Seven Dirty Sins: A Hot New Adult Erotic Romance Boxed Set

by Morgan Black

  He sat down on the bench where I had been, dragging me into his lap again. I wrestled, resisting his grip but it was futile. He pulled me down on top of him, his erection resting between the swollen lips of my pussy. He didn't say much, he just kissed, not entering me.

  We held each other in the rain, tempted by every movement but not daring to take the final plunge. I wanted him to do it and I assumed he wanted me to be the one. Finally, he whispered. “Ask me to fuck you.”

  I shook my head, sliding along his rough cheek to bite his ear.

  “Beg me, Evie. Beg me to fuck you.”

  I shook my head again, whispering in his ear as I dragged my teeth down the lobe. “No.”

  I climbed off, grabbing the soap from the decorative shelf where they had folded all the shower essentials so neatly. I washed as he sat getting soaked in his expensive Italian pants and dress shirt. His hazel eyes watched me, watched every move like a tiger hunting a gazelle.

  I took long, loving strokes to wash every inch of myself, putting on a show for him more than getting clean. He bit his lip, watching me torture him and letting me do it. Finally, I finished after a second round of rubbing the soap against my nipples. “Why are you letting me do this to you?” I asked, curious as to why he hadn’t just ravaged me like the savage we both knew him to be.

  “I get so few moments with you that there is actual pleasure in the intense pain of waiting and wanting you—of wanting to explode inside of you and making you scream my name.”

  By far his best answer ever. I nodded, not moving much. He was certainly good at playing this game of greedy hearts. He was winning. He was making me want to give him mine, no questions asked and nothing in return.

  Chapter Three

  I walked out of the room in a stunning emerald-green shift dress. It covered far more of me and matched the pumps perfectly. My red lipstick was actually a bit intense for it but I didn't care. I wanted him to see it and cry inside a little, like I was.

  He stood in a pair of black pinstripe dress pants and pale-blue shirt. He wore his same burgundy dress shoes. He looked like fucking sex on a stick and I wanted to ride that stick more than I ever wanted anything.

  His eyes lit up when he saw me. “Much more appropriate for Dubai.”

  “You were going to let me wear the red tube dress—don't start on me.”

  “I knew you would change.” He sighed and looked over something on his iPad.

  I scowled. “What was that thing you used earlier?”

  “It stops any sort of transmitting device and/or listening or video recording.”

  I winced. “My phone.”

  “I turned it off on the plane so that when we arrived here it wouldn't be fried by the device.”

  I didn't even want to know how all our stuff got there. He was seedy in all the right ways. I gave myself a last look. “Where are we meeting everyone else?”

  “Belgium. We have an hour to finish this negotiation and get back to the jet.”

  I turn back, uncertain of his motives. It was the flaw in the system that was our relationship. He had double-crossed me so many times that I didn't trust him, even a little.

  He saw my look and shook his head. “Evie, we can’t talk about it right now. Read your text messages on the way to the car.” He stood, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. Handsome was such the understatement. I sighed and followed him, grabbing the gold clutch he had packed for me in my suitcase, replacing all my normal clothes with his choices. It was mostly heels and lingerie. My phone was already in there so I pulled it out and read the text from the random number I didn't recognize.

  Kids are fine, don't be a pain in the ass but don't give it all away either.

  xoxoxo, Mom.

  I scowled at his back. “What did you say to my mom?”

  He chuckled. “Just that you were playing hard to get.”

  “Impossible to get is actually the game of the week for me.”

  He glanced back as he pressed the button on the elevator. “Don’t push me, Evie. I like this game right now. Don't make me not like it.”

  I reached my hand into my bag, dropped my phone in there, and pulled out my middle finger. “I brought you something special all the way from Canada.”

  He looked like he might turn me over his knee, not something I generally fought with him over, but tonight I might have actually. When we stepped into the elevator he pressed himself close to me, too close. I was nearly squished into the wall. My phone buzzed in my bag. I lifted the clasp and peeked into the bag, surprised by another random number.

