Bane (Sinners of Saint)

by L.J. Shen

  “You better say yes, because we’re having dinner with my mom and Hale tonight, and he is going to pop the question, and I sure as fuck am going to beat him at his own game.”

  “So this is what our engagement is to you? A game?”

  I huff. “I mean, you’re an okay chick.”

  She giggles, plants another kiss on Pushkin. I like the name. It will feel good to hear it bouncing on the walls of our house. “Well, perfect timing.”

  “Why is that?” I grin.

  “Because…” She lifts her shirt up. Jesse spent the last two months working on an elaborate tattoo to cover the marks the assholes left on her skin. It’s a huge gladiolus, a flower that symbolizes strength and integrity, its name stemming from the word Gladius, an ancient Roman sword. I blink, ignoring her expectant stare.

  “Because…?” I probe. She puts Pushkin down, grabs my hand, and flattens it against her lower stomach.

  “Feel it.”

  “Feels tough.”

  “That’s because your baby is growing there.”

  The air is knocked out of my lungs. I knew it was coming. Kind of. The birth control pills were gone, and Jesse asked me the other day how I felt about kids. I decided to be cautious and dodge it, not really sure if she would get freaked out by me wanting them or disappointed because I didn’t. Truth was, I was impartial. What mattered was whom I’d have them with. “I wouldn’t date one, but I guess they’re cute.” I shrugged. She said it normally took six months to get pregnant after you’re off the pill. I responded, “Feel free to throw them in the trash bin, along with the memories of your asshole mom.”

  It took us less than a month.

  Well, shit.

  I’m still on my knee when Jesse cups her mouth. Mrs. B’s kids let us stay in their house while they are looking for buyers. When a house costs twenty million dollars, finding a buyer is not that easy. So we house-sit for Juliette and hop onto a plane every now and again to visit her. Sometimes we invite friends over for dinner. Edie and Trent were here the other day with Luna and the baby, Theo. I love this house, but man, I can’t wait to move into the yacht we purchased a few weeks ago. It’s being painted right now, and that shit is huge.

  “That’s the part where you answer,” I groan.

  “Yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, yes, yes!” she yelps, and I slide the ring onto her finger. It’s the wrong finger, so she tells me to do it right, and I roll my eyes and tell her I’m new to this love bullshit. She tells me I still do it very well, and we’re happy.

  So fucking happy.

  And Pushkin is pissing on my boots.

  And the sun is shining.

  And I kiss her hard, my lips smashing into hers.

  “I think we need matching ass tattoos,” I say.

  “Why? Do you have another cool story?” She grins into our kiss.

  I pick her up by the ass and wrap her legs around my waist. “Yeah.” I bite her lower lip and tug. Hard. “You.”

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  Pretty Reckless (All Saints High)

  As I write more books, my tribe continues to grow, and I find myself continuously and irrevocably humbled by the great talent in the indie community, a community that I am so grateful to take part of.

  Firstly, I would like to thank my beta readers: Tijuana, Amy, Lana, Helena, and Paige. You’ve been my rock throughout this process, and I know how difficult it must have been to hear me obsess over a certain sentence or wording at three in the morning. Over. And over. Again.

  To my editors, Tamara Mataya and Paige Maroney Smith. Thank you so much for your feedback, attention to detail, and overall awesomeness. To my wiz graphic designer, Letitia Hasser at RBA Designs, and to my amazing formatter, Stacey Blake at Champagne Formatting.

  A huge thank you to my rock star agent Kimberly Brower at Brower Literary and to Jenn Watson at Social Butterfly PR.

  Special thank you to my kick-ass street team. There is no one else like you. Blissfully unique and incredibly valued: Lin, Hayfaah, Sher, Kristina, Brittany, Julia, Summer, Vickie, Sheena, Sarah, Becca, Jacquie, Betty, Amanda, Erika, Leeann, Luciana, the two Vanessas (Villegas and Serrano), Tanaka, Avivit, and Galit. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

  To the Sassy Sparrows, for being my safe place when I’m in need of a break from my crazy characters. And to the bloggers who push so hard and work even harder to make sure we indies have a voice. You’re the best, and I love you.

  Finally, to my readers, who never fail to stun me with your support. I will never take it for granted and will always try to give you magic. You deserve nothing less.

  All the love,

  L.J. Shen xoxo

  Enjoyed Bane? Try The Ruthless Gentleman by Louise Bay, out on May 10th:

  The Ruthless Gentleman

  Louise Bay

  Avery

  Another day, another blue sky, another superyacht. As I reached the main deck of the Athena, carrying a glass of champagne and a glass of orange juice, I glanced across at the Saint Tropez marina in the distance and took a deep breath to calm myself. I was usually well rested for the first charter of the season, and May was usually a beautiful month in the Med, but I still carried the exhaustion of the previous season with me. On top of fatigue, the lack of information that we’d been given about the first eight-week charter meant I was unprepared for this guest and it made me more than nervous.

