ALTERED BY FIRE: UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 1

by James Tate

  ALTERED BY FIRE

  UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 1

  TATE JAMES

  C.M. STUNICH

  Altered by Fire

  (Undercover Sinners #1)

  By Tate James and C.M. Stunich

  2019 © C.M. Stunich and Katrina Fischer

  Originally Published in 2018 as “Five Fathers” by Kate Morgan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For Kate Morgan,

  may she rest in peace.

  Contents

  Note:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Learn More...

  COMING SOON

  Also by Tate and C.M.

  Also by Tate James

  Also by C.M. Stunich

  Note:

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for picking up a copy of Altered by Fire. This is a fast-burn, reverse harem, romantic suspense novel that starts off with a bang. Natalia is a spoiled party-girl with serious issues. Over the course of the trilogy, she’ll have to learn to overcome her problems if she wants to survive. Expect to see a lot of character growth from her.

  This series contains religious imagery used in what may be an offensive way to some (explicit sex in a church for example), and includes power-play and BDSM bedroom scenes. It’s a hot, quick burn, and if you’re up to it, we welcome you to join the ride.

  This novel was originally published under the title Five Fathers by Kate Morgan. While it has undergone a new edit, the core story remains the same. Thank you for reading, and if you enjoy it, please consider leaving a review on Amazon.

  Love, C.M. and Tate

  Chapter 1

  Natalia

  Sin or piety.

  Those are the two things I’m choosing between when I stumble up those stone steps, coughing on smoke and choking on tears. As I careen into that church, I’m making an unconscious decision between Heaven or Hell, pain or pleasure. But sometimes, pleasure brings more hurt than pain.

  I’ve learned my lesson the hard way and that’s why I’m doing this, giving up everything I know and love for a whole new life. A life dedicated to something, someone, other than myself.

  The thing is, sometimes fate has other ideas.

  Out of all the churches in town, I pick this one. This building with its vaulted ceilings and stained glass and all its secrets.

  This building that houses them.

  My five worst sins.

  My five most awesome pleasures.

  My high heels are loud, almost frantic when I hurry into the hushed quiet of Our Lady of Sorrows, clacking my way across the church’s old stone floors as I wobble my way down an aisle of empty pews toward the front of the room, the dais, and the crucifix … and the broad-shouldered man standing in front of it.

  Stopping within arm’s length of the priest, my knees give out and I collapse. My bare knees strike the stone floor painfully, but I don’t cry out. My focus is glued to the man in front of me like he’s my salvation.

  But that man, he’s going to damn me to hell.

  I just don’t know it yet.

  "Excuse me," I whisper with a quiver in my voice, because my hands are shaking and I'm cold as hell. I fled for my life in an almost indecent red cocktail dress, spattered with blood and ash, smelling like smoke. I’m a stain of sin against the pious, muted colors of the church. "I don't really know what I'm doing here …" I start, but that's a lie.

  Thirty seconds in a holy place and already, I'm breaking the rules.

  I wrap my trembling arms around myself and curl my frozen fingers into my sides, waiting for the man to turn around and acknowledge me. As soon as he does, I feel my resolve cracking into pieces, bits of shattered glass that seem to cut.

  The man in front of me is tall, taller than me even if I stood in my four-inch designer heels. And he's broad, too, muscular even beneath the black and white robes that cloak his beautiful form. As soon as his gray eyes meet mine, I know I'm in trouble. I don't have good impulse control.

  That's why I'm here.

  At least … that’s what caused this whole mess in the first place.

  I walked out of that cursed den of sinners, that glittering dinner party, with a forced calm born of severe shock. The second those elevator doors closed behind me, I ran for my damn life. Now here I am on my knees, gaping up at a man of the cloth like I'm ten seconds away from tearing all his clothes off.

  What is wrong with me?

  "If you tell me why you're here," he starts, and I feel my body flood with cold, and then blazing heat. This man is a priest and yet his voice is sex incarnate. I can feel it rolling across the bare skin of my arms and legs like a hot tongue. "Then maybe I can help you figure that out."

  He crosses his arms over his broad chest, sleeves sliding up a bit to reveal a plethora of tattoos. Are priests allowed to have tattoos? Maybe it's okay if they come in with them so long as they don't get more?

  I have no idea.

  I'm not religious.

  I just know that I need a change.

  Something drastic.

  Something to save me … and my soul.

  More like, somewhere to hide, so that my father doesn’t hunt me down and kill me, too.

  "I want to become a nun," I blurt, kneeling there in a cherry red cocktail dress with my nipples hard as points, no panties, my skin rippling with goose bumps at the sight of the gorgeous man standing in front of me. My skin is smeared with darkness, and I don’t know which spots are blood and which are soot.

  But as soon as the words leave my lips, I know I'm dead serious.

  If anyone can reform a woman like me, it has to be the church. Right?

