The Sinners Touch (A Manwhore Series Book 2)

by Apryl Baker

  “I don’t want to.” His lips found her jawline and she jerked, shocked by the searing heat that invaded her at the simple touch. He worked his way up to her ear, nibbling on the sensitive lobe. She’d never gotten them pierced. He’d often teased her about it. She had an insane fear of needles and had never been able to purposefully stab herself. His teeth tugged at the lobe, and it went straight down to her girl parts. Shit, how could he make her respond like this after all these years?

  She pushed against him, hard. “Get off, Kade. Now.”

  He raised his head and looked down at her. His eyes burned with lust and need. Her breath caught, but she manned up. She wouldn’t let him hurt her again. “Get out.”

  Kade let out a strangled breath. She glared up at him like he was some vile bug who needed squashing even as her body arched into his touch.

  She hated him. It sobered him.

  What the ever-loving fucking hell was he doing?

  Damned if he knew.

  He pushed off her and walked away, closing the door behind him. Walking away, at least, was something he was good at.

  He needed a distraction, so he pulled out his phone and waited for his brother to answer.

  “Yo.” Nik’s sleepy voice rolled through the phone. “Everything okay?”

  “What the fuck is in your closet, and what the hell is Fifty Shades of Grey?”

  Chapter Six

  He set the six pack of Corona along with his other bags on the table and kicked off his shoes. The beers were well past hot by now, but it couldn’t be helped. It had been a long night. His small apartment over the garage smelled of sweat and old pizza. He hadn’t cleaned it in over a week. His mother would be appalled. Thankfully, she lived three thousand miles away in a small town in California. Otherwise, he’d have to suffer through her nagging.

  He flipped the TV on and powered up his laptop. He needed to check a few things. The biggest story on the news right now was the Boston madman, as they’d taken to calling him. He chuckled. Madman. He was a madman because he didn’t follow a pattern. It drove the police and the FBI more than a little crazy, which suited him just fine.

  The image displayed on the screen confirmed his suspicions. The angel in the alleyway had gotten a good look at him. His face was displayed in all its digital glory for everyone to see. Not that it would do any of them a bit of damn good. He’d erased his real name from public records many years ago and stayed off the grid. His family would recognize him, of course, but they never bothered to watch a television. He wasn’t concerned.

  He walked to the kitchen and took out a saucepot. He dumped a cold can of soup into it. He was starved after his night of investigation.

  And the police thought they were the only ones who knew how to track down leads. He smirked as he found a clean bowl. That FBI agent in particular rubbed him the wrong way. He seemed to like to strut for the cameras, even though he had no real answers to give.

  Manners. The man needed manners. One didn’t speak unless one had something of worth to say. It was the first thing he should have been taught.

  The image of the redhead popped up on the TV screen, and he paused, studying her. He’d already researched her. It was easy enough. Her name was listed on the bar’s website. After that, he’d simply hacked the necessary servers and dug up everything there was to know about Angelique Lemoraux. Stripper turned bartender. The DMV had given him her address, and he’d gone over to her apartment to inspect it.

  She was a student at Boston University, working toward a business degree. From the proposal on her laptop, it looked like she wanted to open her own bar. Sadly, those plans would be left unfulfilled. He had plans of his own for the beautiful angel who had fallen right into his lap. Getting her away from Agent Pretty Boy might take some doing, though. Especially since they’d moved her to some big high-rise downtown. Not that he wouldn’t; it would just take a little more planning on the logistics side of things.

  The soup bubbled up, and he poured it into the bowl, replacing the pot on the blazing stove eye with a teapot before heading to his favorite La-Z-Boy recliner propped to the right of the TV. Damn, but his feet hurt tonight. The aromatic tomato soup tickled his nose as he drank from the bowl. The hot liquid slid down his throat much the same way a good shot of liquor would. The burn was delicious.

  He turned the volume of the TV down and relished the quiet of the countryside. After being in the city for so long tonight, he needed to relax and let the solitude calm him. He closed his eyes, replaying the utter shock on her face. There wasn’t any fear that he saw, only shock. None of his girls looked at him like that. They were always terrified, but not Angel. She was exactly what he’d been searching for. His pièce de résistance.

  Not that terror wasn’t pleasant. It was usually the way he liked his women staring up at him.

  But he had to admit to himself he’d been caught off guard by the bartender. She’d been bold. No running, no screaming, just a steady gaze. It fascinated him. More so than any of the others. She would be his coup de grace here in Boston. Once he finished with this city, he’d go vacation somewhere warm. Maybe Barbados. It was always wonderful this time of year.

  He finished his soup and put the bowl in the scarred farmer’s sink. The teapot hadn’t squalled yet, so he put the beer in the fridge and collected his shopping bags. Making his way down the hall to the bathroom, he yawned. The small room blazed to life with a flick of the switch, bathing the room in harsh yellow light.

  The cracked mirror showed him the same face he’d seen every day for the last sixteen years. One tiny scar marred the image. His true face had come into focus on the day he received that scar sixteen years ago. She’d been thirteen, his first. The sound of her screams echoed in his head every minute of every day. He’d never looked at himself the same since.

