A Beautiful Sin

by Terri E. Laine

  A BEAUTIFUL SIN

  Published By Wicked Truth Publishing, LLC

  Copyright © 2016 A.M. Hargrove and Terri E. Laine

  All rights reserved.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at HargroveLaineBooks@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  Cover by Sofie Hartley at Luminos Graphic House

  Cover photo by Sara Eirew Photography

  Chapter headings by Max Henry of Max Effect

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  About The Authors

  Stalk Terri E. Laine

  Stalk A.M. Hargrove

  Playlist

  To anyone who has suffered abuse at the hands of another, this book is dedicated to you.

  Every day we are amazed by the number of readers who follow us, contact us, or speak to us through Facebook. The messages you all leave us totally blow us away. We are humbled by this because we never dreamed this would ever happen, especially to two hermits like us. So a big shouty thank you to everyone who loves our stories. We honestly can’t tell you how much we love you all.

  We started writing A Beautiful Sin way back in the fall and it’s been quite the process for us. We had to juggle it between the release of Cruel & Beautiful, and then the writing of A Mess of a Man. We have a few rewrites too, that complicated everything, but Canaan stole our hearts and we hope he steals yours as well.

  There are so many people we’d like to thank but first off, here’s a huge thank you to are beta readers: Kristie Wittenberg, Kat Grimes, Andrea Stafford, Heather Carver, and Jill Patten. You all have been with us since the beginning so thanks for putting up with us! A thousand hugs and smoochies!

  Next, thank you Nina Grinstead for everything you do—all the marketing, keeping up with the ARCs, the beta reading, OMG, what DON’T you do? You are da best!!! There aren’t enough words to say it here.

  Sofie Hartley at Luminos Graphic House—thank you for the AHHH-mazing cover. You knocked it out of the park, girl. And we have been crying ever since you told us were retiring from covers. We took to our beds for days. We’ll never get over that piece of news. If you ever change your mind, let us know. We’ll be here waiting—impatiently, of course.

  A big thanks to Max Henry for making everything on the inside just as pretty as the outside.

  We’d also like to give a big shout out to the RedCoatPR team (A couple of crazy Brits and the rest Yanks!) for everything they do. Newsletters, Ads, FB posts, Tweets, and all the behind the scenes things too. Love you all to pieces.

  Finally, thank you Lisa Christman of Adept Edits for all the editing and Emily Lawrence for proofreading.

  Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…

  Words I’ve repeated how many times? It doesn’t matter. What matters is the confession that comes now. God and the church are my life, but sometimes we are given choices—choices that are neither good nor evil, but weigh heavily on one’s soul. Mine walks in the form of something so beautiful, she is the temptation I never thought I’d have. Or perhaps she is my salvation, my deliverance from my skeletons, the invisible chains that bind me, the very ones that have constricted my heart for far too long.

  Believe me, I have no regrets, but I know I have sinned. When she stepped into my life, I didn’t see how much we would become entangled with one another—or how hard it would be to untangle those bonds. But I must admit the truth to myself, and to God.

  This isn’t a love story. For that would go against my vows. Yet the sins we’ve committed could mean the end…or the beginning of everything.

  Father, this is my confession…

  Fourteen Years Ago

  I was a sinner, taught from an early age that I would fall short of perfection. If not by actions, I would eventually succumb to impure thoughts. And what kid my age didn’t have random thoughts that would contradict the laws of God? What I hadn’t known that day was how much of a sinner I was and the price I would have to pay.

  “Canaan Michael, get out of bed now! Mass starts in forty-five minutes. You’re going to be late,” Mom shouted.

  Blinking my eyes open, I glanced over at the clock and groaned. As much as I loved being an altar server, my bed felt so awesome right then.

  “I’m up!” I called out as I threw the comforter off and climbed out of bed. I managed to do the necessary things in only a few short minutes in order to join my parents in the kitchen.

  Dad glanced up from where he poured a cup of coffee. “That was fast,” he said. “Want some breakfast?”

  “No, sir. Communion, remember?” As Catholics, we needed to fast an hour before we took Holy Communion.

  Dad proudly glanced over at Mom. They were used to me spouting off rules of our faith and occasionally scripture, for that matter.

  “You have plenty of time. By the time Communion comes, it’ll be way past an hour,” Dad said, patting my shoulder.

  I glanced at the clock to check the time. “Okay, I’ll have some toast.”

  Mom poured orange juice and milk for me while Dad handled the toast. As soon as it was set in front of me, I scarfed it all down, and they both laughed.

  “What?”

  “You act like you haven’t eaten in a month.” Dad shook his head and his tone changed. “If I didn’t know better, I might have thought you were a glutton.”

