Sin and Discipline

by Lily White

  Tenacious, he wouldn’t release it at first, but after two hard cracks of his knuckles against the cement, he screamed, “Not the hands.”

  The wallet dropped to the ground, my head snapping left, not because I’d finally broke the leather free from his hold, but because that voice wasn’t male.

  With my fingers still locked over the kid’s throat, I reached to shove the hood away, a pair of teal eyes glaring up at me, the girl’s anger not enough to distract me from the fact that she was playing one hell of a dangerous game.

  The shadows concealed the true depth of eyes that were framed by thick, dark lashes. Without her hood, long brown hair spilled free, the ends of it splashing over filthy concrete. High cheekbones cast more shadows down her face. Her jaw line elegant. Her lips full.

  Damn it...she’s beautiful.

  It only pissed me off more.

  “Are you kidding me right now?”

  Everything about her brought out a side of me I tried to keep under lock and key. A part of me I kept hidden from those who weren’t invited to my bed.

  The women I fucked never complained about my nature, but this girl didn’t know me – didn’t understand she was playing with fire.

  Thrashing beneath me, she was no match for my size and weight. Her hands lifted to mine, trying and failing to release my fingers from her throat. Easing up on my hold just enough to let her speak and breathe, I stared down at her, absolutely pissed that she would put herself in this situation.

  “Let go of me.” She could barely say the words, her lips parting as she coughed, her head turning as she continued to struggle and thrash.

  “Let go of you? You just tried to steal my wallet and now you’re making demands of me?”

  A harsh laugh burst from my lips, my knees still grinding into her thighs, my hand holding her head against the cement.

  “I should turn you over and spank your ass for this. What in the hell do you think you’re doing acting like a stupid punk?”

  The girl’s hips bucked in an attempt to dislodge me, but she was too small, and I was too angry. Teeth bared at my threat, her eyes met mine again.

  “Try and I’ll-“

  “You’ll what?”

  Leaning over, my chest brushed hers, my mouth so close to her ear, she could feel my breath against her cheek. Her entire body quaked with terror, her wide eyes holding mine, the pupils dilated. Breath poured over her lips in shallow spurts, and I could almost hear the rapid pulse of her heart.

  I was scaring the shit out of her.

  I didn’t care.

  She needed to be scared.

  My voice had lowered into a deep growl, my need to teach her a lesson taking over. Fortunately for her, it was a rule of mine not to hit women in anger. Unfortunately for me, I really hated my rule at that moment.

  “What exactly will you do right now? I’m a hell of a lot bigger than you, and judging by how your struggling is doing nothing to dislodge me, I’m a hell of a lot stronger. How do you plan on doing anything to me?”

  She fought harder and launched her hands at my face, forcing me to release her throat to grab her wrists and protect my eyes. It only took a second to trap both of them with my fingers, pin her arms above her head and lock her throat down with my free hand.

  “As I was saying: What are you going to do?”

  I wasn’t going to hurt her, but she didn’t know that. Still, I didn’t let up to make this moment any easier on her. The best lesson she could learn right now was that there were men in this world who shouldn’t be toyed with.

  Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes to trail down her cheeks. “Just let me go.”

  “No.”

  Had I been the type of guy that hurts women, she’d be in a world of pain right now, her body violated, her soul shredded.

  What made all of this worse was that she was a pretty girl. Not just pretty, but the type of girl that would turn my head if she weren’t so aggravatingly young. I was drawn to her even when I knew I shouldn’t be.

  “How old are you?”

  Refusing to answer, she continued to fight, fear shining behind narrowed eyes. It painted her pale cheeks red.

  “Answer me, sweetheart, or I’m not letting you go.”

  “Eighteen.”

  Our eyes locked, and I forced myself to ignore the fact she was technically legal.

  “What is your name?”