  I suck in a deep breath as the priest leans down. His warm fingers touch my arms ever so lightly as he encourages me back to my feet, then looks me over. His face this hard, wicked sculpture of masculinity, the lower half lightly stubbled, his dark hair short and well-kempt. He has the look of a leader, a fighter, someone who doesn't take any shit. I think I'm supposed to feel comfortable enough to confide in this man, tell him my sins, let him fill me with the word of God.

  Why does it look like he'd rather fill me with something else?

  Stop staring at me like that.

  I look up at him through my lashes. He’s standing one step above me on the dais and it makes his imposing form that much taller, casting a long shadow behind me.

  "A nun," he repeats, his low, easy voice making me shiver. "That's a drastic life choice for two in the morning, Miss ..."

  "Petrova," I blurt out my real name, because there's no way a guy like this would know who I really am, all the shit I'm wrapped up in. “Natalia Petrova.” Oddly enough, his eyes seem to get a bit wider, his mouth tightening. But the only people who should recognize my name are the ones at the party I just left. Hell, I didn't just leave: I fled for my life. I can’t return to that world. Not now. Not ever.

  "You're soaking wet," the man rumbles, letting out a long sigh.

  At first, I think he's making a pass at
me and my mouth falls open in shock, but fuck. I've been hanging around the wrong people for too long. Of course he's not. No, he's right. I really am soaked to the bone. I didn't even realize it was raining outside. That's how messed up I am right now.

  But after what I just witnessed, could anyone really blame me?

  The grizzly scenes of my father’s actions flash across my memory, and I shudder.

  "Come with me and I'll get you a towel and a change of clothes, something warm to drink."

  The man turns and leads the way behind the dais and to a small door. I hesitate for a moment before following after him. The life I've led thus far, it's proved to me that following strange men into back rooms is a bad fucking idea. A really goddamn bad idea. But there are other worshippers here, other priests. And it's a church, right?

  "Okay," I whisper, feeling exhausted. Adrenaline and fear got me this far, but those emotions are fading fast, so I follow, ready to collapse. The priest leads me into a small foyer with a set of stairs and several other doors leading off of it.

  "I'm Hawke, by the way," he rumbles, glancing over his shoulder as we continue on into a cozy little kitchen. "And this is Colt."

  The man in question snaps his green gaze up to mine and takes me in ... appreciatively? I thought priests were supposed to take vows of celibacy.

  "This is Natalia Petrova," he says with a certain level of emphasis that makes me raise my brows. "And she wants to become a nun."

  "A nun? With that body?" Colt says, and I feel my lips part in shock.

  "Excuse me?" I exclaim as Hawke spears him with this look that clearly says shut the fuck up, you moron.

  What the hell have I stumbled into? These guys are not normal priests.

  "Right. Uh, I mean with a body of sin," Colt continues, awkwardly backtracking and I feel myself take a small step back. This guy with the bright green eyes and the sandy hair looks even less like a priest than the first one. "All people have bodies full of sin until they enter the confessional," he continues, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. Doesn’t sound like he knows shit about his own religion, to be honest.

  "My apologies," Hawke says as he puts a kettle on the stove and then moves over to the table to pull out a chair for me. "Colt is brand-new. You'll have to forgive his big mouth. Even with a vow of celibacy, we're still red-blooded men with needs." He smiles at me, and I swear, I feel it deep down in my bones. "It's resisting those needs that bring us closer to God, right Colt?" He claps the blond man on the shoulder in a gesture that seems more like a warning than anything else.

  "Exactly," Colt grinds out, wincing then standing up from his chair. "If you'll excuse me a moment."

  "Send Mace down with something for Natalia to wear, would you?" Hawke calls after the blond guy, and he pauses in the doorway. "She's drenched."

  Colt turns slightly and raises an eyebrow at me standing there, shivering, and I cross my arms over my tight nipples which are starting to feel far too obvious in the presence of priests.

  Suddenly I’m regretting my decision to go braless tonight.

  "She looks it," Colt purrs with a wink, then disappears so quick that I don’t have a chance to be offended or … shocked, I guess? Regardless, I'm pretty sure Colt took drenched to mean more than just from the rain.

  Damn if he isn't right, too. Since when were priests so sinfully sexy?

  I groan and rub at my tired eyes, probably smearing mascara and eyeshadow halfway down my face, and not altogether caring. The last thing I need right now is for this fucking delicious man of God to think I’m coming onto him.

  Even as my mind is running multiple scenarios of how I'd like him to come onto me.

  Goddamn it Natalia, it's for thoughts like that, that you need to be here.

  Great. First, I lie to a priest, then I think all kinds of dirty thoughts about two men of God—at the same time—and now I'm taking the Lord's name in vain?

  Oh wow, the nuns have their work cut out with me.

  "You okay there, Miss Petrova?" This intense, sinfully attractive priest asks me, and I realize he's been holding out a cup of steaming liquid to me while my thoughts wandered.

  "Oh." I blush with embarrassment, hoping my devilish thoughts aren't plastered across my face, "Thank you, err …" I stare down into the cup at the plain black tea. Gross.

