Deadly Sins

by Lora Leigh

  “Yes, Skye, the nightmares.” He followed behind her. “How often?”

  “Not too often.”

  “Just if you go to sleep in the dark? Or if your senses are on such high alert that you know whatever’s going on could strike soon?”

  She stopped at the section that held her more casual tops and turned back to him slowly. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve had them,” he admitted. “When Jaymi died. I still have nightmares.”

  Rafer’s lover from twelve years past, the one the Slasher had tried to have them framed with.

  Jaymi and her husband Tye Kramer, before Tye’s death, had been close to the Callahan cousins. After Tye had died in the military, Jaymi and Rafer had become lovers until her death.

  She nodded slowly. “I couldn’t save the last victim that the D.C. Vigilante kidnapped and tortured,” she admitted as she pushed her fingers through her hair. “He didn’t strike out at the criminals.” Her voice became hoarse again. “He struck out at their wives, their nieces—” She swallowed tightly. “Their daughters.”

  Ivan’s daughter had been luck. Skye and her partner had been close, they had already identified Martin Trinson as a suspect and were watching him closely for an attempt to take another victim.

  They had been only seconds late.

  Only seconds.

  He’d managed to lose them just long enough to snatch the twenty-one-year-old daughter of a major crime lord and what he did to her—

  She gave her head a hard shake, a shudder racing through her as she swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.

  Grabbing jeans, a cotton knit shirt, and underclothes, she turned and hurried to the shower.

  Logan watched her go. Watched the fall of riotous curls as they flowed down her back, and despite his concern for her, felt his dick twitching in renewed interest at the memory of those curls caressing his thighs hours before.

  Raking his fingers through his hair, he followed her, almost terrified to leave her alone with those memories, despite the fact that the case had ended and the D.C. Vigilante was dead.

  Martin Trinson had been particularly brutal. Taking his crazed rage for his father’s death and the rape of his mother by a drug lord, he had begun by first striking out at known and convicted drug dealers. Then, he had begun striking out at suspected criminals of varying crimes by targeting their families. Their mothers, sisters, nieces. All female. All maimed in ways that if they survived, the proof of their relations’ crimes would always show on their bodies, not to mention their minds.

  Waiting until he heard the shower running, Logan stepped into the large bathroom, stripped the cotton pants he wore, and then stepped into the large, multihead shower with her.

  She turned away from him quickly, but not before he could see the tears running from her eyes.

  She had been screaming his name when he brought her awake. Screaming it as though her soul were being ripped from her body. As though she were standing in his blood.

  “Hey, hiding doesn’t make it go away,” he said softly as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her against his chest. “When I have one of mine and wake up screaming as though the hounds of hell were after me, I send Bella squalling and hiding under the couch while it takes hours for me to stop seeing blood staining my hands.” She shuddered at the words. “Will you let me run then?”

  She shook her head.

  “I won’t let you run now.”

  Her breathing hitched. “My parents always taught me about the monsters in the dark,” she whispered. “To only trust them. To only love them. When my father hired his brother, Liam, as his head bodyguard. Liam was unaware my parents were agents. Dad’s cover was that of a diamond broker, his illegal activities involved moving drugs, weapons, and people as well. My father trusted Liam with his life. One night, after a large delivery of diamonds, Liam and his lover, my nanny, forced Father to give him the diamonds, then he killed them both as I watched on the monitors in the safe room. There were monsters in the dark, and my parents let one in.”

  She turned and buried her head in his chest.

  Logan’s eyes closed, his throat tightening at the thought of a child so young, so delicate enduring such a horrendous betrayal as well as witnessing it. “I wasn’t to trust anyone,” she whispered. “I wasn’t to love anyone. But my parents’ trust and love in my uncle destroyed us all.”

  “And then you lost Amy amid blood as well,” he said.

  “Amy saved me.” She sniffed tearfully. “When I went to stay with her and her parents, it was Amy who held me through the nightmares, who made me want to get out of bed in the morning. I couldn’t let this go.” She lifted her head and stared up at him. “I couldn’t let you go. When she showed me your picture, talked about you, told me stories about you, I think I fell in love with you then.”

  Cupping her cheek with his hand, his lips lowered to hers in a kiss so gentle, so filled with warmth that Skye was forced to blink back tears at the knowledge that he could do so much in such a simple touch.

  When his head lifted, Logan reached for the shampoo bottle, filled his hands with her shampoo, and began lathering her hair rather than speaking.

  The long, long silken strands rolled through his fingers in ringlets that clung to them and held the suds with greedy curves.

  Like Skye held him when he took her. Like her arms, legs, the sweet gripping muscles of her pussy hugged and loved his dick.

  Directing her beneath the spray of water, he rinsed the curls slowly before applying the conditioner, then pulling the long mass to the top of her head and clipping it with the two large comb clips he assumed were for that.

  Soaping her sponge, he began to wash her then, letting her talk, listening, his chest heavy, his heart aching for the little girl who had no friends, no family, no one but two parents who had ensured she would never endanger them, and would always be an asset to them and to the bureau.

  The medical leave made sense now, as did the trips to the doctor each month.

