SINS of the Rex Book 2
Page 1
SINS of the Rex Book 2
Emma Slate
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. ©2016 by Emma Slate. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute or transmit in any form or by any means.
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Contents
Description
SINS of the Rex Book 2
Part I
6 Months Later
Prologue
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
Part II
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Part III
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Part IV
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Epilogue
Become a Sinner!
Thanks and Stuff
Other Books By Emma Slate:
About the Author
6 months later…
I never thought this would be my life. Flynn and I are married and now we’re expecting a baby. I’m so happy. Everything is perfect.
Well, almost perfect.
I’ve made peace with who my husband is, with his ties and political affiliations. I understand and support his cause. But this isn’t about him. It’s about me—and I’m still haunted by the things I’ve done, of the person I’m becoming.
I want to put the past behind me and focus on the future. But I can’t. Not when my past is coming for me and my family.
And I’ll do anything to protect my family…
SINS of the Rex Book 2
Part I
6 months later
Prologue
Sounds of the viola caress my ears. I look up from the book in my lap and gaze around the music room. Opulence and beauty, old-world Russia, an era long ago forgotten is not forgotten here.
Igor Dolinsky stands in the corner with his eyes closed as he plucks the strings of the instrument. Mournful, sweet notes glide toward me and I sigh.
Dolinsky stops and opens his eyes. He smiles.
“My queen,” he greets in Russian.
“My king,” I reply in the same tongue.
He sets his viola aside and comes to me, kneeling before me. I run my hands through his hair, my thumbs stroking down his high Slavic cheekbones.
“Did I not promise you the world?” he asks, resting his head in my lap.
“You did.”
“You have power, respect, and loyalty.”
“It’s easy to rule when I have a man like you at my side.”
He lifts his head and grins. I lean over and place my mouth on his. I pull back so that I can stare into his brown eyes.
“You have given me more than I ever thought possible,” I say.
“You are beautiful,” he murmurs.
He takes my hands and brings me to my feet before taking a step back. His eyes suddenly widen in surprise and pain. He runs his hands down his chest and they come away red, stained with blood.
He falls to his knees, begging me to save him.
But I don’t. Because I’m the one who killed him.
As he lies still at my feet, I step over him and walk out of the music room and into the hallway. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a long mirror. My cheeks are splattered with red blots. It reminds me of ink. I scrub at my face, but the blood remains.
My skin is stained by Dolinsky’s death. Just like my conscience.
Chapter 1
I started, coming awake from the dream. Deeply unsettled, I took a breath, hoping to quell the nausea and fear coiling through me. I placed a hand on my chest and felt that rapid thump thump thump of my heartbeat.
My husband reached over and touched my arm. “Barrett,” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep and his natural husky timbre.
His Scottish brogue slid over my skin, cooling the tremors of anxiety that still pulsed through me.
I awkwardly shifted my bulk closer but didn’t roll into him. My large belly wouldn’t allow it. Intimacy was difficult to configure due to my late stage of pregnancy. Thankfully Flynn was enthusiastic and imaginative. But at the moment, I wasn’t looking for that kind of comfort.
He sat up, moonlight painting his bare chest. His blue eyes appeared black, but if there had been light, I’d see the bright cobalt color that was as unusual as the man I had married.
“You had another dream,” he stated.
“Yes,” I admitted.
Flynn and I had no secrets. We had once, but we quickly learned it had been no way to live, no way to love. Secrets had the power to undo us.
“Dolinsky? Or Vlad?”
I dreamt frequently of the men I had killed. Most of the time, I found a way to live with their deaths. Dolinsky had kidnapped me. Vlad had tried to strangle me. Both of them had lusted for me. It had been their ultimate undoing.
Dolinsky had wanted my love. He’d done everything he could—seducing me with power, isolating me, yet treating me like a queen. He’d almost succeeded, and that thought was more unsettling than any nightmare.
“I’m going to get a drink of water,” I said, not replying to Flynn’s question and attempting to maneuver my bulk to the edge of the bed. I hadn’t seen my ankles in weeks, my back was in knots, and the baby was resting on my bladder and refusing to move.
“Want me to get it for you?” Flynn asked, throwing the covers off, ready to jump out of bed.
I smiled at him over my shoulder, enjoying the sight of Flynn’s bare thighs in the moonlight. “No, love. Thank you.”
