Sinners Anonymous : Chapter 25

“THERE’S ROT IN THE basement, mold in the drawing room, and one of the pipes in the laundry room has burst, so no washer and dryer for the time being.”

I glance from the paperwork in front of me up to Gabe, standing in the doorway of our father’s old office. Despite it being November and pissing down with rain, my brother is shirtless and sweaty, looking like a damn Chippendale calendar.

“Good thing all my clothes are dry-clean only.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the door frame. “Of course they are, princess,” he grunts as he strides back down the hall.

I bite back amusement, turning my attention back to the contracts my PA, Elle, had air-mailed to me overnight. I’ve spent the entire morning pouring over them and setting up meetings with legal and finance for next week. Making plans back in London gives me a deadline. I’ll find the fucker who killed my mama and get off the coast in under seven days, and definitely, most-fucking-certainly, before the wedding.

Outside, an engine struggles to start. Frowning, I get up and walk toward the window, looking down at the drive. Gabe’s moved on from the damp and the rot, and now he’s pissing about with my father’s beloved Firebird, which has been left to decay in the garage for almost a decade. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about the rain pouring down on his bare back. He’s too busy crouched under the hood, with a flashlight in one hand and a dirty rag slung into the back pocket of his jeans.

Last week, Gabe just turned up and said he’ll come help with renovating the house like I’d asked him to. He’s been here every day since, busying himself with renovations and removals, and in the process, removing every last trace of our bastard father from our childhood home. I came over last night after dropping Rory off to see our father’s cigar humidor upturned in the garbage, and this morning, a stack of Giorgio Morandi paintings sat lop-sided against the patio doors, the canvas’s slashed.

Our father loved those fucking paintings.

I slip my hands in my pockets and watch him for a while. My mind bounces back to the cherry field in Connecticut, and Gabe’s words rattle around my head.

I know what you did.

I don’t know how Gabe knows I killed our father, or why he thanked me for it. But then, there’s a lot I don’t know about Gabe these days. Like why the hell he’s obsessed with gutting our house and what else he would normally be doing instead. But this is the most I’ve seen of him in years, the happiest I’ve seen him too, so I’m sure as shit not going to ruin it.

I turn back around, running a cold eye over the study. It’s the only room in the house Gabe hasn’t torn down yet, and when I asked him why, his gaze darkened and he grunted, “You can fucking do it.”

It looks exactly the same as it did a decade ago. The same mahogany desk and matching bookcase. The same photo frames filled with the same pictures. The only difference is the thick layer of dust covering the cabinets and the dark stain on the carpet behind the desk.

That’s the spot my father had his unfortunate bleed on the brain.

Slowly, I amble around the room, rounding the desk and coming to a stop with my back to the door. From here, my gaze coasts over the desks and through the window, where the steep hill rolls downward and meets the town below.

This was all meant to be mine. Something I don’t recognize flickers in the pit of my stomach, but before I can give it a name, a car rolls onto the front drive.

What the hell is Tor doing here?

Going to find out, I take the stairs and come out onto the front porch, just as Tor is hot-footing over the drive, using the stack of files in his hand as an umbrella. He slaps Gabe’s shoulder as he passes, before coming to a stop under the roof.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, craning his neck to peer through the front door and into the foyer. “Well, ain’t this a blast from the past. You trying to flip it?”

“Nah. We’ll use it as a base when we come into town. I’m getting sick of having your brother as a neighbor at the Visconti Grand.”

“Yeah. Bet Dante is sick of bumping into you in the elevator, too. Here.” He presses a manila envelope into my chest. “Big Al wanted me to give you this.”

I eye the envelope. “What is it?”

“Fuck knows. Ever since you popped off Max I’ve become his new associate. Got me delivering files to you and—”

A car door slams. We both look up to see Aurora getting out the passenger door.

“—babysitting his sugar baby.”