  We are going to go to the car. They’ll drive us to the location. You are a woman who does talent scouting for me in Eastern Europe. We are negotiating a deal for twenty young women. They want American girls, no older than twenty-three. You have the girls in Romania right now. If they resist on price, mention how many virgins you have. Make it a good number, like seven or eight. They will not bring in the boss until we have a sealed deal. When that happens the team should meet us. They’re tracking our location.

  I didn't understand who sent it at first but then he sent another one from his iPad, cluing me in.

  Clearly it’s me, Evie. Try to bring something to the mission beyond being a hooker.

  I wanted to stab him in the eye but I was missing my slutty knives. I texted back the one thing I knew would aggravate him beyond belief.

  Fuck you, Servario.

  The corners of his lips lifted and all I saw was a punishing smirk. I held my head up high, totally bravado but I didn't care. He wasn't going to rattle me and call me stupid. Texting wasn't my thing. I hated it. My fingers, wrists, and thumbs ached after a long conversation.

  When we got to the car I noticed it was a different one. This was a Mercedes, not a Rolls. The driver gave me a decent up down before letting me in. I assumed he was checking me out, but then I realized he was looking for a weapon.

  I climbed in, trying not to get nervous. We were going in with no weapons. That was insanely planned out.

  Servario climbed inside of the car, reaching a hand down into my dress. He rolled a nipple, making it obvious I was a piece of meat for this trip. The driver climbed in, giving me a smirk. I imagined he assumed they would pass me around later, because that's how I liked my gang rape.

  I wanted to kill him. I could smell sex slave on him.

  As for Servario, I wanted to poke his eyes out. He could sense the hostility in me and pulled his hand from my dress.

  I sat there, scared and turned on. It was very conflicting to be so aroused while being afraid. Akin to the time he chased me around in the dark and fucked me against the pool table.

  He gave me a look. It was an evil grin. It was the one he used when he was winning. I reached over, meeting his hateful look, and grabbed his dick. I stroked, perhaps a little roughly, but I got my point across. He sat back as if this was his idea and I was his dick-stroking minion. I sighed, stopping and staring out the window. Dubai was a stunning and welcome distraction. The city was lighting up as the sky was starting to darken. Everything about this city made me think Vegas, including the smarmy guy driving and the pervert next to me.

  The car stopped after a while, parking outside of what appeared to be a nightclub. I didn't even want to ask, but when we got inside my view changed. I wanted to ask. I wanted to ask about every aspect of the club.

  It was a strip bar of sorts but the girls had on clothes. They danced with energy and skills that I had to assume meant they were trained dancers. The men wore suits and I was the only woman not working there, not technically. For all I knew this would be the place Servario would actually betray me for real. Not fake it and expect me to improvise.

  No one seemed to understand that I had been a mom for a decade, not an agent. They all expected me to bounce back after ten seconds and remember what it was like to be a hooker/agent/mom/wife/killer and whatever else they could add to the pile.

  Servario slipped a hand into mine for a second. He squeez
ed and let go. It was so fast I almost doubted it had occurred at all. We were escorted to a spot in the back, something akin to a VIP section perhaps.

  I was offered a seat at a lone table by a man who resembled our driver. Servario sat next to me, pretending to be enjoying the show—or actually enjoying it. The girls wore bikinis and danced on poles, it was naughty for the Middle East, I supposed.

  The music was loud techno with a slight Eastern flair to it. It was actually nice to listen to. Several men walked toward us, sitting near Servario. One man stayed standing, waiting, as Servario stood and they embraced. They hugged and smiled like they were old school friends. I started to feel a little nauseated. I had to chant that he loved me and wouldn't do that to me again. He wouldn't leave me to be killed or worse.

  The man’s eyes darted to me but Servario brushed him off in Arabic.