  Another wild buck of her hips, the movement awakening something inside me she didn’t want to mess with. My hand tightened on her wrists, my gaze dropping to the front of her jacket, disappointment flooding me that it didn’t give a single hint of the body beneath.

  My voice was a calm command. “Tell me your name.”

  “Melanie. Now get the hell off me.”

  Leaning down, I kept my stare locked to hers, our noses practically touching as I softly spoke my warning.

  “I could have killed you for this, Melanie. Do you understand that? Could have done all sorts of horrible things to your body when I caught you. Lucky for you, I’m not a creep looking to hurt little girls. You might not be so lucky next time.”

  Her eyes darted right, chest heaving with her refusal to hold my stare. Even terrified, she was a rebellious little beauty that made my palm twitch with the need to adjust her thinking.

  “Let me go,” she whimpered. “I’m sorry, okay? Just let me go.”

  “I suggest you stop stealing. Next time you want to lift someone’s wallet, you should remember this moment and make a better decision.”

  More tears. This girl wasn’t a hardened criminal; she was an amateur with a death wish.

  “Say please.”

  Shock filled her wide gaze, anger sparking just beneath it. “You’re hurting my wrists. Just get off me.”

  I smirked. “Say please and I will.”

  Melanie needed a good lesson in manners, but that wasn’t the sole reason for my demand. There was something about that word on a woman’s lips that rounded my shoulders with satisfaction, the need to assert my desires on a willing partner brought to life by the sound of the word crawling from their throat.

  How much more inappropriate could I possibly be in this moment? I should hate the girl, but instead I found myself auditioning her for a role I was certain she didn’t want to fill. She needed to say it so I could release her and forget this entire thing happened.

  “Say it,” I growled.

  With her eyes holding mine, her pouty lips parted, a trembling breath pouring out. “Please.”

  The huskiness of her voice was an arrow hitting its mark dead center. Walking away now was in my best interests before shit took a weird turn.

  Still, it was in her best interests that I leave her with one last threat. “Do something like this again, and I’ll be sure to redden your ass for it.”

  Releasing my grip on her wrists and throat, I snatched my wallet from the cement and pushed to my feet.

  She stared up at me like I was a snake coiled and ready to strike, her movement uncoordinated as she crawled back until she was out of arm’s reach. Quickly, she climbed to her feet.

  The short amount of distance between must have made her feel safe, although I couldn’t understand why. I’d already proven I could outrun her.

  Canting my head right, I scowled. “Take off before I change my mind about that spanking.”

  She was fast. I’d give her that. It only took seconds for her to make it to the end of the alley, her eyes meeting mine with one last glance before she turned the corner and was gone.

  I shook my head and brushed off my clothes, a heavy sigh blowing over my lips for the welcome home experience she’d given me.

  Not even twenty-four fucking hours and already I hated this place again.

  Amelia

  When it came to a person’s hands, my father had always been a stickler. He judged a person on the line of them, how they spoke with them, how they held their wrists, or in the confidence of their handshake.

  It came
to him fairly, that criticism, only because he’d spent his entire life striving to be a musician. The hands, to him, were everything.

  From early on, he’d struggled through school; math, literature, and science lost to him because it was the music he heard in his head that stole his attention, the daylight hours counting down until he could get home to his antique piano. My father worked hard to become a symphony pianist. His one goal in life that he achieved, but gave up after having children.

  Both my parents were amazingly talented on the keys. They’d met while attending Hastings Conservatory; their early years together spent discussing music theory and their favorite sonatas and concertos. Mom and dad both had aspirations for the symphony stage, but mom had given it up when my brother was born, my dad following her example once I came along.

  Through teaching, they managed to support the family in a nice suburb outside Sheldon. Unfortunately, our happy family took a turn for the worst when mom fell ill, the floor dropping out from beneath us when she died.

  Despite all of that, my father still taught piano, paying special attention to me. He was always commenting on my hands, whether they were touching the keys or not, always reminding me that, like my eyes, they were a window to the soul.