  We arranged ourselves into the welcome line. Captain Moss first, me next to him, Eric the bosun, then Chef Neill and the rest of the crew, excluding the engineers who disappeared back to the engine room rather than meet our guest.

  The tinny sound of the tender grew louder from behind us, and from the corner of my eye I caught my stewardess, August, craning her neck to look. “Eyes forward,” I said. I hated riding my crew’s ass. Some of the chief stewardesses I’d worked under enjoyed wielding their power, but that wasn’t me. I just wanted the job done, the guests delighted and the tips huge.

  The sound of footsteps headed up the stairs toward us. I plastered on a smile, careful to keep the tray I was holding steady.

  As our guest appeared, I drew in a breath. He was young—around thirty, no more than thirty-five—and handsome with dark brown hair and wide shoulders. This guy wasn’t anything like the normal charter guest. But then this was nothing like a normal charter. He was tall—well over six feet. Sharp cheekbones framed his face and led down to a perfectly smooth, square jaw. His eyes were dark and serious. If his nose hadn’t been a little crooked, as if it had been broken at some point in his past, I might have even described him as pretty, but the unevenness tipped him toward handsome. It suggested there was a little rough beneath the oh-so-smooth.

  I swallowed. I’d never found a guest attractive before. Not even a little bit. But then again, we never had charter guests who looked like this guy. When I first got into yachting, I’d expected to be surrounded by rich, beautiful people all the time. And while there was plenty of wealth, the attractive guests tended to be women. Although I was pretty flexible about a lot of stuff, I was strictly dickly when it came to my fantasies.

  He strode toward Captain Moss and they shook hands. “Good to meet you,” the man said in a deep, gravelly voice that seemed to make my whole body vibrate.

  “Good to have you on board,” Captain Moss replied.

  “
I’m Hayden Wolf,” he said, turning to pin me with a stare so intense it was as if he were getting some sort of psychic reading. “Avery, right?”

  How did he know my name? Maybe the background check had given him a photograph. And the way he said it—my name shouldn’t sound that different in a British accent, but the way he enunciated every syllable, coupled with the deep timbre, somehow made it sound important. “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  He nodded and smiled. My nipples tightened. Fuck. Thank God I was wearing a t-shirt bra.

  The first rule in yachting was never cross the line between personal and professional. Some crew found it difficult, especially when the guests were laid back and wanted the staff to join in the fun. Sometimes the lines got blurred, but never for me—it was the easiest way to get fired. I’d never seen a guest as anything other than the person responsible for my tip and the reason why I could send money home to my family.

  But Hayden Wolf?

  There was something about him that erased the line completely, and all of a sudden I was imagining him naked and sweaty. Shut it down, I told myself.

  “May I offer you a glass of champagne or orange juice?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

  My heart, which had been skipping in my chest, suddenly sank to the floor.

  Please God, tell me he drinks.

  A sober charter guest was the worst. I’d take someone who demanded all his sheets flown over from Italy and his whiskey from a distillery in the remote islands of Scotland over a guest who didn’t drink.

  “You’ve disabled the Wi-Fi?” Hayden turned to ask Captain Moss.

  “As you requested,” Captain Moss confirmed.

  The Wi-Fi was disabled? Usually it was the other way around. Guests were always asking for a better connection, failing to understand that when you were afloat, there were things beyond our control—like the freaking ocean.

  “Okay, I’m going to need everyone’s mobile devices,” Hayden announced. “Phones, tablets, laptops.”

  No one moved and I glanced across at Captain Moss, but he wore his normal impassive expression. Were they being checked for something?

  “You heard our guest,” Moss said. “We’ll be waiting.”

  We all filed back inside the yacht and headed to our sleeping quarters, where the few personal things we had on board were kept. We were unusually silent as we collected our devices, unclear on why our guest was demanding our personal things.

  “Is this everything?” Hayden asked as Chef Neill, the last person to emerge, placed his computer and phone on the teak table that would be later set for lunch.

  “It’s vital to me that nothing leaves this boat. No pictures, no phone calls, no emails, nothing,” Hayden said.

  Privacy was rule number two in yachting. We all knew how to be discreet. No one on a yacht gossiped about their guests outside of the yacht. Well, that wasn’t true. We all gossiped about the guests, but we never mentioned names. We never attributed the outrageous stories that we collected during our careers.

  “I understand that it might be a challenge, so as an additional layer of security, you won’t have access to your communication devices during my stay,” Hayden said.

  The entire charter without our phones or laptops? He had to be kidding. August gasped beside me, and I fisted my hands, trying to keep the smile on my face.

  “Nothing for eight weeks,” the captain confirmed, and I could tell the entire crew were desperate to complain but no one would want to embarrass Captain Moss.

  The third rule of yachting was the guest gets what the guest wants. I was used to outlandish requests, but no phone or internet for eight weeks wasn’t just inconvenient. If I’d known this before the charter started, I probably wouldn’t have said yes.