  They talked for another second and the man embraced Servario again. I started to glance about the bar, looking for any sign that I wasn't alone—that Coop and Luce had come to be with me.

  But all I saw were business men and dancing whores.

  Finally they sat, Servario again next to me. The man nodded at me. “I understand you have twenty girls.”

  I smiled wide, bringing out my best American accent from the South. It wasn't great but there was no way they could tell. “Yes, sir. I do have twenty girls. I have more than twenty but some are spoken for.”

  He gave me a weak smile. I wouldn't have called it that though; it was more of a grimace. “You are a woman who sells women, not something we see very often.”

  I smiled wider, hating myself. “Well, everyone has to be good at something and I happen to be very good at spotting a virgin.”

  His dark eyes widened. “Virgins—you have some of those for sale?”

  I sucked my breath through my teeth. “Not really. I have several but they are spoken for, like I said. I have other buyers.” My heart was aching in a big way.

  He nodded. “That is good to hear. We get a lot of demand here for virgin Americans. Very hard to find. Your country doesn't savor their virginity very well.”

  I laughed, hating myself and Servario equally for a change. “Well, you know those girls in the North, they are loose. But the girls in the South have been raised right. Real wholesome girls. You just have to convince them of the modeling contracts and jobs as nannies. It’s easy when they come from real small towns.”

  “And because you are friendly and a pretty American woman. They trust your lies.”

  I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. “Yes sir, they do.”

  His dark eyes darted back to Servario. “She is a—how do you say—piece of work.”

  Servario snorted, coughing a little. “I think you mean keeper.” Their accents made the mistake slightly less painful.

  The man shook his head. “No, I believe I know this word. Piece of work. Like rare like art.”

  Servario chuckled again. “Do we have a bargain then? You will give us the guns and money and we will give you the girls.”

  “How many virgins?” He looked at me again. “I will pay more for virgins.”

  I wanted to kick his fucking teeth in, but I pretended to be coming up with a price. Servario leaned in, whispering something. The man’s eyes lit up. He nodded and wrapped an arm around Servario. “Do you wish to stay for the evening?”

  Servario glanced at me. “No, we have more business to attend to. I will meet you at the drop spot to get acquainted with the area.”

  “How will you bring them in the country?”

  Servario glanced back at me, realizing he hadn’t told me that. I answered. “Au pairs. Nannies. It works real well. We just need fake families to do the sponsoring and hiring.”

  He nodded. “Let me take care of that paperwork. I will have it sent to Gustavo.”

  He called him by his first name. Even I rarely did that.

  Chapter Four

  The driver and I sat perfectly still, waiting outside of the building where Servario would be met to exchange cash and guns with the worst people in the world. They truly were the monsters your mother warned you about when you were a child. The worst of men that laughed in the faces of victims as they took everything they wanted. The sort of men who respected no one and feared nothing.

  They made my blood boil.

  I sat there, tapping my perfectly sculpted nail against the rim of the window, waiting for him to reappear.

  The driver didn't make a sound. He sat perfectly still.

  I sighed, drawing his face up so he could see me in the rearview mirror. “Shouldn't be too much longer, ma’am.”

  I nodded, pulling out another dose of my amazingly poor Southern accent. “Y’all are awfully polite for such bad people.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “We are bad?”

  It made me smile my response. “Reminds me of home. We always like to say the nicest thing and mean the worst.”

  He chuckled as if he knew what I was talking about. He leaned into the back, I assumed to tell me some funny story about how his people in the Middle East also did this. What I got was a hand up the skirt. I tried smiling and turning him down politely. “Sir, please. Let’s not get into any trouble, huh?” I swatted at his grabby octopus hands and arms but his size won over. He slid into the backseat as if he didn't think Servario was coming back any time soon. I had stashed one thing and one thing only on my body. The only weapon I had. I remembered it from training; a woman’s best place to hide a weapon is her hair. I lifted my hand, pulling the long, thin silver pin I had used to hold my half twist in place. I let him slide his hand down the top of my dress the way Servario had done and stabbed quickly, sliding away from the stream of blood as he collapsed.

