SINS of the Rex Book 3

by Emma Slate

  “What hurts?” he asked.

  “Not sure anything does,” I said stupidly.

  “Don’t move. I don’t know how you fell, what you hit, but you need an ambulance.”

  I heard a click and then a barrel of a gun was pressed against Flynn’s temple. “I don’t think she’ll need an ambulance,” came Andrew’s low voice. “Stand.”

  Flynn put up his hands, showing he wasn’t even trying to go for his own weapon. He stood, his face blank, his eyes still on me.

  “John, search him,” Andrew commanded.

  “Just a pistol,” John said.

  Flynn moved out of my sight line. Andrew loomed over me, shaking his head. “You thought you won.”

  Snow was seeping through my dress, but I was no longer numb with cold. I was hot, so hot. I didn’t feel anything except heat.

  “If you’re going to kill me,” I said, “then let me sit up. I’m not going to let you put me down like a beaten dog.”

  “Barrett, don’t,” Flynn said.

  The sound of knuckles hitting flesh let me know that John had punched Flynn.

  “Help me sit up,” I said to Andrew, reaching out my left hand for his. It took effort.

  He appeared to debate for a moment before grasping my hand and hoisting me up. My spine felt like it had absorbed the fire from the house and was burning through my bones, liquefying me from the inside out.

  “Any last words, sister?” Andrew mocked.

  With the last of my energy, I yanked the hairpin from my hair and stabbed him in the Adam’s apple. His eyes widened in surprise.

  “Fuck you, Andrew,” I spat right before I passed out.

  Sirens. Flashes of blue eyes. Moving lips but no sounds. Hot then cold. Cold then hot.

  Something in my arm. Needle. Burning. Medicine.

  Nothing.

  Nothing for a long, long time.

  Beeping. Loud.

  Soft voices.

  “Her injuries were extensive. I wasn’t as concerned with the head injury. Though she had a concussion and a minor brain bleed, there were bigger concerns to worry about.”

  “Will she walk again?” asked a woman.

  Ash.

  “We won’t know that for a while yet. She shattered her leg and from what I can tell, when she fell, she landed on her pelvis. Spleen and liver were damaged. We were able to repair the liver, but we had to take out the spleen.”

  I couldn’t feel anything. I must’ve been heavily medicated.

  “The good news is your wife is breathing on her own. That’s a very good sign.”

  I finally opened my eyes. Everything looked harsh and white with the sun streaming through the open blinds. I squinted in pain.

  “Blinds,” I rasped.

  No one heard me, so I tried again. “Blinds,” I said a little louder. “Too damn bright.”

  Three heads swiveled towards me. Ash was the first to move, and she did my bidding by closing the blinds.

  Flynn stood with his hands in his pockets, looking bleak and lost.

  The doctor came to my bedside and smiled. “Mrs. Campbell, how are you feeling?”

  I ran my tongue across my dry lips. “Is that a serious question?”

  He chuckled and then pulled out a penlight. He shined it into one of my eyes and then the other. Satisfied, he nodded and then clicked off the penlight and stuck it back in his white lab coat.

  My right leg was in a cast, all the way up to the thigh. My hands were scraped but exposed.

  “Barrett?” Flynn called.

  “Hmm?”

  “Did you hear what Dr. Carson just said?”

  “No,” I said. “Sorry. I was… taking stock.”

  Dr. Carson nodded. “Understandable.” He gave me a brief run down of my injuries and my prognosis. I pretended to listen, even though I’d already overheard everything I needed to know.

  “How long have I been here?” I wondered, looking at Flynn and not the doctor.

  “Five days,” Flynn answered, his voice rusty.

  “I’ll give you some time,” Dr. Carson said. “But you need your rest.” He pointedly looked at Flynn, reminding him of my state.

  With a final nod, Dr. Carson left. Ash came to my bedside, tears in her light blue eyes. “I’ll come back later, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She made it to the door, but not before I heard her muffled cry. Flynn pulled up a chair next to my bed and sat down.

