Isle of Sin: A Standalone Dark Romance

Well, I knew where all the blood had come from now.

Nathan Spencer.

He’d been stabbed at least a dozen times, all over his torso and groin.

And it seemed fairly obvious that Adalyn Rose had wielded the blade.

“Poor bastard,” Bryant had muttered upon seeing the scene.

It was a sentiment we didn’t share. Because something told me Nathan Spencer had earned this death.

An instinctual response on my part. One I intended to prove.

Adalyn had been in shock. Perhaps as a result of the murder she’d just committed. But I suspected her reaction had resulted from something much deeper than that.

My wrist buzzed with an incoming update from Dr. Zansky. The woman has a concussion, likely related to the bump forming on the back of her head. She’s also severely dehydrated. I’ve started an IV, and I cleaned up the wound on her hand. There are also signs of sexual trauma outside the norm of consent.

I read the message out loud to Bryant.

“So some of the blood is hers, then,” he translated.

“Yeah, from pulling a dagger out of her ass.” Clive’s dark tone came from across the room, his expression murderous as he met my gaze. “You’re going to want to see this, boss.”

He’d arrived about thirty minutes ago with some clothes for me to change into. Then he’d immediately gone to work on Nathan’s phone.

Bryant handled security operations personnel.

Clive handled the tech.

They were both badasses in their own rights, marking them as perfect candidates for their enforcer-like roles on the island.

But they were so much more than that beneath their strong exteriors.

Bryant had a knack for analyzing people, reading situations, and managing expectations.

While Clive specialized in hacking.

Hence the reason he’d immediately taken over Nathan’s phone and laptop.

We were the only ones in the room, my other staff having been temporarily dismissed with orders not to tell anyone about this. They’d obey because they were paid handsomely to do so.

I walked over to where Clive sat at the living area desk, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. He had the phone hooked up to his own devices, displaying files and videos on a larger screen beside him.

The one he had playing now was footage of the room. “He has live cameras set up everywhere.” He started pointing to where they were throughout the villa. “It’s all recording, but the feed doesn’t appear to be going anywhere other than to a folder on his phone.”

He clicked the one in question—the title of it reading AR. I assumed that stood for Adalyn Rose.

“There are hundreds of videos in here.” Clive’s deep green eyes met mine. “Training documentation.”

I frowned. “Videotaping kink?” I guessed.

“Maybe. But some of these…” He trailed off. “I’ve only seen a few. But they’re bad, boss.”

My brow inched upward. For Clive to say something like that after all the shit he’d witnessed over his forty years, it must have been a lot worse than just “bad.”

Bryant folded his arms across his chest. “So does it show her murdering him?”

Clive nodded. “Yeah. After he drove the hilt of a blade into her ass—raw—and started going through his little toy bag over there to pull out some rope. But there’s also footage of her stashing knives around the room before that, which is what set him off. However, after their playtime earlier today, and some of these other videos…” His gaze met mine again. “The murder is justified.”

He didn’t elaborate any more than that, instead choosing to show us the footage of Nathan’s death.

Then the earlier video of their time together in the villa—a video that had my hands fisting at my sides. It was sufficient proof of Adalyn’s unwillingness, confirming all my instincts regarding her consent.

And then Clive started showing us images of previous events.

Adalyn crying.

Adalyn covered in bloody marks and cum, unconscious on the floor.

Adalyn being shared by multiple men while restrained.

Adalyn in a cage with a timestamp from six years ago.

Sixteen years old, I thought, my stomach twisting as I quickly computed her age at the time. She wasn’t even a consenting adult. Because she was twenty-two now. At least according to her file. Nathan was nearly two decades older than her.

“Turn it off,” I said, taking a step back before I hit something. “Turn that shit off right now.”

I’d seen enough.

The murder was absolutely justified, just as Clive had said.

And the look on Bryant’s face told me he wholeheartedly agreed. Because he’d probably done the math on her age, too.

Fuck.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, blowing out a long breath.

This was the kind of shit I hated in the world of sex and pleasure. The kind of thing some men thought made them dominant and powerful.

But that wasn’t the purpose of my island at all.

Fetishes were explored here via safe and established means. I didn’t condone slavery or trafficking or sensual servitude.

“Jesus,” I breathed, stalking over to the kitchen for a much-needed drink. I didn’t even care that there was a massacre in the other room.

Hell, I was happy about that savage scene.

Because it meant Nathan was dead.

Good. Fucking. Riddance.

I poured myself a healthy glass of brandy from the liquor cabinet. Every villa was stocked with the best of the best. But I barely tasted the liquid as it burned my throat.

Clive and Bryant spoke quietly, giving me my moment to think.

Not that I knew what to think about.

Adalyn was the daughter of Albert Rose, CEO and owner of Rose Royale—a renowned hotel brand famous for its opulence and five-star hospitality.

Nathan Spencer was the third son of a wealthy oil family. Was that how they’d met? Via the elite circles of the world?

But at sixteen years old?

Did her father approve of this? Did he have any idea?

My teeth ground together, the glass nearly breaking in my hand.

This was chaos. Insanity. A relationship born of the devil himself.

Those images…

I poured myself another drink. “This is a fucking nightmare.” I downed the brandy in one gulp and slammed the glass onto the stone counter.

“Can you open that?” I overheard Bryant asking. “No, the graduation thing in her file.”

Clive had turned off the videos like I’d asked, but he still had all the folders open. “Adalyn’s Graduation Celebration?”

“Yeah, that one.”

I started toward them as Clive opened an image on his screen. It resembled a golden key with a blood-red dot at the top that quickly morphed into a list of names and kinks.

I frowned. It almost looked like a blackmail directory, except there were dates and times listed next to each person.