My heart flips in my chest, and I run a subtle eye over the length of her. Christ. What the fuck is she doing in that tiny skirt? It barely covers her ass. Both possessiveness and lust brew under my skin, and I have to clench my jaw to keep my expression unbothered.

Tor looks up at me, and our gazes clash. His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t say anything about what he saw at the engagement party.

“Where are you headed?” I ask, feigned nonchalance flecking my tone.

“I’m dropping her off at a dress fitting.”

“Why, what grand event are the Cove Clan planning now?”

He flashes me an odd look. “Her wedding dress, you fucking idiot.”

The lump in my throat thickens. To stop my hands from curling into fists, I rip open the envelope instead. Inside, there are two files, and as I scan them, my scowl deepens.

“What?” Tor cranes his neck to look at them. “Wait, is that—”

I cut him off by stuffing the papers back into the envelope and tucking it under my arm.

“None of your business, otherwise you’d already know.”

His gaze hardens. “Don’t piss me off, cugino. Was that a planning permission application for the Devil’s Preserve?” Only the slightest bit of relief flickers within me. He didn’t see the second document, at least. “Cause I thought you already told him and Dante to fuck off…”

“I did.” My molars clamp together. “And that was before he convinced Aurora to marry him.”

“Yeah? What’s that gotta do with anything?”

“Aurora’s marrying your father to stop him building on the Preserve.” I drink in the confusion clouding his face and nod. “Right. You didn’t know.”

He pauses, then leans against the brickwork. “No, I didn’t,” he mutters to himself, running his thumb over his lip. “I just thought she was a gold-digger like the rest of them.”

“Nope. Just a hippie.”

He looks up at me, thinning his eyes. “Big Al doesn’t own that land. You do.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“So why does she think otherwise?”

“Because your father is a cunty pervert who can’t get girls within the age bracket he likes without lying and blackmailing.”

His eyes thin, and I realize that slipped from my lips with more venom than needed.

“You gonna tell her?”

“No, because then he’ll kill her.”

“Right,” he mutters. But I can tell this revelation unsettles him. He scans the yard and lets out a little grunt as his gaze lands on Gabe. “Is that Uncle Alonso’s old Pontiac Firebird?”

“Yeah.”

“Man, I need to get a better look at that. Never could appreciate it as a kid.”

I do a sweep of the yard too, realizing I can’t see Rory anywhere in the rain.

“Where’s she gone?”

Tor pushes himself off the side of the house and trots down the steps toward Gabe. With a mischievous grin over his shoulder, he says, “She spotted the hangar on the way up.” He jabs a finger at me, gaze darkening. “Don’t do anything I’d have to chop your hand off for.”

“Shut up, Tor.”

The rain drowns at his cackle. I slip around the side of the house toward the hangar. I had my dad’s old helicopter hanger upgraded when I extended our private airstrip to accommodate my jet. I flew it in a few weeks back and prefer having it here accessible rather than at the commercial field.

It takes me a couple seconds to spot Rory, because she’s balancing on the fucking wing, peering into the cockpit.

“You got a death wish?” I growl, striding over. “Get down. Now.”

She peers down at me, catching my eyes running up the length of her tanned legs to the curve of her ass just visible under her skirt. Christ, Alberto must be insane for letting her leave the house in that.

“Sure you want me to get down?” She chirps with a coy grin.

I bite my tongue. Shoot her a warning glare. When her grin only gets bigger, I push myself up onto the wing and grip her around the thighs. She gasps as I hitch her over my shoulder like a fireman, my thumb grazing over her panty line as I clamber back down to the ground.

Panting, she looks up at me shyly. I try not to let my eyes drop to the flush creeping out from under her blouse, but it’s near impossible.

“Don’t clamber around like a fucking monkey, Aurora.”

“Why, worried I’ll ruin your paintwork?” she chirps back, eyes glittering.

I chew on the inside of my lip, giving her a little shake of my head. Un-fucking-believable. This chick really believes she got one-up on me yesterday by keying my car and forcing me to rip her ass red raw.

