The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers Book 1)

  Twitch, twitch…

  Son of a… I ignored my asshole eye and cranked the radio. My one-track mind kept drifting back to Kylie. Gorgeous and funny Kylie. Teasing, sexy, irresistible Kylie. The more I fantasized about getting her naked, the lighter my mood became. I spun a dozen different scenarios that were so damn hot even the sharp twinge in my side where Calloway hit me during practice couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

  When I got home I texted Kylie to let her know I'd be there at seven. Since she had a roommate, we couldn’t hang out at her place. Good thing I already had our date planned out. Against everything I’d learned, rules I'd strictly adhered to for years, I decided to bring Kylie back to my place. For one thing, it was private, plus my bed had all the necessary gadgets to make the evening perfect.

  After spending five minutes glaring at my phone as if it personally offended me when Kylie didn’t respond right away to my text—while simultaneously expecting smoke and sparks to fly out the stupid thing or for it to catch on fire—a message popped up with her address. I recognized it. Nice place.

  With the arrangements taken care of, I spent the remaining agonizing hours putzing around. My stomach clenched now and then, and at one point, got so bad it felt like I swallowed a cannonball. I pressed a hand to my midsection and grimaced. I should probably snag a snack before I head out. Hopefully, food would take care of any nausea.

  Since I can't cook for shit, unless people were clamoring for burned rice, I dumped the ingredients for a protein shake in my fancy blender and hit start. It whirred for about thirty-seconds, then made a strange gurgling sound. Oh shit. I didn't move fast enough. The top flew off the blender and its contents shot upward in a swirling funnel of brown. It blasted me right in the face and I ended up with chocolate in my ears, eyes, nose and mouth, and all over the ceiling and floors, as well as my clothes.

  Maudit bâtard!

  I wiped my face and glanced at the clock. One hour. I hurried through a second shower, mopped up the mess in the kitchen with the damp towel wound around my waist, then stalked into my closet. As I pulled out a fresh set of clothes, my still-empty stomach twisted into a knot. I froze, afraid I might have that panic attack I worried about. I stood perfectly still and waited. My pulse remained steady and my hands didn't shake. I frowned as I tried to suss out the reason for the churning sensation in my gut.

  Not panic. Nerves.

  I laughed, but it sounded off. Too high-pitched. I couldn’t believe it. Me, Sebastien St. Clair, The Sinner, total player and ladies’ man, was nervous for a date. I shook my head and shoved one leg into a pair of pants, then the other, and pulled a clean shirt over my head. I stopped and checked again. Nerves still going strong, though I would be the first to admit it had been a weird day.

  Between giving Calloway an actual complement—not that the dickhead said thanks or anything, Amanda cornering me, and the words "I’m seeing someone" coming out of my mouth. Oh, not to mention the blender fiasco, which, truthfully, wasn't all that out of the ordinary. If anything, I should have been surprised it didn’t fly apart sooner. Most shocking of all was that I was sincerely nervous to see Kylie, like a teenager about to get his dick wet for the first time.

  I figured if I did anything else out of character before the clock struck midnight, the world would spin off its axis and fly right into the sun.

  Better to play it safe than sorry and remember to be a selfish jackass.

  You know, for the safety of the planet.

  I’m considerate like that.

  I checked the time as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror to check my hair for the umpteenth time as I tried to rationalize away my nerves. Countdown: five minutes to date time. The phone rang while I was checking my teeth for stray food particles. I hoped it wasn't Kylie calling to cancel, because in some way, shape, or form, I was going to see her. One glance at the screen and I let out the breath I was holding.

  “Rémy. Ça roule ma poule?”

  Phone to my ear, I leaned over the sink and used my free hand to pick at random strands of hair and ensure each one lay just so. Ironically, it takes a hell of a lot of time to fix your hair so it looks like you didn’t spend a lot of time fixing your hair.

  “Seb?”

  My hand froze over my head when I heard his voice waver. It was a sound I recognized immediately, and it gutted me. Despite trying to shield him from the worst of our childhood, something in my brother’s world had gone sideways, and whatever it was sent Rémy into a spiral.