Future dates and times.

For this week.

“What the fuck is this?” I whispered, more to myself than to my men. I recognized most of the names as men expected to arrive this week.

Many of them weren’t Sinners Isle members but guests of influential investors of my property. Which meant I treated those guests as though they belonged here because they might become future patrons.

A trial period of sorts.

One meant to ensure they understood the rules.

And an opportunity for them to decide if they wanted to apply for membership.

“A training schedule,” Bryant whispered, his eyes widening as though he’d just pieced something together. “Fuck. He brought her here for her final round of training.” He looked at me. “Adalyn Rose. As in… Rose Royale?”

My brow furrowed. “Yeah. That’s her. But what do you mean by ‘training’?”

He muttered a curse and reached for Nathan’s phone, unplugging it from Clive’s monitor.

The color drained from Bryant’s normally tan skin as he scrolled through the contact directory, his jaw clenching as he read a few of the names out loud.

They were all ones I recognized as running in high-society circles.

Not really a surprise, given Nathan’s background and the clientele I typically catered to on this island.

Bryant wandered over to the body, kneeling to check the dead man’s hand.

Then he dumped his bag of toys and cursed as a ruby-colored ring rolled across the carpet.

He pulled his own phone from his pocket, Nathan’s device falling to the floor.

Clive jumped from his seat. “Hey—”

Bryant held up a hand, indicating he needed a minute.

I shared a look with Clive. He appeared as lost as I was.

Then Bryant started speaking. “Yeah. I know what time it is.” He waited a beat, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But you owe me a favor. Several, actually.” His lips twitched, though the action appeared strained. “Exactly.” Another beat. “Yeah, tell me about Adalyn Rose.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Who are—”

He flashed me a look, one that told me to keep quiet. I narrowed my gaze. Bryant Ferraro might have a lot of connections in this world, and an impressive background in security, but he still worked for me.

And I did not appreciate being left in the dark on my own fucking island.

“Taylor Huntington,” he said, staring at me as he spoke the familiar name.

Is that who he’s talking to? I wondered, confused as to why he’d call the notorious trust-fund playboy. He was another spare heir, similar to Nathan, only from an even more powerful family in the entertainment industry. His parents owned all the largest television networks. What does he have to do with this?

“I see.” Bryant listened intently to whatever Taylor, or whomever he was speaking to, said. “I might. Nathan Spencer brought her to Sinners Isle for some training. It didn’t go according to plan.”

My jaw ticked at him for revealing that information without asking my permission.

“No. Mr. Sinner values consent. As you can imagine, it didn’t take long for him to realize Adalyn’s lack thereof.”

I frowned. What is going on? Who are you talking to?

“Yeah.” His attention shifted to the dead body near his feet. “I don’t know. He wasn’t informed—” Bryant’s jaw tightened, his hazel eyes meeting mine. “He’s inside with him now.”

My frown deepened. What?

“This property isn’t part of the Sin Cave network, Julian.”

My eyebrows lifted. Sin Cave network? What the fuck is that? And who the fuck is Julian?

I looked at Clive. He appeared to share my confusion.

“He’s rightly pissed,” Bryant said, sounding tired. “I don’t know. That’s why I called.” He ran a hand over his face and blew out a breath, humming at whatever Julian said back to him. “He’s a good man, Julian. Better than you.”

Bryant grunted at whatever his friend said in response.

“As I said, he values consent. And it’s his island. If you wanted to conduct training here—” His jaw tightened. “Well, then Nathan has earned his fate.”

He looked down at the body again.

“No. But it’s likely,” he muttered.

Another few beats passed, causing Bryant to nod.

“I would appreciate that, yes.” Bryant appeared somewhat relieved. “Yeah. I’ll see what I can do, but he’s pissed.” His shoulders went rigid at whatever Julian said next. “I’m not sure that’s wise.” His eyes rolled at whatever the man said back to him. “And you wonder why I left.”

More listening.

Followed by a smirk.

“I’ll call you back.” He hung up the phone, his amusement dying as he took in Nathan’s remains again. “She’s an Elite Bride in training.” His voice was soft, his words making no sense to me.

“What?”

“She’s an Elite Bride, Asher,” he repeated. His expression held a note of severity to it that made my blood run cold even though I had no idea what that term meant. “She’s part of the Sin Cave network. A bride in training. For Taylor Huntington.”

I blinked at him. “What the fuck does that even mean?” And how the hell did he know any of this? “Who were you just talking to?”

“Julian Jovanni.”

My jaw dropped. “What?”

“Like, Julian Jovanni of the Jovanni mafia? The Red Prince?” Clive asked, his expression and tone rivaling my own.

“He’s an old friend,” Bryant muttered. “His family also owns part of the Sin Cave network. Specifically, the Elite Brides. Which Adalyn’s parents must have given her over to in exchange for an affluent connection with the Huntington family.”

“An old friend,” Clive echoed. “Yeah. Cool. That’s not alarming at all.”

Bryant gave him a look. “I had a life before this island, Clive. So did you.”

Clive snorted. “My life didn’t involve working for a renowned criminal empire.”

“No, you were just a hacker for a private sector security firm that specialized in what again?”

“Nothing illegal. Kane wouldn’t allow that shit.”

“Hmm, and what about your employer before you met Kane?”

“That’s not—”

“Stop.” I did not have time to sit through one of their infamous verbal sparring matches. One day, they’d fuck it out. Or kill a woman between them. Whatever the hell it was they needed to do. But that wasn’t today.

Today, we were dealing with a much larger issue.

“What the hell is Sin Cave?” I demanded. “And what the fuck do you mean by Adalyn’s parents gave her to an organization to train her to become an Elite Bride?”