  “Please, may I clarify?” I asked. Ordinarily I sucked up everything a guest asked for—went above and beyond what they’d hoped for—but I couldn’t hold back. “We’re not going to be able to contact our family for two months? Some of us have personal situations—”

  “Not from this yacht,” Hayden snapped. “I have very few requests, but my need for absolute privacy and discretion is paramount. There are no discussions or negotiations about this. You can contact people from the shore, but if you don’t like it, then you will need to find a different yacht to work on.”

  It was as if I’d been thrown against a wall by the force and intensity of his words. The jerk hadn’t even let me finish my sentence. I’d dealt with unreasonable guests in my time, but normally I could separate the job from the real me and I didn’t care less. I wanted to explode and yell that there was no way I could be without any way of contacting my dad for two months, but I knew I should be setting an example to my two interior crew members, Skylar and August. I had to stay calm and then figure out what the hell I was going to do.

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Hayden said as if he’d asked us not to chew gum or wear pink for the next eight weeks. What a way to start a season.

  “Avery will give you the tour,” Captain Moss said.

  I smiled, trying to focus on something other than Mr. Wolf’s almost-perfect face and how I wanted to kiss it and slap it in equal measure. I knew there must be a catch to being that handsome—he was clearly totally paranoid and an asshole. But I was a problem solver. Maybe I could change his mind.

  I handed my tray to Skylar, my second stew. “Let me show you to the main salon first. If you’ll slip off your shoes?” I asked, pausing at the automatic sliding doors and indicating a shallow basket by the door that I’d left out specifically for shoes.

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “I’m afraid so. Yacht decks are traditionally unvarnished to keep the color natural, so shoes are likely to damage the teak. Every yacht’s the same.”

  He glanced at my stockinged feet, then bent and untied his shoelaces. I glanced over his broad back. Who wore a suit to the start of a vacation? I needed to know more about this guy than that he was good looking, British and so suspicious. “How was your journey?” I asked. Perhaps he’d relax and in a couple of days we’d have our phones back. I didn’t want to have to walk away from this beautiful yacht and the increase in pay, but I had to be in contact with my father. I’d figure it out. I’d have to.

  “Fine,” he replied, rising from where he crouched, and picked up his briefcase that he’d set down.

  I reached for it. “Can I take that for you?”

  His knuckles turned white as he tightened his fist around the handle. “That’s fine. I have it.”

  His clipped tone indicated whatever was in the briefcase was important. I just hoped for all our sakes it wasn’t drugs. Yachting had a zero-tolerance policy for drug use. If even a trace of illegal drugs were found on board, a captain would be stripped of his license with no second chances. If Hayden Wolf had drugs in that briefcase, Captain Moss would cancel this charter, and we’d all be guestless and without a tip for the next eight weeks.

  I glanced up as he towered above me. Despite him kicking off this charter with an entirely unreasonable demand, being this close to him made me slightly giddy, which wasn’t an adjective anyone had ever used to describe me. I was focused and diligent according to most, funny and loyal if you asked my family. But I was never giddy. Shut it down, shut it down, I chanted in my head.

  “This is the main salon. We have a selection of games here,” I said, pointing to the chessboard and the card table. Not that he’d be able to play the games by himself.

  He slid his free hand into his pocket. “Chess.”

  I paused, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t so we walked the length of the main salon.

  The Athena was a beautiful yacht, just as Captain Moss had promised: simple lines, elegant and light. The whole interior looked like a Hampton’s summer house—clean, crisp and fresh in white, creams and grays. All the furniture had a high-end feel without being over the top. Sometimes yacht interiors could be a little gaudy, but if I had a yacht, I wou
ld choose something like the Athena’s decoration; it was all understated luxury.

  Hayden Wolf made no comment about the decoration.

  “We can make up any cocktail you like,” I said, indicating the bar in the corner. “Do you have a favorite?”

  He shook his head. “Whiskey sometimes.”

  We had some good whiskies on board, and I was relieved to hear he drank. Hopefully we could interest him in a tasting. “Do you have a favorite that I might be able to track down?”

  He scanned the windows, looking out at the horizon. “No. Whatever you have on hand will be fine.”

  “And with your meals, Neill is an excellent chef. He’d love to make you what you like. Are you a steak man?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “Fish?” I suggested.

  “I’m not fussy.”

  I smiled while holding myself back from calling him a liar. There was no such thing as an unfussy billionaire. I managed to say nothing and led us toward the stairwell. “We have four floors of guest accommodation, bedrooms are at the bottom, so let’s start with the top floor, just above us.”

  The reflection from the water was almost blinding as we opened the door and stepped outside onto the upper deck. “It’s really just the hot tub up here. You can get a little bit of shade as well,” I said, indicating the two loungers while avoiding looking at Hayden. As a chief stewardess, I made it my business not to show my emotions and this man wouldn’t change that. “Most guests like to use the loungers on the main deck. There’s also space at the front of the boat at this level for sunbathing as well.” I pointed toward the route to the beds at the top of the boat. I bet he had strong thighs and a hard chest under that suit. Not that I would be looking. “You’ll figure out which you prefer.”