  Fuck the hair. I turned from the mirror and leaned a hip against the sink, as I ignored the sick feeling in my gut and the overwhelming urge to crush my phone to bits, while punching the mirror until my knuckles were torn and bloody. After several deep breaths, I pinched the bridge of my nose and did my best to keep it together. For Rémy. Not that long ago, he asked me to back off. I had to trust that if he needed my help, he would ask for it.

  “Rém, what's going on? Est-ce que ça va, mon frère?”

  “Yeah. I'm okay, bro. Just wanted to, uh, talk to you.”

  That did nothing to assuage my worry. In fact, it freaked me out. I seamlessly slid into rapid fire French. “Talk to me? About what?”

  Oh shit, oh fuck, please no. Don't let it be another episode. Don’t let it be the one and only thing I can’t save him from. If it was, there was literally nothing I could do. Knowing that Rémy was suffering felt like a kick to the junk. For years he kept his issues hidden. Became adept at avoiding me and concealing the evidence of his anguish. When he slipped up and I found out what was going on, I was devastated. It should be me who hurt, not Rémy. I was the one who ended up in juvie and therefore, couldn’t stop my brother's gentle soul from fracturing. In my absence, Rémy found a way to soothe his demons, a way that made me irrationally, blindingly outraged, yet sick to my stomach.

  His prolonged silence sliced a gash across my abdomen and my insides spilled out onto the floor. The only way I knew Rémy hadn’t hung up was the sound of his soft inhales and exhales.

  For years, I accepted, even courted the physical abuse doled out by our father. The hatred and violence, the hitting, slapping, punching, kicking, burning with cigarettes… I’ve had so many sprains and hairline fractures, to this day I still can’t believe the DYP (Department of Youth Protection) didn't take us away from the old bastard. Not to mention the myriad of scars that crisscrossed my body as a reminder of my past. I shivered.

  I have scars, but Rémy has plenty of his own.

  The echo of silence sent chills down my arms. Rémy is the gentlest person I know. Well, gentle toward others. Toward himself? My hands shook and my mouth went dry. Unfortunately, like me, my brother was destined to forever be tormented by the past.

  Twitch, twitch, twitch…

  “Rém?” I gripped the edge of the sink and gnashed my teeth. The helplessness in the face of my brother’s pain was pure torture.

  Twitch…

  “I’m okay.” Rémy’s deception sent another agonizing slash through my soft tissue and organs. I struggled to breathe and stuffed my knuckles in my mouth to hold back a sob.

  “Don't do it. Please,” I whispered. “Tell me you didn't, Rém.”

  After a beat, Rémy sighed. “I didn't. I won't. I told you, I don't… I don’t do that anymore.” Another lie, not that I could prove it. “Anyway. I gotta go, Seb. I just wanted to see what you were up to and say hi.”

  I let out an unamused chuckle. It was highly likely Rémy called as a distraction so he wouldn’t give in to his compulsion. That didn’t upset me. I was more than willing to be his distraction if that’s what he needed. If he wanted a distraction…

  “Hey,” I said. “You probably won't believe me, but not only do I have a date, but I'm bringing her back here.”

  “Really? To your place?” Despite Rémy being caught in a tangled, bleak, web of darkness, a myriad of nightmares fought against invisible foes that existed only in my brother’s mind, he sounded shocked. I laughed at his incredu
lity.

  “Yeah. There's a first for everything.”

  “Umm, I guess so?”

  I checked the time. If I didn't leave, I'd be late picking up Kylie. Shit. I didn’t know what to do. Rémy made the decision for me.

  “Go on your, uh, date, Seb. I'm fine, I promise.” I hesitated, and he called me out on it. “Seriously. I’m gonna call Jankowski and see what he's up to.”

  Though I was reluctant to hang up, I didn’t have a choice. We were separated by hundreds of miles, plus Rémy wanted to deal with his own issues, not to mention I promised to butt out. My hands were tied, and not in a good way. I huffed loudly to make it known I wasn’t going down easy.

  “All right. But you call me if anything happens. If you even think about it. You got that?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I got it. And Seb?”