  He took my hand and brought it to his lips. His mouth was warm, familiar. I would’ve cried if I’d been able to feel any emotion. I hoped it the drugs and nothing more.

  “Where do I start?” he asked, still holding my hand in his.

  “From the moment I dropped you guys off.”

  He nodded. “Andrew had men on his property. Duncan, Brad and I were able to dispatch them fairly easily.”

  A small smile graced my lips.

  “We got to the house and Katherine ran out the door. The big brute, John, followed her and managed to get off a shot and it hit Katherine. She’s fine,” he assured me. “Just a graze. But it was bleeding fiercely. Brad sat with her in the car and played doctor. Duncan went in search of John and that’s when I heard the scream from the side of the house.” He looked at me in question.

  I briefly told him what had happened with Andrew in the library, why he’d set out to destroy us, and how he’d expected me to die in the fire.

  “I grabbed hold of the rain gutter because the fire had finally made it to the window. It wasn’t strong enough to support me and I fell backwards.”

  “Landing on your pelvis and back,” Flynn finished. “So I got to you, managed to wake you up, and that’s when Andrew found me.”

  “I… did I?”

  “Aye.”

  I licked dry lips. “Good. How did you get away from John?”

  “He was distracted. I took him out. Brad and Duncan cleaned everything up. Your house though… it’s gone.”

  “Burned to the ground?” He nodded and I shrugged. “Hadn’t been my home since my parents died.”

  His hand tightened on mine. “I asked you to be careful.”

  “Yes.”

  “You weren’t.”

  I shrugged.

  “You might never walk again, love.”

  “I’ll walk again. Stubborn, remember?”

  “Barrett,” Flynn began.

  “Is Katherine safe?”

  He frowned. “Aye.”

  “Is Andrew gone?”

  “Aye.”

  I softened my tone. “Are we both alive?”

  “Aye.”

  Finally, I smiled, feeling the faintest trace of emotion. Happiness.

  I reached out to touch his cheek. “Then that’s good enough for me, love. That’s good enough for me.”

  Epilogue

  1 year later

  “More bloody flowers?” Flynn growled. “That man is relentless.”

  My head peeked out from behind the bouquet of red amaryllis and I smiled. “They’re not from Sanchez,” I assured him.

  Flynn raised an eyebrow. “No?”

  I shook my head. “They’re from Alia and Jake. Apology flowers that they couldn’t make it.” Their new restaurant was so popular they hadn’t been able to take a vacation since it opened.

  “Oh, well, that’s all right then.”

  “The purple roses are from Sanchez,” I said, pointing to the bouquet in the corner of the sitting room. “He wants to extend our business contract.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “I told him,” I explained.

  “I’ll tell him,” Flynn growled, stalking towards me.

  “Let’s not start a war,” I quipped. “We’ve had enough of that. I’m done with wars.”

  Flynn took the vase out of my hands and set them aside before dragging me to the carpeted floor.

  “Here? Now?” I asked with a fluttering of my lashes.

  “Woman, we have exactly,” he looked at his Rolex, �
��thirty-three minutes before the castle is overrun with people here to celebrate.”

  “It was your idea!” I said with a laugh.

  “We’ve had a hard year,” he said quietly. “It’s important to celebrate. And Scotland finally won its independence.”

  “Guess we’re nothing more than scotch makers now.”

  “Successful scotch makers,” Flynn corrected. “SINNERS was written up in one of those fancy American magazines.”

  “I don’t care right now,” I answered, dragging him closer. My lips found his, and I shoved my fingers through his dark hair. It was starting to go gray at the temples and if it was possible, it made him look even sexier. I couldn’t wait until he needed reading glasses.

  We quickly shed our clothes, but I wasn’t cold. The warmth of the fireplace a few feet away warmed even the coldest corners of the sitting room.

