Unleashing Sin

by A. M. Wilson

  Unleashing Sin

  A. M. Wilson

  Copyright © 2020 A. M. Wilson

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.amwilson.net

  Editor: Jenny Simms, www.editing4indies.com

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The scanning, uploading, and/or distribution of this document via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and is punishable by law.

  Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by A. M. Wilson

  Standalones:

  Pitch Dark

  At the Risk of Forgetting

  Indisputable

  The Revive Series:

  Redesigning Fate

  Resurrecting Her

  Unleashing Sin

  His Deliverance

  Unleashing Sin

  The Very, Very Beginning

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bonus

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  At the Risk of Forgetting

  The Very, Very Beginning

  The air reeked of stale bodies, of the musky scent of sex, of unwashed clothes and bedding. The threadbare sheet spread between six girls could hardly be classified as bedding. Cigarette smoke hung heavily in the damp, moldy air as Clarissa puffed lazily. Sprawled on her back, she had her head drooped over the edge of the mattress and a vacant look in her eyes.

  It’s not often I’d think back to those days, the days of before, but sometimes, when I was coming down after a particularly long high, I’d stop trying to be numb and let the pain invade my body just a little bit. Just enough to remind me that this was real life. That no matter how high I got, how many drugs overloaded my system, or how often I closed my mind, this was still my real life.

  I’d forgotten what my home smelled like. What my mom had smelled like. What shampoo and perfume she used. The scent of the clean laundry soap she loved so much.

  Even the fresh air didn’t smell the same in the middle of the city. Nothing like the field next to my house where I’d spent my summers exploring, rolling down the hill, and hiding in the tall brush. I grew up playing night games over there—tag, red rover, capture the flag—until after dark when our mothers would call from our porches, and we’d all go running home.

  I’d spent my last day of freedom in that field.

  I rolled from my back to my stomach and cradled my head against my arms. Somewhere in the deepest cracks of my memory, I could remember the blue sky from that day. It was clear, pale, and cloudless. A light breeze had drifted across my face as I sat in that field propped up on my elbows with the boy I loved lying next to me. Or at least I thought it was love. It didn’t matter now because I’d never see him again.

  We had spent that day in the grass holding hands, kissing like innocent teenagers do, laughing and talking about life in general. My stomach felt like a hundred butterflies taking flight; something I’d never felt before or since. Then around midafternoon, my mom called for me. I left him in that field with the promise to see him later.

  I never made it home, and I didn’t keep my promise.

  We never saw each other again.

  “CHLOE!”

  My thoughts splintered apart by the sound of my name being called, and I scrambled up from the dirty mattress. My name’s not really Chloe. The name my parents gave me was from a different world, a different lifetime. Chloe is my name in this life, and it makes me happy that I can separate the two.

  If I had to use the same name, I’m sure my lives would mesh and blur together, and I wouldn’t remember who I was then and who I am now.

  I’d only know who I am now.

  Darnell crashed through the door to our room like the oaf that he was; his eyes glassy and dilated from whatever drug he was on. Probably heroin. He took in the sight of me in the long dingy tee that hung to my knees, his eyes drifting down my bare legs, and he grinned.

  “How you doin’ today, Chloe? Feel like giving me a ride before you go out tonight?”

  The shutters immediately came down, my brain going to the numb zone it always did. I had no recourse here. I couldn’t fight back. All I could do was lower my eyes and wait for my orders. My body rebelled the action every time—stomach seizing, muscles clenched as if ready to run me out of here. As if I had a choice in the matter. As if all my free will wasn’t stripped away.

  He grunted and licked his lips at my silence.

  “It’s a shame the boss would shoot me dead if I fucked ya without his permission.” He reached out and stroked a lock of my hair.

  My mind retreated further.

  “Maybe later I’ll pay up for a good time, yeah? You’d like that, sugar.” He wasn’t asking me; he was telling. He turned back to the door to leave, and I followed.

  The guns only came down here for two reasons, and both meant I was leaving this room. I didn’t dare cast a backward glance at the fear-filled faces behind me. They’d be worried. We all were when one of our own was taken from the group, never knowing what condition she’d return in.

  Or if she’d return at all.

  I was no longer the captain of my life. I’d blame fate, but even she isn’t cruel enough to force someone into this existence. No, all the blame rests with one man.

  The boss.

  And someday…

  Someday…

  He will meet his end.

  Chapter One

  Sin

  “Gentlemen, welcome.”

  The buffoon at the door holds it open and ushers us inside with a sweeping gesture of his arm. Elias steps forward, gives the man a short nod, and disappears into the inky blackness beyond. I move at a slower pace, taking a good look at the face of the man before me, studying him and committing it to memory. He responds with a hard stare of his own and a lift of his chin, which I reciprocate impatiently. With an irritated jerk of his head to the left, he says, “That way, please.”