  I contemplated leaving the thin, sword-like hairpin where it was, embedded into the side of his head, but it was my only weapon at this point. I dragged it out, feeling his body twitch over mine as he died slowly and his grip lessened.

  I slumped him onto the floor of the backseat with a huge amount of effort, ripping my dress a little but not caring the slightest. I felt his warm body up for a piece, but there was nothing. He was unarmed. I jumped into the front seat, feeling around the car for a gun. Finally, I opened the trunk and sighed when I discovered a cache of weapons. He had grenades, handguns, and assault rifles. My best chance was with some handguns but I grabbed a grenade just in case and tucked it in my cleavage.

  I turned and ran toward the direction I had seen Servario walk when he left with Harry, the man who had been hugging him and calling him Gustavo.

  The streets were busy, even there in the industrial part of town. I hurried past several groups of people. Walking quickly with handguns seemed completely normal. No one even gave me a second look.

  I stopped walking and listened for any sign that they were left or right on the street of buildings. The heat had sweat plastered to my forehead and underarms, and I dearly regretted not wearing underwear.

  A red light inside of a building caught my eye. The outside was sandstone and old looking, like it was charming. But the inside had several red lights glowing through the windows. To me a red light always meant prostitutes so I decided to give it a go and see what happened.

  My heels clicked against the beautiful street as I rounded the side of the building to the back. A single steel door with dark-green paint sat there, looking awfully lonely, considering the larger doors had been at the front of the building. I tucked my guns and pulled my hairpin out and thumped on the door. It hurt my knuckles to do it.

  I rapped again, only harder. The door groaned as a large man opened it, giving me an odd look.

  “I’m here to meet Harry. I have the virgins.”

  He scowled, about to say something but I jumped, driving the hairpin into his temple, right where I’d lodged it in the driver. He staggered back but I pulled him forward and let him fall onto the street. I really hoped I was right as he died and I pulled the hairpin out of his head and crept inside of the building. I closed
the door, letting my eyes adjust to the dark and creepy glow of the red lights.

  A sound near the back of the large open warehouse-style building drew my attention that way.

  I slipped my shoes off and tiptoed over the pale stone floor. When I got to the back there was a long hallway with nothing, just silence and lights, thankfully not red ones.

  At the end of the hall there was a door with a sign in a foreign language. I twisted the handle slowly, peeking past the thick door. It was a waiting room with seats made of leather and a basket of magazines, only they were not like the ones my doctor and dentist had. They were porn.

  I closed the door, slipping the hairpin into my hair, trying my best to ignore the human remains on it, and pulled a gun. Ever so softly, I slinked down the hall, searching for the answer to the question of who keeps fucking porn in the magazine basket. The answer came in the second hallway, behind the first door I opened. It was just like the office we had raided and saved the sex slaves last time. Every door I opened revealed a mess, something I didn't want to see so I chose not to. I snuck in the first one, leaving the door ajar and my heart closed. I pulled out my hairpin and stabbed as the frightened eyes of the girl being assaulted closed. She didn't see the horrors I committed just as I overlooked the ones she did.

  I lifted a finger to my lips, a bloody finger. She shook, sobbing and scared. Needle marks scarred her arms and a black bruise marred her face. “Are you American?” She nodded, heaving when she heard me speak. “Just stop crying and follow me. I’ll get you out.”

  “My sister—” Her Southern accent rotted me.

  I nodded. “We’ll find her too. Just shut up, please. We can all cry and drink some scotch on the plane ride home.”

  She stood on filthy feet and shaky legs and followed me from the room. She leaned against the wall in the hallway as I interrupted in room number two. It was much worse, a horror show, but both men were dead within seconds. I dragged the young girl, who was maybe nineteen, from the room. She collapsed into the sobbing arms of the other girl.