“Nah. More like I’m worried you’ll break a leg and won’t be able to walk down the aisle on Saturday,” I drawl, glaring at her.

A cute little line dents her brow, and the way her bottom lip sticks out makes me want to bite it.

“Screw you,” she mutters, turning on her heel.

Before she can stalk back out into the rain, I grab her wrist and pull around so she’s just a mere inch or so away from me. So close that she has to crane her neck to meet my gaze.

“Why are you creeping around my jet, anyway? It’s a bit harder to steal than a necklace, Magpie.”

She drops a hip, that flush darkening on her porcelain skin. “You know it’s a myth right?”

“What?”

“That magpies steal shiny things? Truth is, magpies are really scared of anything that glitters or shines. Sure, they do hoard, but it tends to be twigs and little pebbles, anything they can build a nest with. I think the whole shiny thing comes from European folklore…” She trails off, narrowing her eyes at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Only now do I realize there’s a stupid grin on my face.

“Like what?”

“Like…” She swallows. Drops her eye line to my lips. “Like you want to kiss me.”

Because all I fucking think about is claiming those lips, even when they spout geeky shit about birds I couldn’t care less about. Ignoring the heat prickling down the length of my cock, I jerk my chin toward the door of the jet. “Would you like to see inside?”

Her eyes light up. “Cluck yeah!”

“Christ, Rory. Have you ever said a curse word?”

“Not once in my life,” she chirps back, hot on my heels as I lower the stairs.

I lean back on the railing and drag an eye over those legs again.

“After you.”

She’s too excited to notice my leer, bounding up the stairs and letting me almost see the color of her ass.

Taking a deep breath and muttering an oath under my breath, I follow her in and lean against the cockpit door as she fusses over the flight deck.

“Holy crow, the radar display is massive.”

“That’s what all the girls say.”

“Uh-huh, I bet,” she murmurs, without looking up. “Oh—your VOR reader is touch-screen? That is unbelievably fancy.” She spins around. “Is this the G700 or the G800?”

I cock a brow. “G800. How do you know so much about planes?”

She hitches a shoulder. “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” I murmur back, before I can stop myself.

We lock eyes for a second. Hers wide and expectant and mine hardening the moment I realize what I said was almost a compliment. “Does your father fly?”

“No. I had a place at pilot school.”

“You’re shitting me.”

The scowl she tosses in my direction suggests she’s not. She sinks down in the leather pilot’s chair and tucks a strand of hair—straight today, unfortunately—behind her ear. “Nope. I took the preliminary credits at DCA, because obviously it’s the only school around here that offers a class like that. I passed all the exams and got a conditional offer at Northwestern Aviation Academy.”

That’s a really good school. “And then?”

She shifts. Crosses one smooth leg over the other. “I didn’t sit the final exam.”

I frown. “Why not?” I know the course she means, because I took it too. Instead of going to Aviation college I took my place at Oxford Business School and racked up my hours on weekends. Got my recreational license first, then the private pilot license around five years ago. But I remember the exam she’s talking about; it was piss-easy.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“Aurora.”

She huffs, briefly squeezing her eyes shut. “Please don’t say my name like that. It’s a darn sin in itself.”

“Tell me why you didn’t sit the exam.”

“Because your old school was filled with jerks,” she snaps back, leaping to her feet and turning back toward the flight deck.

I run my tongue over my teeth. Right, yeah. How could I forget—she’d fucked half the Academy, if those little shits at the poker game are to believed. Bitterness and rage hit me like a punch in the gut. As my breathing labors, I bite back the urge to ask for the names of everyone she’s ever fucked. I’ll add them to the list of boys I need to kill before I leave the Coast.

Instead, I suck in a lungful of air and study the rain through the window of the hangar. It’s none of my business. And I really don’t need another reason to be angry. In my peripheral vision, I see Rory reach over to check out the altitude indicator.