  I lumber inside. The door closes behind us with a foreboding silence.

  Two armed men sweep forward with high-powered assault rifles raised in our faces. I brace against the pounding in my chest and raise my arms in compliance, locking down the look of hatred I feel, as Elias does the same.

  The man who welcomed us inside steps forward with a greasy smile.

  “Just a little weapons search, boys. Protocol. Nothing to be afraid of.”

  I stare into his cold eyes as he stands in wait while the armed men pat us down. Unnecessary as we were told the r
ules before we arrived, and we all came unarmed. It was our only option if we wanted to get inside. Stupid and reckless and too damned trusting for our own good, but the older men in our unit were steadily against trying to sneak a gun inside.

  When the two brutes with the guns step back and give the okay to who I’m assuming is their boss, he claps his hand together gleefully. Elias and I drop our arms to our sides. “Perfect. I can take you to view the merchandise.”

  My stomach churns. Other voices interrupt my growing repugnance of his words, and Elias and I turn toward the sound. Instinctively, I reach for my gun, but when I remember we’d been searched and left our weapons at home, my hand falls limply to my side.

  Across the open space, Richard emerges from the doorway along the left wall. Our eyes lock, and as I catch a glimpse of the sadness in his, my pulse speeds up.

  My old man plods out behind Richard, wearing his good ole boy smile, but I can see it in his eyes. He’s keeping up appearances with a last shred of hope that we’ll all make it out alive, but the gig is up.

  It should’ve been me in that room. I demanded to go first, just me alone, but his stubborn ass talked me out of it. He said we’d make better backup, but I don’t know why the fuck I listened to him.

  The boss looks back and forth between Richard and me with curiosity as he runs a finger across papery lips. I avoid looking at my father and Richard with recognition, and instead, I maintain a inquisitiveness of my own. One customer studying another, despite the fact my pulse races in my fingertips.

  Richard crosses the open space and is halfway to freedom when the first shot rings out. The heat from the bullet whizzes past my ear and embeds in the door at my back with a crack. The wood splinters and explodes with the impact, sending fragments into the air. Chaos ensues as everyone moves at once.

  Elias returns fire with a small pistol he pulled out of who knows where, but his forethought gives us a fighting chance in this fucking mess. With my best friend at my back, I make a break for the two older men. In a few long strides, I reach Richard, grasp onto his shoulder, and fling him behind me in the general direction of the door, praying like fuck the old man can retain his balance. With Elias providing cover, I hope he makes it outside. Without a second to see where Richard lands, I look up to find my father just as it happens.

  So fucking close.

  Close enough to see the life flash in his eyes. Close enough to witness every second as a bullet tears through his skull. Close enough for the front of his head to explode all over me.

  Close enough to wish the bullet had moved an inch and hit me instead.

  There is nothing I can do as his lifeless body drops to the floor. If it makes a sound, I can’t hear it through the roaring cacophony in my ears.

  As I turn from my father’s corpse, the only people I see are Elias and Richard, and the two beefed-up guards lifeless on the floor. The three of us sprint for the door, leaving my very dead father behind. I trip twice and nearly turn back for the body, but Elias throws himself behind me, pushing me forward, and that snaps me out of it.

  My father is gone. I can’t change that. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting my best friend put himself between a bullet and me. That pulls my head out of my ass.

  ***

  Three Hours Later…

  The mouthful of scotch slides down my throat in a glide so smooth that it’s like drinkin’ fuckin’ water. And after what happened today, my body’s so numb that it tastes like fuckin’ water too.

  My ass sits in the dark on a stool behind the bar at Sinclair’s—a place that feels about as home as a foreign country—and I now own it. A bar. What a joke. Included in my new inheritance is a boat, a second motorcycle, a six-bed-four-bath house on the river, and a sum of money so large, my eyes blurred the numbers together before I could calculate the total.

  Richard didn’t waste any time handing me a copy of the will my father made him promise just this morning to give me.

  What good is it going to do me?

  Nothing, that’s what. What good are money and a bunch of big flashy toys when I have no one of importance? When the only person I’ve ever cared about is missing—dammit.

  Dead.

  She’s fuckin’ dead.

  Two and a half long years of denying it aren’t going to change that fact. Two and a half years of searching for her aren’t going to bring her back. Hope is nothin’ but a waste of the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins.

  I like facts. The cold, hard, indisputable truth that the second those forty-eight hours passed, she was dead.