  I nodded, realizing my mistake. “And gluttony is a sin.”

  Dad gave me an approving nod.

  “Sorry. It’s just that I don’t want to be late. I’m the lead server today.” I took my duties very seriously, more so than any of the other servers.

  Dad winked at me. “Gotcha. Well, let’s go then. You ready, Susan?”

  Mom smiled and nodded.

  We pulled into the church parking lot and I eagerly got out. On my way inside I remembered something. “Oh, before I forget, don’t wait on me afterward. Father O’Brien asked
me to help him clean up the sacristy after Mass. I think Sister Rita, the one who usually does it, has been sick. So I said I could help. I’m pretty sure he’ll give me a ride home.”

  “Okay. We’ll see you later then. Dinner is at five.”

  Not wanting to be late, I hightailed it to the room where the altar servers changed into their robes. While we were getting dressed, Father O’Brien stuck his head in. “Are you still planning to help afterward?”

  Some of the other boys gave me curious looks, but I ignored them. “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded and left. A few minutes later, we went out to light all the candles before the start of Mass. During the service, I kept my posture straight as I listened to the introduction rites, the Liturgy of the Word, and said all the prayers during the Liturgy of the Eucharist, which I had memorized by heart. My mind drifted a bit as I tried to pinpoint when church had become more than a place my parents hustled me to every week. Every time I entered I felt God within my soul. I never shared this with anyone, except my parents, because I was already the odd man out at school. When you’re fourteen, even in Catholic school, love for the church is fuel for bullying. My parents, along with Father O’Brien, were the only ones who knew how important my faith was to me.

  As I stood at the altar waiting diligently for my part, I watched the other boys robotically go through the motions. They didn’t get it like I did.

  Even though it wouldn’t be until next year that I would enter high school, I was pretty sure I wanted to become a priest. Leaving behind the elementary school here at Holy Cross was just one step closer to that goal. When I graduated from the eighth grade, I would move on to the Catholic high school clear across town. My parents had agreed to bring me to early Mass every morning before school because they understood how important it was to me. Church was my home and someday would be my life.

  When Mass was over and my robes were hung in the altar server’s room, I reentered the sanctuary. Inhaling, the lingering scent of incense flooded my nostrils, and I thought of how much I loved that smell. There were items on the altar that needed to be returned to the sacristy, so I gathered them and picked up the soiled linen that was used during Mass as well. When I walked into the sacristy, Father O’Brien was waiting for me.

  “Is everyone gone, Canaan?”

  It was a strange question, one I didn’t think too much of at the time. Father O’Brien was someone I trusted.

  “Yes, Father. The church is empty. I grabbed these on my way here.” I nodded toward the items I held.

  “Good. Put them down there.” He pointed to the table where his vestments were usually laid out for him prior to Mass.

  I did as I was told and turned to go collect the other things.

  “Lock the door, Canaan.”

  “Sir?” I faced him, only to find his eyes were dark as though he were angry.

  “I said, lock the door.” The chill in his voice made me frown.

  “But—”

  “You heard me,” he snapped, pointing at the door.

  At first I thought he wanted it locked because maybe he had the money collected at Mass, and he didn’t want anyone coming in.

  “Yes, Father.” So I went and locked the door. I turned around to find his hard stare. He loomed before me, tall in stature, much bigger than me. And for the first time in his presence, I felt uneasy.

  “Come here, Canaan.”

  I did as he commanded. It was Father O’Brien, my pastor and priest, and to disobey him would’ve been a sin. Besides, I was always taught that priests were God’s ministers who represented Christ and the Church. Why would I not listen to him?

  That day he gave me my first lesson as to why I was a sinner.

  ________

  I stood there with my head hung low. My hands clenched the table—the table I had once revered because it was where the Holy Chalices rested—and I feared my knuckles would burst through my skin. I stared at the floor, where red wine from the cruet had been knocked off the table and seeped into the rug like blood. As the stain grew larger and larger, it seemed symbolic somehow—

  “Clean up, Canaan.”

  Father O’Brien’s voice was the knife that flayed my soul. His approach was silent, and I only knew he was near when his breath fanned across my neck from above. Spikes of fear chilled my blood. Although his tone was low, I heard him clearly. If only I were taller, like my dad, maybe I could have overpowered him.

  “Canaan, this is God’s way, his path for you.”

  His meaning burned a trail of confusion mixed with hatred into my heart. Foul air locked in my lungs and I was unable to breathe without choking on the scent of my own filth.

