’ve spoken to him?” Mitch nods enthusiastically, picking upon the crumbs of usefulness he’s still able to offer me. “Did he give a name? Or anything that I can use to hunt him down?”
Mitch hesitates, then wheels his chair forward with a screech and starts tapping at his keyboard. The rhythmic clatter scrapes against my nerves. My fingers twitch against the counter. By the time he finally smiles, I’m one second away from reaching over and smashing his face into the keys.
“Ahh, I knew I noted it down somewhere. His name’s Dekken.”
“Dekken,” I drawl unbelievingly. Mitch nods, the sweat dripping down the side of his face like condensation on glass.
“Dekken. H. Cornstone, to be exact.”
“Mitch, that doesn’t even sound like a real fucking name. You didn’t think to call me and ask?”
“But…you said if I ever reached out, you’d make me wear my intestines like a necklace.” He’s got me there. I push off the counter and head for the elevator, my jaw tight enough to crack. The soles of my shoes strike the floor in a steady, violent rhythm. I stop just short of the doors and twist my head over my shoulder. The scowl that crosses my face promises murder.
“I’ve been paying you a thousand dollars for your silence, and he’s been giving you fucking macchiatos?!” A thick silence follows as Mitch drops his gaze to his lap. Dragging a hand through my hair, I stalk into the elevator and let the doors slide closed. Mitch is getting fired, plain and simple. He’s lucky that’s all I have time for.
The elevator takes foreverto ascend to floor three, my irritation bleeding to the surface like thousands of pins and needles beneath my skin. My fists ache to hit something, anything nearby. Aside from drinking the drug that wasn’t intended for me, this is the first time I’ve been directly affected by the hacker, unless it is a team of people. Who fucking knows anymore? The doors slide open with a ping and my feet eat up the lino flooring.
Like all of the other floors, glass separates each office cubicle and thereare far more potted plants than necessary. If someone needs this much green in their lives, admin is the wrong fucking job for them. Luckily, there’s not many people in today, unless they’re all on lunch. Just a random goody-two-shoes who’s typing away at a desk and paying me no attention.
I head for the office farthest from the others, slumping into the chair behind the desk to gather my thoughts. If it’s money this guy wants, then make the demand already. I’d hand over a briefcase of cash if it meant keeping Harper out of harm’s way. And when the bastard shows up to collect, I’ll cave his skull in with a rock. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty to give karma a day off. Coincidentally, Karma is the name of one of my father’s long-time secret lovers.