  She’d become burned out when she couldn’t save the last victim of the DC Vigilante. Skye hadn’t ever been meant to face such horror, such death, on a daily basis.

  *

  As he finished cleaning her, then rinsing her from head to toe, he stood back for a second, ensuring there were no suds left and that the fear in her eyes was now replaced by desire.

  He didn’t have to look to see that. Before he knew what she was about to do, she went to her knees, gripped the base of his cock, then surrounded the head with the heat and tight silken grip of her wet mouth.

  “Fuck!” he breathed out, his hands burying in her newly washed hair as he leaned back against the shower stall. “Ah hell, Skye. Baby. There you go, suck my dick.”

  His balls were tight, the shaft of his cock pounding with such immediate lust, such instant hunger that he knew he wouldn’t dare deny her, even if he could.

  He was crazy for her. He’d realized one night was never going to work with her, that he would keep going back for more and more. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  Her sweet, hot mouth tightened on the head of his cock, sucked it deep into her mouth, swallowed against the tip and sent a clash of sensations to demolish his control.

  The fingers of one hand wrapped around the base, stroked the shaft. She weighed his balls in the palm of her hand, then rasped the sac with the prick of her nails.

  Fuck. Ah hell. He’d intended to make slow, sweet love to her in the shower. He had intended to show her how good he could make it. How fucking good it could be.

  Instead, a second, no more than a heartbeat before he was spilling into her mouth, he forced her to her feet. Gripping the cheeks of her ass, Logan lifted her to him, turned, braced her against the shower wall and in the next second had the head of his dick buried inside her.

  It was always slow going at first. He thanked God for that because it was the only thing that helped him keep his head long enough to make sure she had the chance to come for hi
m before he spilled inside her.

  They were going to have to talk about the fact that he hadn’t used a condom so much as once since he’d first buried himself inside her.

  The thought of putting anything between them, anything that would affect the pure, sweet pleasure that burned between them, seemed impossible to do.

  She hadn’t mentioned it, and he knew she was aware of it. She seemed just as reluctant to dim the sensations they shared when he took her.

  It was like being immersed in a well of swirling, twisting rapture. An abyss of never-ending heat and pleasure that dug tiny fingers of pulsating energy straight through his balls and from there, through the rest of his body.

  Thrusting upward, burying himself in the heat as the slick, milking muscles wrapped around his shaft like a tightening fist, he had to clench his teeth to hold back for just a second.

  Dragging in a hard breath, he braced his feet against the shower floor and began driving full length inside her.

  Her back bowed, a tremulous cry falling from her lips as her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her lips moving to his neck.

  She marked him, as he had marked her neck each time he took her. He was so desperate to ensure nothing or no one was stupid enough to try to take her, that subconsciously, each time he fucked her, each time he kissed her, hell, the first time he kissed her, his lips had found her neck and left one of the darkened blemishes against her silken flesh.

  And now, he would carry hers.

  Something broke inside him at the thought.

  Something so powerful and overwhelming that he didn’t have the chance to fight against it.

  “God, Skye, baby.” His lips covered hers.

  He’d sworn he wouldn’t do it.

  He’d told himself it was too soon, and by God it was. He knew it was.

  Kissing her like a man starved for the taste of his woman, he kept his lips on hers until they were both desperate to breathe, desperate to do more than simply share a kiss.

  Pounding into her, his thighs clenched, his dick rock hard and impaling her with all the rising hunger he couldn’t contain, he was forced to jerk his lips back, to breathe.

  “Logan, please.” She strained against him, her legs tight around his hips. “Yes. Please, yes,” she moaned. “Love me.” The words sounded torn from her, ripped from a heart that pushed them past lips that were unaware of what they were saying.

  Drugged with passion, heavy lidded, her lashes were almost closed, her face flushed as she lifted and rose against him.

  “I do, Skye,” he whispered as he stared back at her, pausing for a second, then slamming inside her again. “I do baby. I love you, Skye.”

  Her lashes lifted in surprise, her lips parting in disbelief.

  “Fuck, I love you,” he repeated, refusing to release her gaze, refusing to allow either of them to hide from it. “Forever, Skye. I’ll love you forever.”

  Her head tipped back as he felt her coming then. Felt her body jerk and shudder, her pussy clamping down on him tighter, milking his dick harder until it triggered his own release.

  Spurting hard and deep inside the lush, gripping depths of her pussy, Logan gathered her closer, buried his lips against the crook of her shoulder and neck, and marked her again.

  Marked her as his woman.

  Marked her as his lover.

  His life.

  As the most precious gift a man could ever receive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Archer walked slowly into the restaurant of the Viceroy Ski Resort, paused just inside the entrance before catching sight of his targets and moving across the room.

  The table was set in the corner, overlooking the lake, while the tables that would have sat around it had been moved and replaced to allow the ultimate privacy for the three men as they enjoyed their lunch.

  They didn’t seem to be enjoying it much, though.

  Marshal Roberts, Saul Rafferty, and John Corbin were silent, their expressions dark as their food sat untouched before them. Only the wine in their glasses had been disturbed.