  If dad were to see my left hand now, he would shake his head and lecture me, his disappointment plucking at my heart because I’d always wanted to please him.

  Water stung my scraped skin as soon as I stuck it under the faucet. Gritting my teeth, I washed the grime away, not looking forward to the antiseptic I’d use next.

  That asshole in the alley had done a number on my knuckles. He’d banged them against the ground, not giving much of a damn that he was choking me and crushing my legs at the same time.

  Crying the entire way home, I didn’t want to admit to myself that I’d been terrified. In all my schemes, nobody had ever caught me before. Being pinned down like that was more than I was willing to endure.

  He could have done anything – anything – to me, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could have done to stop him. He knew he terrified me, the entire time grinning down with the knowledge that when it came to who was in charge and who was trapped, I was the mouse held beneath the hungry cat’s paw.

  His eyes held something inside them that both drew me and pushed me away. I couldn’t deny he’d stolen my breath when he was close enough for me to memorize the strong features of his face.

  But still, despite what he looked like, despite the scent of him that was earthy and seductive, he scared me while smiling to do it.

  I should have known better than to pick his pocket, but I knew he had money. The temptation had been too much to resist.

  It’s rare to see a car worth ten thousand dollars in Sheldon, Florida, but to see an Escalade worth over one hundred thousand dollars was like spotting a unicorn in the fiery depths of hell.

  The second I’d noticed it, I knew whoever claimed the wheel would have cash tucked away in their wallet. At least one hundred dollars, but I hoped for more. So rather than passing through Jennison’s parking lot as I’d intended, I decided to wait it out and lift the wallet from a person I was sure wouldn’t miss it.

  To say I was surprised when he strolled out wasn’t the half of it.

  Wearing a faded and torn Nirvana shirt with tartan plaid pants and a pair of beat up oxblood Doc Martens, the guy didn’t strike me as a man of means. If anything, he looked like someone I would loan money to just so he could buy some new clothes from a thrift store.

  His dark hair was a stylish mess framing his face, his thick biceps and corded forearms leading the eye down to leather cuffed wrists and hands that looked like they could strangle an elephant. That alone should have deterred me from attempting the lift, but I was hungry and figured I was small enough to outrun him.

  He was halfway to his car by the time I stepped out into the fall of twilight to accidentally bump his side. Hauling ass, I thought I’d gotten away with it, but then he called out to me and the chase was on.

  I knew I was toast when he caught me, my shock at his speed rendering me mute as he dragged me to the ground to straddle my lap and wrap one of his elephant strangling hands over my throat.

  But it wasn’t the way his knees pinned my femurs with the threat of snapping bone, or the grip of his punishing fingers blocking my airway that scared me the most; it was the damage he inflicted to my hand.

  My only chance at a scholarship to Hastings Conservatory was an eight week summer program that started tomorrow. I needed my hands to prove I was trained and capable of playing the piano for thousands of people on stage. I needed my knuckles and fingers to drill those keys over every note of Mozart’s 16th Sonata or Beethoven’s 29th.

  For years, I’d dedicated myself to learning the fastidious technique and grueling speed needed for a large majority of classical pieces, and I’d be damned to let that jerk ruin it for me.

  Looking at the swelling in my knuckles combined with the split skin, it appeared he’d succeeded in not only damaging my hand, but also my chances to advance through the program.

  Tears pricked my eyes as I applied antiseptic cream and bandages. Hatred flooded my thoughts to think about how the man had grinned down at me and demanded I say please.

  To make matters worse, if not for the fact he was sitting on top of me, choking the shit out of me, and generally being a complete ass, the guy was jaw-dropping gorgeous when I finally took the time to look at him.

  It was too dark to see the true color of his eyes, but he had the face of a damn model, chiseled in all the right places, the strength of his jaw dusted with stubble that made me want to reach up and explore the rough feel of it.