  When his hands landed on my back, terror would have emptied my bladder. Only that had already happened. I prayed to my God who hadn’t come to my aid that I wouldn’t have to endure more penance for my sins. Father taught me a lesson I never wanted to learn again. My skin crawled as his hand slid down my back closer to a place I couldn’t bear to think about. I shuddered for what seemed the hundredth time.

  “Now, clean up. We have work to do.”

  He couldn’t be right. My teeth clenched together and I tasted dirt and rust. I spun around so fast Father O’Brien stepped back in surprise. I ignored the ache in my body and in my soul and found my spine instead.

  “God would never do this to someone.” Tears threatened to spill over and I forced back the sob in my throat.

  He stepped forward, towering over me, and I flinched. He was no small man. Large and intimidating, he reared up over me with his arms extended. I shrunk into myself, fear freezing me in place. His hand landed on my shoulder much like my father’s had that morning. However, Father O’Brien’s touch sickened me.

  “You will see this is the way to become closer to Him.” His tone was hard and unyielding, much like he had been.

  Him? God? I didn’t want to believe it.

  “Now clean up,” he demanded before leaving the room.

  His voice was like a whip across my skin. I wanted to hate him with all my guts, but I was afraid. Afraid that hate would consume me more than the fear that held me in place. Shame made an appearance too. It turned out to be the key that locked my mouth tight. And somewhere deep inside, a voice kept screaming at me to forgive. Forgive. FORGIVE. I grabbed my head in anguish because I wanted to scream out my pain. Then I looked at the wine stain on the floor. And much like the rug, I knew I would never be the same again—a prisoner of my own heart and soul.

  Somehow I managed to put myself to rights before a soft knock came at the door. I still glanced around, knowing Father O’Brien wasn’t there. So I went to the locked door and opened it. Standing there was a young girl I recognized as one of the many faces that attended school and Mass every Sunday. She rubbed at her arms as if she were cold.

  “Excuse me? Do you know where Father O’Brien is?”

  I turned my head in disgust as bile rushed up my throat. “No.” My voice was bitter and cold, bordering on rude.

  “Oh, okay,” she stuttered.

  Her soft footsteps retreated and I wondered if she saw the humiliation that was etched in my skin. Then another thought hit me. How could I possibly leave her to find him alone?

  It took the strength that Samson possessed for me to scramble after her.

  “Hey,” I called after her.

  She stopped dead and turned to face me with skin so pale she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” Somehow I managed to get my voice to boom out and not squeak from the terror that still coursed through me.

  “But I—”

  “Father O’Brien is a busy man. He doesn’t have time to see you today.”

  My gruff words stole what little light there was from her eyes and I watched her face fall. The awful feeling in my gut forced my eyes closed for a second as I willed back the anger I shouldn’t have directed at her. I tried again and managed not to sound like the wretch I was. “Can I help you with anything?�
��

  She hugged herself tighter and started rubbing her arms again.

  “No, thanks.”

  Her soft words were choked off at the end. She tore out of the church and headed toward the rectory, leaving me unable to apologize for my rudeness.

  “Canaan, who was that?”

  The bile I’d held back threatened to rise again.

  “No one,” I said, wanting to run out the same doors she had.

  “Are you ready to go home?” he asked, his hand landing on my back.

  I jerked from his touch but nodded anyway. Quickly, I led the way out of the sanctuary I’d once thought of as my home. Only now it felt cold and forbidding, a place where I didn’t want to be.

  Putting as much distance between that boy and me was my goal. Father O’Brien had been my final hope—the last person who I thought could help me, but it was plain I wasn’t worthy of him. I was a nobody, like my uncle kept telling me. Not only that, my heart had been shattered by Canaan, the boy whom I had secretly crushed on.

  I needed to hustle home, to that place where the devil himself lived. I snuck out and hadn’t told Aunt Kathy where I was going. If Uncle Kent caught me, I would pay for sure. After the other night, I was positive he would kill me if he discovered I wasn’t there. Pain seared the backs of my thighs each time my feet hit the ground, but I prodded on. My dress rubbed against the welts and open wounds on my shoulder blades, but that didn’t slow me down. If anything, it urged me forward. The house was only four blocks from the church. I bit back the sting of that boy’s words—I had counted on Father O’Brien’s help. Without it, my situation was doomed. Because if he wouldn’t help me, who at the church would or could?

  When I rounded the corner, any spark of optimism I held was immediately extinguished when I saw Uncle Kent’s police car in the driveway. He must’ve popped in for lunch, something he rarely did. Maybe I could sneak in through the back door and he’d never know. As soon as I made it to the driveway, I heard him yelling at my aunt.

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know, Kent. I thought she was in her room.”