Finally managing to get to my feet, I left the bedroom and walked into the hallway. The old wood floors squeaked under my feet as I made my way to the staircase. I held on to the ornate wood banister and carefully took the stairs. It was easy to lose my balance now that I resembled a hippo and weighed nearly as much.
Six months ago, Flynn and I had bought an apartment in New York City, only to come to the conclusion that we wanted to be in Scotland. Well, Flynn wanted to be in Scotland. Though he hadn’t spent any great amount of time in the land of his birth since the death of his parents when he was a teen, he suddenly decided he wanted to raise our family in Dornoch, c
lose to Malcolm Buchanan. Flynn’s surrogate father was the leader of the SINS, an organization determined to free Scotland from English rule.
We’d bought a house—a small castle—on 1000 acres of land. There was an airstrip ten minutes from our home, a necessity since Flynn needed to be able to fly to New York at a moment’s notice.
Though the castle had been restored and modernized years ago, we’d made a few of our own improvements. We’d gutted the kitchen and expanded it. If I was at the stove, I could glance out the large window that took up the entire wall and have an unencumbered view of Dornoch Firth and the rocky outcrop.
I stood in front of the large windows and watched a thunderstorm mercilessly unleash itself; It was still dark out, but that didn’t mean much in Scotland. It was usually dark, dreary, and rainy. But it was a solemn, harsh beauty and I loved it.
Before I’d met Flynn, I’d been a research assistant in the history department at Columbia—and my specialty was Scottish history. Long before Flynn, Scotland had held a special place in my heart. Flynn solidified it.
I put a hand to my belly. My child would be Scottish—not just in birth but in culture, too.
I heard Flynn’s soft footsteps, so I didn’t start when I felt him wrap himself around me. Brushing aside my auburn hair, he placed a kiss on my shoulder and pressed his face to my neck.
“You should sit, hen,” he said, leading me to a chair.
I threw him a distracted smile as I took a seat in a kitchen chair. He pulled up a chair and sat across from me. He tapped his lap and I lifted my leg. His large hands went to my ankle, and he began to massage my swollen, aching flesh.
I moaned in pleasure, knowing it sounded sensual, knowing it heated Flynn’s blood.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, head bent as he focused on his work.
I snorted. “No.”
“Aye,” he countered with a light squeeze. “You’re carrying my son. Nothing more beautiful than that.”
“Your son is sitting on my bladder,” I complained. “Wants what he wants when he wants it. Just like someone else I know.”
Flynn laughed. “Not much longer now. Just a few more weeks.” He patted my ankle. I set my foot back on the ground and lifted the other one for him rub.
“I’m ready for him to be here,” I said. “I’m ready for the pregnant part to be over.” I was uncomfortable and ready for my body to be returned to me.
His face screwed up in a picture of worry. “Are you happy, hen?”
My lips softened, and I tried to lean forward so I could stroke his face. Unfortunately, my large belly got in the way; my flexibility wasn’t what it was used to be.
“Of course I’m happy. You can’t tell?”
“I just want to make sure—that you’re living a life you want, and not mine.”
“Our lives are tied together, aren’t they?” I asked.
“Aye.”
“Flynn,” I began. “I didn’t think I wanted this, but I do. I want you. Your child. My place is with you.”
“Is this going to be enough for you? You’re intelligent and you loved your job. I—I took all that away from you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Did you? You didn’t hold a gun to my head when you asked me to come work for you in your club. I did that because I wanted to help you.”
“And to sever ties with your brother,” he pointed out.
I hated talking about Andrew. I hated thinking about Andrew. We were related by blood, but I no longer considered him family.
“I could’ve gone back to work at Columbia,” I said, moving past discussion of Andrew. “I even talked about it with you, remember? But things change. I changed.”
Because of Dolinsky. Because of Vlad. Because of circumstances I never thought I’d have to live through, but I was here with Flynn because I wanted to be.
I looked down at my left ring finger; it had been broken by Dolinsky. It had healed completely, but sometimes it would twinge, reminding me that what I’d lived through was still with me—with us—even if it wasn’t always obvious.
“Look at me,” I said to Flynn. He lifted his blue gaze to mine and the intensity of it stole the air from my lungs. “We’re both here. Now. Let’s live for now.”