  He studied the face others saw. He understood the appeal, even appreciated it. Charming, some called it. His grandmother told him it was a face that would take him places. He snorted at the thought. It wasn’t his face that afforded him creature comforts. It was his hacking skills. They paid for his lifestyle, his secular pursuits, and his deviant side.

  His face had now become a liability, thanks to his new fascination.

  Fucking women. They just didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.

  Shaking his head, he turned on the hot water and pulled out his pocketknife. It was sharp, precise, and one of his favorite tools. Light danced off the silver blade as he twisted it back and forth. It amazed him how one simple little item could carve out great works of beauty, inflict pain, and solve so many problems all in one fell swoop. Knives were cool.

  He tested the water with his pinkie. Satisfied, he wet a washcloth and ran it over his face. Dark blue eyes squinted at him from the mirror. They were fathomless, blank, empty. He’d often read you could see a person’s soul through their eyes. Staring into his own, he didn’t believe it. It was bullshit. His empty gaze mocked him as he tried to laugh off the thought.

  Did he have a soul anymore? He wasn’t sure, really, but he liked to think somewhere in there he did. He loved his mother, his father, his sister. At least as much as he could. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

  His cold expression questioned those beliefs. He was fucked, and his inner demons knew it.

  Fear prickled the corners of his mind. He wouldn’t let his own insecurities debilitate him. He lifted the knife without thinking and sliced a long, jagged line from beneath his eye to the edge of his left earlobe. The pain was swift, sharp. He savored it. Small pinpricks of blood appeared then bubbled over, taking a stroll down his cheek. He slashed his chin then moved to his forehead. Another long gash raced from his hairline to his left eyebrow.

  He watched impassively as blood began to make chaotic paths down and across his face. He opened one of his bags and took out the bleaching kit. His dark brown locks would soon be platinum, including his eyebrows. Blue eyes would soon become brown. He had a plethora of contact len
ses, all different colors.

  A drop of blood dripped into his eye and he blinked, clearing it away. The squall of the teapot sounded from the other room. He smiled and turned back toward the kitchen, not bothering to wipe away the blood on his face. He picked up the hot kettle and made his way down the hall to the second bedroom. Knocking, he opened it and stood there a moment, admiring the view.

  A young woman lay naked and tied to the bed, her red hair spread out around her on the pillow. Large brown eyes met his then skated to the steaming pot in his hands. He smiled reassuringly at her and walked into the room, placing the pot on the nightstand.

  “Please…” she whispered, her voice hoarse. He cupped her cheek and rubbed his thumb across her soft skin in a soothing manner.

  “Hush, now.” His eyes raked over her body. Supple, firm. So very beautiful. A work of art all on its own. He could smell the terror wafting off her. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, cherishing the scent.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Because you look like my bartender. He needed someone to fill his last girl’s place. The need was getting stronger and stronger. He’d known his time in Boston was coming to an end by the sense of urgency that drove him. His needs were climaxing, and Angel would be his last canvas.

  His fingers left her cheek and he stroked her neck, weaving down her body, cupping her breast. She whimpered when he pinched the soft, pink nipple. It puckered and hardened. “You like this, do you, pet?” He tugged on it. Dark crimson flooded her body, a blush. She was embarrassed. Endearing, really. “I’ll remember that.”

  “Let me go, please. I won’t say anything…I promise…”

  He put a finger to her very enticing lips. “They all say that, pet. You’re not going anywhere. We’re going to have so much fun together. You’ll discover how beautiful your body can truly be.”

  He picked up the teapot and pressed down a little, opening the spout’s nozzle enough for a small stream to pour out. Scooting down the bed until he was even with her belly button, he leaned down and kissed it, his tongue darting in quickly, tasting the fear-soaked sweat pooling there.

  When he rose, her frightened eyes pleaded with him.

  He tipped the teapot and let a small spray of water splash the perfectly unmarred flesh of her stomach.

  Her scream was instant, but he ignored it as he watched the water spread out and roll across her abdomen and down her sides. No matter how many times he did this, the water never took the same path. The chaos theory. He’d tested it many, many times, and it never failed him.

  “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it, now?” he crooned as he stroked the blisters on her belly. “See how your skin puckers up for the heat, embraces it?”

  Her breasts captured his attention. The small, rosy buds were standing erect, begging for some attention. He took one in his mouth and sucked on it gently, encouraged by the sound of her tears. Oh, yes, they were going to have so much fun.

  Another predatory grin broke out on his face as he set to work.

  So much fun.

  Chapter Seven

  Kade sat staring out at the Boston skyline, watching the snow fall. He hadn’t seen this much snow since he’d left Russia. He missed it, really. Memories of his childhood swirled in the floating mess outside the massive wall of windows. He and his brothers had spent hours building snow forts for their epic snowball wars. The twins were evil minions when engaged in snowball warfare, so he’d taken it upon himself to protect the little ones.

  He missed his family. The thought strummed like a broken string in his heart. Maybe after this case, he’d go to Russia and visit his parents and grandparents. He hadn’t seen them in a long time. Maybe being around Nikoli so much these last few weeks had brought up the need to surround himself with his family. Or maybe it was seeing Angel. Either way, he needed to get off his ass and visit them.