  They were silent as Archer pulled a seat from a nearby table and pulled it close. Sitting down and stretching out his long, jeans-clad legs, he watched the three men with an arched brow.

  Marshal Roberts sat closest on his right. Propping his elbows on the table and staring out at the water through the windows, he clasped his fingers before his lips before speaking.

  “I heard Rafer was hurt. How bad was it?”

  Archer nodded slowly. “Not sure how bad. Looked like a broke ankle or leg to me. What did you hear?”

  “Leg. In two places,” Marshal answered. “And Cami was shot.”

  His voice seemed to grow heavier.

  “Yeah, in the shoulder.”

  “Rumor is one of her bodyguards tried to kill her?” Saul Rafferty asked.

  Damn, Logan looked a lot like his granddad, Archer though. The same piercing green eyes and intent expression.

  “That’s what Rafer said,” he agreed. “Word was, he received a text from someone claiming that the bodyguard contacted John here, offering to sell her location.”

  John Corbin lifted his brows in surprise, his blue eyes suddenly darkened and tightened in anger. Archer had a feeling this information was new to him.

  “I never heard from anyone,” John finally answered. “And I sure as hell wouldn’t have taken the offer if I had, I can promise you that.”

  “Archer, something doesn’t sound right here,” Saul said then. “Even twelve years ago, none of this stuff happened with the exception of that summer when those poor girls were killed. Now, not only are more girls being killed but there’s rumors some criminal just took Rafer and Cami off?”

  “Those boys have made some unusual contacts over the years,” Archer lied, because he didn’t know what the hell was going on himself. “Rafer would do anything to protect, Cami, just as Logan would to protect Skye.”

  “They’re dealing with criminals now?” Corbin tried to inject disgust into his tone, but Archer could have sworn he detected a measure of pride instead.

  “It would appear so.” Archer shrugged. “The man has a criminal sheet a mile long, John. I wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley, or get on his bad side. I know he’s been poking into what’s going on, lately. I don’t like that much, gentlemen.”

  “I can’t say I blame you, Archer,” John stated stiffly. “I wouldn’t either.”

  Archer grimaced. “You might get to experience it,” he sighed. “I could have sworn I heard him mention to Crowe and Logan that he would be checking into that text and its origins as well as any possible angle of danger to Skye. He wasn’t a happy criminal at any rate.”

  All three men seemed to stiffen.

  “Just what we need, one of their low-life friends poking into our business,” John grunted. “Couldn’t you arrest him or something?”

  “Plenty of officials have already tried that route,” Archer shrugged. “I can’t do anything until I catch him doing more than threatening to break the law.”

  “Wonderful.” John finished his wine in a single drink as the other two glanced at each other warily.

  “You act as though it’s more than an inconvenience,” Archer stated.

  “A hell of an inconvenience,” John sighed.

  “A little beyond that,” Marshal retorted. “A criminal looking into our affairs? How could those three hooligans possibly top that one?”

  Mockery spilled from his lips, but if that wasn’t amusement sparking in Marshal’s gaze, then Archer didn’t know what the hell it was.

  What were these three up to and how did their grandsons play into their scheming? The fact that the Callahans came by their manipulating little games wasn’t lost on Archer as he stared back at their grandsons.

  “Is that why you’re here?” John finally asked. “To inform us what the brats are up to?”

  John shook his head slowly. “No, I’m actually here to figure out why Marietta Tyme had a
receipt from the restaurant here. I wanted to talk to the maitre’d but,” he looked around, “he hasn’t shown up yet, it would seem.”

  “Monday’s usually his day off,” Saul stated. “He won’t be back till morning.”

  “Ahh.” Archer nodded. “I’ll see if his assistant is here.”

  “Don’t.” It was John who stopped him as he moved to get up. “Don’t speak to anyone about it, Archer.”

  The request had Archer sitting back in his chair slowly. “Why?”

  The three men looked at each other before giving small, decisive nods and Saul leaned forward slowly, his fingers still knotted loosely before his lips. “Marietta met with us,” he said softly.

  Surprising. “Why?”

  “The bar she works at in Denver belongs to me,” Saul explained. “I knew he was going there and she was supposed to keep an eye on him for me. She called that morning and asked us to meet her, but she didn’t show up. We waited for several hours.” Marshal glanced at the other three who nodded in return.

  “No hint what she wanted?” Archer asked.

  “All she said was that she needed to meet because she had some information for us,” Saul stated. “She liked to think of herself as his guardian angel.” The hint of sadness in his gaze was enough to make Archer suspect that Marietta might have cared for Logan more than he knew.

  “This Skye girl, she’s not exactly got an unblemished record,” Saul said then. “We had her checked out. Her father was a diamond broker by day and no more than a drug and flesh peddler at night. She’s lucky he didn’t use her to buy his safety that night.”

  If there had been just the smallest degree of spite, just a little malicious intent, then he could push more, Archer thought. He would have reason to dig deeper and see if one of them messed up.

  But what he saw in each of their eyes instead was concern. These were men who had never bothered to hide what they had to say, or what they did. At least, not as far as he could tell.

  “We have a problem then,” Archer sighed. “Because I think Marietta did know something. And I think it may be what got her killed.”