He nodded slowly and all vulnerability he’d unveiled disappeared. Back was the persona I was familiar with—wealthy hotel mogul and high-ranking member of the SINS.
“Let’s go back to bed,” I suggested.
He stood up. Taking my hand he led me back towards the stairs. “How about Angus?” he asked.
“No.”
“Balfour?”
“Flynn, why do you hate our child?”
He let out a chuckle. “Cameron.”
“Cameron Campbell? No alliteration.”
“Flynn, Jr.”
I groaned in dismay. “We’re never going to agree on a name.”
We entered the bedroom, and I went to my side of the bed, gazing longingly at my pillow, wondering if I’d be able to fall back asleep. Though the uneasiness of the dream had faded, I worried my sleep would still be restless.
Flynn got into bed next to me. “Glen, Hamish, Lachlan—”
“I like Lachlan.”
“You do?” he asked eagerly.
I grinned. “No. Not really.”
It was his turn to groan. “Go to sleep, woman. You’re driving me insane.”
“You like it,” I said with a sigh as his lips kissed me goodnight.
“Aye,” he agreed. “I like it a lot.”
The next evening we went to dinner at Malcolm’s house. He lived only ten minutes away from us, but farther from the town of Dornoch. I lovingly called his old castle The Hermitage. It was drafty, the hearths were large enough for a grown man to stand in, and he had hounds. Three of them.
Zeus and Hera rushed to greet us the moment we walked through the door. Zeus pressed himself to my leg and then slumped down in a huff as if his belly was too big to hold up. Hera eagerly nudged Flynn for affection. Her brown ears twitched when he gave her a scratching.
“Give her a pat for me,” I said with a grin. “I can’t bend down.”
Cronus, Zeus and Hera’s father, ambled on arthritic legs towards us. He was old and blind, almost completely deaf, but he sniffed the air and I swore a dog smile appeared on his saggy jowls.
Malcolm got up from his brown leather-backed chair by the fire, clutching a glass of scotch. “Hera’s pregnant.”
“Not with her brother’s litter I hope,” I said with a kiss to Malcolm’s weathered, whiskered cheek.
Malcolm laughed. “No. But that would be just like the Greeks.” Malcolm and Flynn embraced and when Malcolm pulled back, he slapped Flynn on the back. “I bred her with a neighbor’s hound up the road.”
“What neighbor might that be?” Flynn asked slyly.
“Mrs. MacDonald.” A bright, energetic smile painted Malcolm’s face, making him look ten years younger.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked.
“What? She’s a widow,” Flynn explained.
“Not that. Doesn’t Mrs. MacDonald have a farm?”
Flynn and Malcolm exchanged a confused glance. “Aye, so?” Flynn asked.
I rolled my eyes. “‘Old MacDonald had a farm’? Ring any bells?”
Malcolm frowned. “She’s not old. Well, she’s middle-aged, but she’s a bonnie woman.”
“My humor is lost on the Scots,” I said with a rueful shake of my head.
Malcolm snapped into host mode. “Scotch?” he asked Flynn.
“Please,” Flynn replied.
“And for you, Barrett?”
“Sparkling water.”
“I tell you, lass,” Malcolm said, moving towards the bar in the corner of the sitting room, “I can’t wait for you to be able to get back to drinking scotch with me.”
I sat on the couch in a position closer to the heat of the fire. Zeus had followed me and plopped down at my feet and I was finally able to give him a good
rubbing. “You and me both,” I said.
Flynn sat next to me and Malcolm brought us our drinks before retaking his seat in the high-backed leather chair. The flames of the fire flickered shadows across Malcolm’s face, making him appear demonic. Though I knew better. He was gruff, but underneath he was marshmallow. With me, anyway.
I took a moment to admire the splendor of the room. The first time I’d been to Malcolm’s home, I’d gaped. Thick fur rugs covered the wood floors, paintings hung on the walls, and only the most expensive and comfortable furniture existed. I saw where Flynn had learned to enjoy the finer things in life. From a young age, he’d been surrounded by luxury.
“Do you want one?” Malcolm asked.
“One what,” I asked, realizing I hadn’t heard a word of Flynn and Malcolm’s conversation.
“One of Hera’s puppies,” Malcolm said with a smile.
“A new baby and a new puppy? At the same time?” I gaped. “Are you kidding?”