  "We have milk and sugar if you'd like?" Hawke offers politely, but his eyes seem to see straight through my soggy red dress as he runs his gaze over me. "You look like you might want it sweet and creamy."

  My jaw drops, and I squeak in surprise before a professional smile curves his lips. His lush, kissable lips.

  "Your tea, I mean," he clarifies, and I feel my cheeks burn. Of course he meant the tea.

  Thank God he cleared that up before I said something stupid like, no, I like it rough and dirty. Tie me down and spank me Father, for I have sinned.

  It probably would’ve been hard to play that off as anything else.

  Not trusting my voice, I take the mug from him and our fingers brush. Call it a stress-induced delusion, but I swear electricity jumps between us at this light touch. For a moment, our gazes lock, and my breath catches in my throat. I'm frozen, captive, vulnerable, until he looks away and I can breathe again.

  Get a fucking grip, Natty. After everything that’s happened tonight.

  Once again, my mind rattles fractured, damaged memories out for my inspection. Copious glasses of champagne being downed, those few lines of cocaine in the bathroom with the son of my father’s sworn enemy … and then …

  Sucking in a couple of deep breaths to hold back the tears, I press a hand to my galloping heart and take the seat offered to me by the electrifying priest.

  It does nothing to stop the memory of what happened next.

  The sound of the gunshot still rings in my ears; the smell of smoke lingers in my nose.

  That fire was the last straw. It changed everything. It forever altered my destiny, and my purpose in life. It took a certain type to watch their lover shot in front of them, then doused in gasoline and set on fire. Apparently, I was that type. Lucky me.

  "Thanks," I murmur softly, dipping my eyes to my tea as I try to tamp down my traumatic thoughts, try to ignore the horrors I witnessed a mere hour ago, "Father." Remembering where I am, I tack the title onto my thanks, and hope it’s the correct form of address for a priest. What do I know? This is my first time inside a church let alone speaking to one of God's chosen.

  Hawke pauses as I say this, stopping just behind my chair and looming over me like the Holy Ghost. "Say it again," he tells me, his voice rough.

  My shoulders tense. Shit, I've got it wrong. Will he reject my petition to become a nun if he knows I’m not really religious?

  "Say. It. Again," he commands in a tone that demands my obedience.

  A visible shiver runs through me, and not from the cold, damp cloth barely covering my form.

  From arousal.

  "I said," I whisper, licking my lips nervously, "Thank you … Father."

  A sound rumbles from Hawke, like … hunger, and he strokes a finger lightly down my wet, chestnut brown hair. Maybe this is exactly the distraction I need. Nothing could distract me quite as well as a dangerously unattainable flirtation.

  Then again, the last unattainable man I’d seduced is now nothing more than a pile of ash on my father’s garage floor.

  Another bone-deep shudder rolls through me.

  "Boss." Another man's voice comes from the doorway Colt left through. Hawke snatches his hand quickly back from my hair and continues over to the little fridge to fetch out the milk for my tea.

  "Mace," Hawke replies, and I turn in my seat to see who this Mace is.

  Dear, sweet baby Jesus. What kind of church have I stumbled into?

  I didn't research this; I hadn't Googled the best places to become a nun. Hell, I didn't even know if this was that sort of church. I'd run blindly from that party, seeking nothing more than asylum, but needing salvation. The c
hurch offered those things, didn’t they?

  But I sure as hell hadn't anticipated this. This, a third man so painfully attractive I was beginning to wonder if this was a test, sent to me from God.

  That must be it. I declared my intention to become His handmaiden, and now He is testing me with these men, these angels, these priests.

  "Did you bring anything down for Natalia to wear? She's been out in the rain and must be freezing." Hawke places a little jug of milk and a pot of sugar in front of me then takes a seat at the table to sip his own tea.

  "Natalia, is it?" The new man asks, his dark eyes stripping me naked before him. He is huge, so broad across the shoulders he fills the entire door frame. My eyes widen as my mind automatically considers what it'd feel like to be picked up and thrown over his lap. What those huge hands would feel like on the soft skin of my naked ass.

  "Y-yes," I stutter, then realize he, too, wears a collar, "Sorry, I mean, yes Father."

  The huge man's eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch before he nods. "Good."

  He holds out a garment to me. It's black, and there's a lot of it by the look of things, but it's probably for the best. Sitting here, practically naked and so incredibly turned on … well, it isn't a good start to my life of chastity now, is it?

  "Sorry, I hope you don't mind wearing a nun's habit? It was all I could find aside from our own clothes." Mace gives a tiny shrug as I push back from my chair and stand, taking the robe from him. I avoid touching his fingers, not sure my heart or my pussy can handle another shock like I got from Hawke.

  "Thanks," I say slowly, taking the thick fabric in shaking fingers. Would it be too much to ask them for underwear? Yeah, probably. I don’t trust myself to say panties in front of these men. "I may as well get used to wearing these things. Is there somewhere I could change?"