  Whether angry or smug, he was a man I would gladly give my number, the type that would have me checking my piece of crap phone every thirty seconds to see if he’d texted or called. I wondered while I was fighting to break free of him what he would look like with a genuine smile.

  That only served to piss me off more, and now I was hiding in my bathroom, ignoring my father’s raised voice as he yelled at his home nurse, wishing I could start the day over to make better choices.

  Leaning heavily against the door, I stared at myself in the mirror, wondering how much more I could take in my life.

  “Leave me alone, you stupid bitch. Tell me where my wife is...”

  Alzheimer’s is a horrible condition. Years ago when the warning signs appeared, I thought my father was simply becoming forgetful. It started soon after Mom died, and we all ignored it, believing the stress of losing her was jumbling his thoughts. But as the years rolled on, the memory loss only became worse until eventually Dad was an entirely new person.

  Some days were good for him, but today was a bad one. Ever since I’d walked through the door, he hadn’t stopped screaming at the top of his lungs.

  It made the day a bad one for me, too.

  I had to get out of here, had to hide away and gather my thoughts or I was going to be a disaster tomorrow for my first day of class.

  Sneaking out of the bathroom, I swallowed down my guilt for leaving the home nurse alone to manage Dad, but I couldn’t handle it today, couldn’t bite my tongue and not yell back, because it was the condition, not him, that made living here so difficult.

  It would be easier if I could afford to put him in a good home, but what little money my brother, Ben, and I could scrounge together through less than legal means was barely enough to cover the bills, let alone pay for a nursing facility.

  Neither Ben nor I could handle being here too often, so we did what we had to do to pay for the nurses who could. Thankfully, state aid helped pay for home care. Otherwise, we’d be screwed.

  Quietly shutting the front door on my way out, I jumped in my beat up hatchback and gunned the engine down the road en route to Julia’s house. She was the only friend I had in Sheldon despite being as old as my parents.

  Julia was my mother’s best friend. She had taken over teaching me piano after mom died and dad
forgot how to play. She was also the person who got me a seat in the Hasting’s summer program by being one of the two teachers.

  A Hasting’s graduate in the same class as my parents, she’d made sure I was ready by the time I finished high school and could attend the yearly program.

  Pulling into her driveway, I stared out the windshield at her small, yellow house, my bandaged hand throbbing over the wheel. She was used to my showing up unannounced, always ready with tea and cookies, as well as a listening ear.

  She must have seen me drive up. I hadn’t yet turned off my car and already she was stepping outside to greet me. A groan bled from my lips as I stepped out of my car.

  “Do you want to explain what happened to your hand?”

  Leave it to Julia to laser in on the damage. Her brown eyes missed nothing. Taking the last few steps up to her porch, I flashed a smile, attempting to pretend that it wouldn’t be a problem. “I tripped and scraped it today. No biggie.”

  Arching a plucked brow, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Let me see how bad it is.”

  “It’s really not-“

  “Amelia Harmony Dillon, remove that bandage right this second and let me see what you did.”

  My full name. Julia meant business.

  I pulled the bandage free and winced at the concern in her eyes.

  “How are you going to play tomorrow with your hand like that? They won’t excuse you for the injury. Not with the other students who will be competing against you.”

  We walked in her house side by side. After closing the door, I nudged her shoulder. “Hey, it’ll be fine. Plus, I have a feeling my teacher will understand since she’s known me since the day I was born.”

  Her expression fell as she led me to the couch and sat down. “I won’t be your teacher, Amelia. Lennon Carter will be. Since we’re the judges of which students will be allowed to advance forward to audition, we have to be impartial.”

  The floor dropped out from beneath my feet. This was just one more crappy thing to happen to me today. “Who’s Lennon Carter?”

  “Another graduate of Hastings. From what I know he’s done very well for himself in music. Not only has he secured a seat with the Florida Symphony, but he also works with popular bands in his free time.”