  “Ouais?”

  My eyes stung and an invisible band cinched around my chest. To this day, Rémy doesn’t know to what lengths I would go—what lengths I had already gone—to shelter him from reality.

  “I swear, I'm doing a lot better.” Rémy tried to sound confident, but I know him too well to fall for it.

  How was it I had zero remorse for doing what I did back then, but when my brother attempted to be brave so I wouldn’t worry, I turned into a sloppy, emotional wreck?

  “Good.” My voice cracked.

  “Talk to you later,” Rémy said, effectively ending the conversation. I scrubbed a hand over the back of my neck.

  “Okay. Tu me manques, mon frère.”

  “Miss you, too. Au revoir.”

  The call ended. I snatched my keys out of the glass dish next to the door and hurried for the elevator before I changed my mind and booked a flight to Charlotte. I clutched the steering wheel, knuckles blanched, and body tense. It took the entire fifteen-minutes to calm down from my agitated state. Normally, I’d be wound up and pissed all night. It just so happened I was highly motivated. If I didn't rein it in, Kylie would bolt the second she laid eyes on me. I didn't need the rearview mirror to know I looked half-crazed, which pretty much summarized how I felt.

  Dear old dad. No longer around and still shitting all over his sons’ lives.

  I stopped in front of Kylie's building, a sleek, modern skyscraper of luxury condos. Not cheap. And not the kind of place you lived if you needed a roommate. I briefly wondered what Kylie did for a living. She had to make decent cash if she could afford a place in the high-rise, even at half the rent. Maybe she came from money, not that I was about to ask. I might have the tact of a bulldog on meth, but questioning someone's financial status is pretty fucking rude, even for me. Plus, I just didn’t give enough of a shit to bother.

  After sending a quick text to let Kylie know I was outside, I dropped the phone into a cup holder and cranked up the beats. The loud thumping bass provided perfect cover for so I could shout at the top of my lungs and punch the steering wheel over and over until my hands were red and swollen and my throat was raw, without anyone hearing me lose my shit.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuck!”

  I struggled to breathe, and it felt like my head was going to explode like my blender. Instead of chocolate, brains would jet out and splatter the interior of my Ford. Mid-shout, I spotted Kylie trotting down the short flight of stairs to the street. I gulped down air and willed my body to relax so she wouldn’t witness the remnants of my tantrum.

  Once I got the fury strapped in, I turned down the music and hopped out, then circled the truck to open the passenger door. Damn. Her beauty breathed life into my stagnant lungs and a gentle wave of calm soothed the ends of my frazzled nerves.

  “Hey,” I said as I raked my greedy eyes up and down her body. Fucking gorgeous. Neither my memories nor my fantasies did her justice.

  “Hi.”

  Kylie smiled and just like that, I was fucking putty in her hands. For the first time in my life, the perpetual distress I felt concerning my brother got shoved to the back burner. Pushed out of my head by the enticing sight of Kylie’s full lips, white teeth, and glittering brown eyes. The light scent of citrus tickled my nose and all of my synapses fired at once, every cell in my body ultra-aware of Kylie's presence.

  I held out a hand. She raised a brow, but accepted it. The minimal physical contact of our entwined fingers, that tiny bit of skin on skin, sent a shiver down my spine. I smothered the urge to grope her ass as I helped her into the tall cab.

  “Thank you,” she said once she was settled in.

  The agitation, guilt, and utter frustration vanished. I don’t know how she did it, but Kylie acted as a balm on my black and hollow soul. Somehow, she made me forget. Made me feel human. Silenced the constant screaming and the nagging doubt. Grateful for the distraction, I winked. Hopefully, flirting would keep me from thinking too much, both about Rémy, and how different I felt around Kylie.

  “You're welcome.” I grinned and closed her door, then shoved my hands in my pockets and rounded back to the driver’s side, exhaling a long breath that puffed out a misty cloud in the frigid winter air. I could do this. I needed to do this. A hot tumble with a hot woman sounded like the perfect way to dig out from under the landslide of shit Rémy's phone call buried me under.