  Another shot of scotch goes down the hatch as the image of those large, deep-set brown eyes so much like my own pop into my head. I can’t look into a mirror without remembering what her laughing eyes looked like staring back at me. Molly was half my heart, my entire world, and my only sister. And I let her down.

  Because of me, she wound up dead.

  And now I’ve dropped the ball again.

  The door to Sinclair’s glances off the wall behind it as someone storms through, but I can’t bring myself to see who it is. Sure as shit know who it isn’t. It ain’t Molly. It ain’t one of the guys. Could be the goddamned president, but my ass isn’t moving from where I’ve parked it. Not until I finish toasting every last one of my friends who’ve put their life in my hands, and I’ve let them down.

  “Thank God, Sin. I’ve been looking all over for one of you. Where is everyone? I can’t get ahold of Nicolai.” Genna’s worry-tinged voice trails off as she waits for my answer.

  Thanks for the reminder, I think with utter self-loathing and toss back another shot, but not before giving a short salute with my glass to the wall of bottles. My eyes refuse to make contact with hers as I pour another.

  “Sin,” Genna starts carefully. “Where’s Nicolai? Where are Richard and Elias? Why are you here alone?”

  My fists clench, and my gut churns with hatred. This shit is on me. “Richard is filling out paperwork. Elias went home.”

  I can see it even though I’m trying my damnedest not to. Her eyes widen, and her face visibly pales. Genna knows I’m not the type to fuck around.

  “And …ˮ She swallows hard. “And Nicolai?”

  Jesus. Fuck.

  “He’s dead.”

  “No,” she whispers.

  “Genna. Goddammit …”

  “No. That’s not possible. I just talked to him a few hours ago.”

  “Sit down,” I order curtly. “Richard should be here shortly.”

  My tone is clipped, and my body tense, not a muscle firing to move from the stool. She and I don’t get along. Never have. I don’t think many people could stand their father fucking the best friend of their dead sister, let alone proposing to the bitch. The only thing he did right after that was attempting to help me with this operation, but look how far that got him? Dead. Just like everyone else who puts their trust in my hands.

  “This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” I mumble.

  “You think?” she screeches. “You just told me Nicolai is dead! How can he be dead? Wh-what happened? He said it was safe. He said you guys were just going to get information. Why him?”

  Good fucking question.

  “Wait for Richard. I’m going to the office. I just can’t right now, Genna.”

  “You always were a fucking coward!”

  A good man doesn’t need to remind himself not to hit a woman. Another reason I’m not a good man.

  “And you’re nothing but a money-grubbing slut. Let’s see how fast those tears dry up when you hear he left every last cent to me.”

  If I was capable of laughing, now would’ve been the perfect time. The sound she makes is a cross between a cheap slut choking on a cock and a pig rooting around for food. Any doubt I had that she wasn’t only into my pop for his money is lost.

  “Sit down. Wait for Richard. Or don’t. I don’t give a fuck. I need you out of my fuckin’ sight.”

  Carrying a bottle of scotch,
sans shot glass, I leave Genna sitting with her crocodile tears and trudge to the private office upstairs.

  The room still smells like him. Of course it does because he’s been dead barely three hours. Just this morning, my old man sat in the rolling chair behind his massive wooden desk—a chair I can’t convince myself to sit in even now that he’s gone—to go over the blueprints for the mission. It was supposed to be simple. Pose as buyers while gathering information. Any names, descriptions, locations would have brought us one step further than where we’ve been for the past couple of months. I should have known that securing the meeting was too damn easy. Something was off, and it was up to me to notice.

  But I failed. Like I always fail.

  It could have been Elias. I could have taken my best friend to his death today. It could have been his brains splattered all over my fucking tee. The guy didn’t bat an eye at helping me track down the men who took Molly. I should have been paying more attention. It’s only a matter of time until I lead Elias to his demise.

  My legs carry me as far as the old wooden chair in the corner before I collapse. I perch the bottle of scotch on my knee, taking swig after swig as I think back on today.

  We went in pairs. Pop and Richard played the part of two older men looking for a new young submissive to purchase. They wanted someone they could take home and break in. Elias and I were pretending to be interested in the prostitution side of things. We didn’t want to buy a girl; we just wanted to play a little and come back next week. That was the story, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out what went wrong. The only thing that makes sense is they already knew. They knew who we were and when we were coming.

  The older men arrived first, but only by a couple of minutes. That was all it took.

  The bottle of scotch dangles from my fingertips between my knees. My back bows forward as agony sweeps through me. We had barely walked in the door, so something was wrong by the time we got there.

  Voices raised. The sound of bodies shuffling. It happened so fast, but when I think back on it, it really wasn’t. It was slow. Calculated. Executed with precision.