My gaze drops to the hemline of her skirt, which is now riding up her ass to reveal the purple and red lash marks on the curve of her cheeks. Christ. She’s still super raw. She really took that like a champ. I nearly lost my mind when she begged me to spank her clit too, and I’m fucking desperate to see how swollen her pussy is after that.

Letting out a small groan, I grab the pen resting on the fly log and use the tip to lift her skirt up and reveal her panties.

She freezes. “What are you doing?”

My eyes flutter shut. I wish I knew. “You’re wearing the same panties you were on Halloween.” With my cock throbbing, I slide the pen under the thin, pink fabric and gently push it to the side. “You know, I think I have the matching bra somewhere,” I say dryly.

“Uh, yeah. Can I, um, get it back?”

“No, it’s a souvenir.”

“Of what?” she whispers thickly.

“Of the time I almost fucked the hottest girl I’ve ever met.”

I graze the tip of the pen between her pussy lips, gently parting them. She makes this irresistible little breathy sound that instantly speaks to my dick. Holy fuck, what I’d give to have that sound in my damn ear while I pounded her.

“Open your legs a little wider, Aurora,” I mutter, my voice coated in lust.

Like a good girl, she does what she’s told, her arms quivering as they prop her up on the flight deck. Despite the urge to rip those silly little panties aside and plunge into her, I can’t ignore the little flicker of malice licking at the corner of my thoughts.

Seeing an opportunity to play with her, I still. Then slowly remove the pen from her.

“You know, I think this counts as touching.”

“W-what? No, it’s—”

“Yeah, actually I’m sure of it. Definitely touching.”

She dips her head between her shoulder blades and moans. “Seriously?”

“Mmm. Unfortunately.”

“But it’s a pen!”

“Yeah, but I touched the pen before the pen touched you…” I trail off, biting my lip in amusement. “Not a good idea. You’re soon to be a married woman, Aurora.”

She spins around, smooths down her skirt and pins me with a blistering glare. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

“And is this because I keyed your car?”

“Nope.” Yes. “Just making sure I don’t cross that line.”

We glare at each other.

Bang, bang, bang. The sound of a fist slamming the side of the jet makes Rory jump.

“Can you two love birds hurry up?” Tor’s voice booms up the stairs and into the cockpit. “I’ve got over shit to do today other than be my father’s lackey.”

Rory’s mouth gapes open at Tor’s comment, but I just smirk. He’s such an ass. I lean in, drinking in her sweet perfume and the heat from her embarrassment.

“I’ll go first to give you a moment to…collect yourself.”

With a dark, satisfied chuckle, I trot down the stairs, using the manila folder to hide my rock-hard erection from my cousin. Rory comes down a few seconds later, and I’m impressed with how cool her demeanor suddenly is.

“I’m ready to go,” she huffs, breezing past me without so much as a glance back.

“Good,” Tor grunts. He strolls out the hangar, raising a lazy wave to me as he goes. “See you in a bit, cugino.”

“Later.”

With a smile still playing on my lips, I stand in the doorway of the hangar and watch Tor’s car disappear down the hill. Then, I run through what else I need to do today.

First and most importantly, I need to go and fuck my fist, because the sight of Rory’s pink panties and wet pussy have put me in a spin. Then I’ll get out into the town with Rory’s map, paying visits to the kids we didn’t get around to scoping out yesterday.

I take one step out into the rain, then realize I left my phone in the cockpit. Tucking the file under my arm, I take the stairs two at a time and scoop it up off the first officer’s seat

Something catches the corner of my eye. It’s pink and lacy, slung over the center stick. It takes me a few seconds to realize what it is.

Underneath, there’s a note scribbled on the flight log in loopy, girly handwriting.

To add to your collection.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I fist Aurora’s panties and bring them up to my lips. They are still warm and wet.

I inhale deeply, filling my soul with the scent of a girl that will never be mine.