  A noise sounded from upstairs, and he shot a wary look that way. Angel had kicked him out, and he’d sat here staring at the snow since then. He still couldn’t figure out what had possessed him to pin her to a bed and kiss her. It had to be all of Nikoli’s kinky stupid shit in that damn closet. He wasn’t into that sort of thing, but he doubted any man could see it and not have a fantasy or two. Add in the gorgeous woman laughing at him, and maybe it had been inevitable.

  He’d never been able to leave her alone. Peter had warned him off his sister, but Kade couldn’t stay away. He’d told himself to leave her alone, it would only complicate the situation, but like an ass, he’d completely ignored his own advice.

  Their first date was embedded in his memory.

  He showed up dressed in jeans and a button down shirt, but he hadn’t expected the fist coming at him as soon as the door opened. It was so fast, he didn’t have time to duck, and it landed squarely on his jaw. He hadn’t stumbled back, but absorbed the blow.

  “You fucker.”

  Kade rubbed his jaw, but didn’t step back. “Peter.”

  “I told you to stay away from her.”

  He was nervous enough without Peter trying to go all big brother on him. “I like your sister. I just want to spend some time with her, get to know her. Do I look stupid enough to do anything to risk our friendship? I got nothing but respect for her, Peter.”

  “Kade?”

  The soft, musical voice that had been haunting his dreams for over two months floated to him from behind the brick wall that was Peter. He could barely see the top of her head. She wasn’t overly short, but next to him and Peter, she looked like a petite fairy.

  Peter shot him another warning glare, but moved out of the way. His breath caught in his chest and he stood, unable to do anything but stare. She had her hair up in some kind of loose knot, but several tendrils escaped to tease her neck. Her simple black dress highlighted her curves without revealing too much skin. It was made to inspire a man’s imagination.

  Peter let out something like a growl, and Angel laughed at her brother. “I’ll see you later. And no texting me!”

  Peter looked ready to throw her over his shoulder and ban her from leaving the house. Kade wouldn’t put it past him either. She looked up at him and must have seen some sort of alarm on his face, because she hurried toward him.

  A burst of air left him once they’d closed the door on Peter’s judgmental hostility. “Your brother wants to beat my ass.”

  She giggled. “He might do it too.”

  Peter and he were about the same size, and they were both brawlers. Kade and his brothers had toughened each other up by beating each other’s asses growing up, but he dreaded fighting Peter. It would be like fighting his brother, Viktor. Neither of them could take the other. He had a feeling Peter would be on par with Viktor.

  “He might, but it would be worth it.” He gave her what he hoped was his most charming smile while he spewed what had to be the cheesiest line to come out of his mouth. Kade was usually smoother than this, but she made him nervous, and he floundered the simplest of things when she was around.

  She arched a brow, laughter dancing in her eyes. She recognized how lame the line was, but to her credit, she didn’t remark on it. “So, where to?”

  “I made reservations at Keellies, and then I thought we might take a walk on the beach. It’s not crowded at night.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  Kade shook his head to clear it of the memory. She’d been so young. Hell, he’d only been a year older than she was. Two kids not really understanding the intense and all-consuming attraction that sprang up between them.

  “Hey.”

  His head snapped up to see her standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking a little lost. Her green eyes were wide and luminous, the worry in them bright. She’d pulled all that unruly hair of hers back into a loose ponytail, and her pajamas clung to her in a way clothes only do after a shower. He wet his lips and tamped down his feelings. She needed Agent Kincaid, not Kade the bastard who’d left her.

  “Feeling better?”

  Sh
e nodded but didn’t move farther into the room.

  “Can I get you some coffee? I made a fresh pot.”

  Again, she nodded but didn’t move a muscle.

  “Well, grab a seat at the island. I’ll make it for you.”

  He got up and made his way into the kitchen. She’d come in when she was ready. Angel refused to be rushed. He found an empty mug and poured it halfway full of coffee, then he took out the last of the milk from the refrigerator and filled it up. He’d been shocked to find milk when there wasn’t so much as a full salt shaker in the cupboards. He guessed Nik and Lily were keeping it to a bare minimum.

  She sat and accepted the mug from him. “You remember how I take my coffee?”

  How could she be surprised? He remembered everything about her. She was his best and worst mistake. He’d loved her.

  “You’re the only person I know who drinks milk with just a taste of coffee.” A short laugh escaped. “Remember the morning I brought you coffee with creamer in it? You turned up that pert little nose of yours and demanded I go out and buy real milk.”

  “Creamer is nasty.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust and took a sip. “Is there anything to eat?”

  “No. Lily cleaned the place out. They’re getting it ready to put up for sale.”

  “That’s right. They’re leaving Boston after graduation. New York, I think.”

  She really did know his brother. He wasn’t used to his brother having friends who were female.

  “I can order either Chinese or pizza. I know a few places open all night. Tomorrow we can get some real groceries.”

  “Pizza. Explain this whole police protection thing. I have to work tomorrow night, and I have finals next week.”