  I pulled out onto the streets of Atlanta and, to my dismay, the stomach-cramping nerves returned, along with a nice fat dose of uncertainty. It started as an innocent, “Maybe this was a mistake” and quickly progressed to “What the hell was I thinking?”

  The cab began to shrink around me, and it became difficult to concentrate on the road. Shit. I couldn't do this. Why did I think I could invite a woman into my home? It wasn’t something I did.

  I glanced at Kylie. Going by how happy she looked, she felt the complete opposite. Kylie really wanted this. Wanted me. Her cheeks were flushed and healthy and small smile played on her lips. Hell, her skin practically glowed.

  “So, where are we going? Another hotel?”

  I laughed and glanced over before I returned my attention to the slow-moving traffic. “Am I that predictable?”

  Kylie paused, then said, “I’m not sure. I don't really know you.”

  I brought the truck to a stop at a red light and turned to face Kylie. Was I that predictable? I squirmed under Kylie’s scrutiny and the verbal diarrhea began. “This is kinda, um, new territory for me. Bringing someone to, uh, my place. That's where we’re going. I don't… I haven't… No one goes there.” I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, not at all comfortable discussing my social proclivities.

  For the first time in a long time, I felt ashamed. Ashamed at the way I treated women, as if they were disposable playthings. Ashamed that Kylie assumed I brought every woman I met to a hotel for a quick fuck, not that she was wrong, mind you. That was exactly what I did, unless the woman lived nearby, then I went to her place for, um… yeah, okay fine, for a quick fuck.

  Kylie deserved better than that.

  She looked like she was about to say something, but the light switched to green before she got the chance. I tore my gaze away and immersed myself in making sure I didn’t drive off the road. Kylie remained silent for several minutes. When she finally spoke, she caught me by surprise.

  “Why me?”

  Huh?

  “Why you?”

  “Yes. Why are you bringing me to your place? You said you don’t do that, so I want to know, why me?”

  I repeated the question to myself and tried to come up with an excuse that wasn’t shallow, “because you're smoking hot and I can't wait for your roommate to leave so I can hold you down and slam into you from behind” or utterly ridiculous, “because for whatever reason, it seems that you're the only one who can tame my fury” and came up blank. After a few more moments of awkward silence, I decided the only thing to do was answer as honestly as possible without pissing Kylie off.

  “I have no idea.”

  I shrugged so she wouldn’t think being invited to my place was a big deal. I didn’t want to risk her reading into it and getting
all attached like Amanda. That, I definitely didn't need. Kylie was either satisfied by my non-answer or annoyed, because there were no more questions after that.

  I unclenched when we reached our destination. The ride was short, but it felt like I went three rounds with Georges St-Pierre. I shifted to slide out of the truck, beyond grateful to leave the close quarters of the truck's cab. The stifling closeness was driving me fucking insane. Intense stares, luscious lips, and that goddamned heavenly citrus scent, made me half-hard and wholly frustrated. I desperately needed some fresh air.

  And because I’m an idiot, instead of opening the door and clearing my head, I turned to Kylie, who hadn’t moved, and almost choked on my tongue. One of her slick lips, lips I envisioned wrapped around my cock, was caught between her teeth. I stared, jealous of those teeth. I wanted to be the one to bite on that soft, pink flesh.

  “Uh,” I shook off the image of those lips wrapped around my cock. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  Please don't tell me you changed your mind. I need this. I need you.

  I wanted to get her upstairs and would say whatever it took to make it happen.

  Kylie stared out the window. “I know this is probably something you do a lot,” she waved a hand around. “Except, like you said, the part about going to your place. But… um, you should know, this, it isn't something I do. I mean, I did do it, with you, that one time, at the hotel. But that’s, um, it.”

  I stared at her, confused. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  She let out an adorable huff and lifted her gaze to mine. “Having sex with strangers. It's not like me. I don’t do that.” She frowned and her nose crinkled. “Only, I guess it is like me, because I did it, but only with you.”

  I might have stopped breathing. “Wait. You’re saying, I mean, what you're saying is, you don't do casual hookups and that I’m the exception to the rule? Me?”