  Flynn’s hands roamed over my body, reverently, lingering on each scar. A few stretch marks from carrying our children and then the ugly red scar on my right knee from when they’d set my leg and had to go in and repair the damage.

  There were pins in my hip and when my body was tired, my lower back ached and I walked with a slight limp, favoring my right leg.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Strong, brave, stubborn as all hell.”

  I smiled softly, running a thumb across his lips. “A lesser woman would’ve given up.”

  The last year had been spent recovering, both emotionally and physically. After I’d gotten out of the hospital, Flynn wanted me in Dornoch to heal. Those first few months, I could only watch from a bed. My sons had grown and changed so much in that time that I felt like I hadn’t even been a part of it. They didn’t understand why I was laid up in bed, unable to move, unable to play with them.

  When I was healed enough to move, I began physical therapy and then spent a lot of time in the scotch distillery, throwing myself into our deal with Sanchez. It was a good outlet for my grief and anger. Flynn had let me be.

  “Hey,” Flynn said. “Come back.”

  I smiled. “I’m waiting for you to take me someplace else,” I teased.

  He chuckled against my skin before moving lower, his mouth finding a pleasurable way to distract me. I erupted quickly and before my last tremor faded, Flynn was inside of me.

  We locked eyes and arms. I cried out, I cursed, I wept with the beauty of living—of being alive.

  Flynn collapsed on top of me and when he tried to move away, I refused to let him.

  “I won’t break,” I whispered.

  He smiled. “Promise?”

  I heard the faintest sound of pattering feet. A herd of them, if I had to guess.

  “You better get off me,” I teased. “Or our children are about to learn about the ‘birds and the bees’ with visual aids.”

  Flynn reluctantly moved off of me and went for his shirt. I slipped into my dress just as the door opened and in rushed the troops. I sank to the floor, surrounded by my inquisitive and beautiful children. I looked at Flynn, heart in my eyes.

  It was good enough for me.

  He smiled gently, reading the expression on my face. “Me too, love. Me too.”

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  THANKS AND STUFF

  Well, we made it to the end! Hot diggity dog!

  When I first started writing SINS, I only thought it would be four parts. But Barrett and Flynn told me their story wasn’t over. Stubborn prats! Before I knew it, I had eight parts. And still they weren’t satisfied! Parts 9-11 came out wicked fast. It. Was. Awesome. I really loved being able to watch their love story unfold over eleven parts. I hope you enjoyed it, too.

  Sinners, family, friends, readers everywhere, thank you. Writing might be solitary, but I never feel alone.

  Now for the stuff.

  What am I working on? Wouldn’t you like to know :) Hit me up on Goodreads. I answer questions. Sometimes.

  Email me at emma@emmaslate.com and tell me your favorite character from the SINS world and who you want to see a story written about. I might just oblige you.

  And don’t forget to join the party! We’ve got a Slate’s Sinners Facebook group. Check it out. Also, if you don’t want to miss a thing, sign up for my newsletter! I do a bunch of fun stuff.

  Other Books By Emma Slate:

  Barrett lives in black and white. Then she meets a man who pulls her into the gray. Love has a price. Maybe it's her soul.

  The SINS of the Rex Trilogy

  (dark romantic suspense)

  SINS of the Rex Book 1

  SINS of the Rex Book 2

  SINS of the Rex Book 3

  RUTHLESS: A SINS of the Rex Prequel Novella

  Poppy thinks she’s losing her mind when starts to hear a voice. What if she’s not crazy? What if the impossible is possible?

  The Web Series

  (psychological thriller with a fantasy element)

  Web of Innocence (Web #1)

  Captive: A Dark Romance Novella

  About the Author

  Emma Slate loves Friends but hates Rachel. She also thinks Chandler is amazing but that Monica should’ve chosen Richard. Emma also loves hearing your thoughts on fictional people.

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  www.emmaslate.com/

  emma@emmaslate.com