Isle of Sin: A Standalone Dark Romance

A sharp sensation in my arm pierced through my mind, stirring me to awareness as a male voice said, “She’s all yours, sir.”

“Thank you, Dr. Zansky,” a cultured tone replied. One I recognized but couldn’t quite place.

Not Nate, I thought warily. Whoever he’d left me with last night, maybe?

I tried to think back through the events of yesterday evening, but everything was foggy. Dreamlike. Which was strange because I didn’t often dream.

My life was a nightmare, not a fantasy.

A damp cloth wiped along my brow, the cool texture a welcome reprieve from the heat bathing my skin. I nearly sighed at the soothing sensation.

Whatever had happened last night, it’d clearly knocked me on my ass.

Nate must have invited several friends over to fuck me, I thought warily. And now one of them is trying to wake me up.

It would be so easy to feign sleep.

Except I knew that wouldn’t stop Nate’s friends. It never did. They’d fuck me back to life even after trying to kill me.

It was all part of their sick and twisted games.

Which was exactly why I intended to kill—

Wait… An image of blood flashed through my mind. Of Nate on the floor. A blade moving in and out of his torso on repeat. Lifeless eyes. Lying in a pool of death.

My eyes flew open as I sat up abruptly.

Dream or reality? I wondered, looking around and freezing as I found a man staring down at me with piercing black eyes. They reminded me of obsidian gems, glittering with the night.

Set in a face crafted by God himself.

Handsome as sin.

A cruel jawline decorated with a neatly trimmed beard. Chiseled cheekbones. Thick dark-brown hair. Pale skin slightly tanned by the sun.

“Welcome back, Adalyn,” he murmured, the cloth in his hand moving along my cheek. “How are you feeling?”

I swallowed, trying futilely to identify this man. I knew his face. I recognized his voice. But I couldn’t think of his name. One of Nate’s friends? An Elite borrowing me for a round of fun? The choices were endless.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice hoarse as though I had been screaming for hours. Given the ache echoing through my head, I probably had been. What the fuck did they do to me last night?

Another vision of Nate’s mutilated form crossed my mind, only to be cut off by the man’s deep tones.

“Asher Sinner,” he murmured. “I suppose we weren’t properly introduced yesterday. But I’m the one who owns this isle.”

“Isle?” I repeated, blinking.

“And the one who found you covered in blood last night,” he added, his words sending a chill down my spine.

“Last night?” I felt like I couldn’t process words properly, so I kept repeating them as though that would help.

“Here,” he said, lifting a glass with a straw to my lips. “Drink.”

I obeyed because I desperately wanted to soothe my throat. The chilled water had me closing my eyes, a dreamlike sensation of tranquility settling through me.

Until his words started to register in my mind.

Asher Sinner.

Isle.

Covered in blood.

Sinners Isle, I finally pieced together. I’m in Fiji.

And I’d killed Nathan Spencer.

My eyes flew open, water spewing from my mouth as my latest swallow failed.

Asher immediately switched his washcloth for a dry towel and dabbed at my chin, completely ignoring the water I’d just sprayed all over his dress shirt. “Shh,” he hushed. “You’re all right.”

I gaped at him. I’m what? All right? “Are you fucking serious right now?” I was the opposite of all right. I’d killed Nathan Spencer.

And now…

Now I was…

Found.

“And the one who found you covered in blood last night,” he’d said.

He knows what I did. He knows I killed Nathan Spencer. And he was the one who had found me. Which meant I was his to punish. His to do whatever the fuck he wanted to.

And he owned this goddamn island.

Fuck!

I pressed my palms to my eyes, ignoring his touch as he finished wiping the water away from my neck and chest. “I’m very serious,” he said calmly. “You’re safe here.”

I huffed a humorless laugh. “Okay.” I was safe nowhere. Especially not here. Not with one of Nate’s friends.

Especially after I’d killed Nate.

God, I couldn’t remember what I’d done afterward. Fallen into the water? Tried to wash away the evidence? Floated for eternity?

It was all so fuzzy in my mind, my head aching with the source of my fogginess.

I’d sat up too quickly, as evidenced by the way I began to sway.

Asher caught my shoulder as he pushed me back to the bed.

Here it comes, I thought. The part where my punishment begins.

Except he just picked up the washcloth again and continued drawing it along my overheated skin. I waited for the touch to move downward, to become cruel.

But all he did was pull the sheets up over my breasts—which I’d apparently knocked down upon sitting up—and ran the cloth along my neck.

Soothing.

Gentle.

Caressing.

This had to be some weird form of punishment, a way to lull me into a state of peace and hopefulness before reminding me of my place in this world.

Nate had done that several times, pretending to be a friend only to destroy me in the next second.

He’d never been quite so skilled at faking aftercare, though.

Asher’s strokes were coaxing in nature, urging me to relax with each brush against my skin. I listened as he dipped the cloth into what I assumed was the source of the coolness. Then he drew the refreshing texture along my forehead again.

Hours seemed to pass.

He said nothing.

When he sat on the bed beside me, I tensed, waiting for whatever came next.

But nothing changed, his touch resuming and never dropping below my shoulders.

I counted to a hundred.

Then a thousand.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Because this had to be a game. I just didn’t understand it yet.

After what felt like a lifetime, I finally opened my eyes again to find him studying me intently. He’d obviously known I was awake, but he’d chosen to remain silent. To continue his torture with that fucking cloth.

“Just get on with it,” I told him, impatient.

“Get on with what, sweetheart?” he asked, reaching over to dip the cloth into a bowl of ice water on the ebony-colored nightstand.

I glared at him as he brought the texture to my temple, his thumb massaging it into my skin and relieving an insane amount of tension at the same time. “Stop.”

He stilled. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” It feels too good.

He frowned but pulled the cloth away. “Dr. Zansky said this would help. Is it making it worse?”

Are we speaking the same language? Why would he want to help? “Just get on with it.” I didn’t want to feel good. I didn’t want to crave something that didn’t exist. I didn’t do aftercare or beforecare or whatever the fuck he wanted to call this. “Just do whatever you came to do.”

Or perhaps that was the purpose of this—to draw out my fate.

I knew killing Nate would have consequences.

I’d just hoped to enjoy his death for a little longer than a few hours.

Alas, it seemed my fate had been sealed all along.

Asher set the cloth down, his gaze surveying my face as though he were trying to solve a puzzle.

“What? Did Nate not share his notes?” I taunted.

He arched a brow. “There are notes?”

Who is this guy? I was almost intrigued. All the other games had become fairly mundane in their predictability. But this one… this one was new.

I took his measure again, noting the way he’d left the top button of his dress shirt open to expose just a hint of his masculine throat. He’d rolled the sleeves to his elbows as well, giving me a nice view of his muscular forearms.

Nice vein action, I thought before shifting my gaze to his torso and his tapered waist. Definitely in good shape.

Which meant he’d be a beast in the bedroom.

And given the dark flare in his eyes as I returned my attention to his face, I suspected he enjoyed doling out pain.

So this would hurt once he engaged in round one.

Maybe I could provoke him to start, help him over the finish line before he had a chance to truly kill me.

Or perhaps I should wait and ensure he did end me.

Death had to be better than going to the fantasy wing to be used in whatever way a man chose.

Except wasn’t that my fate already? To become a personal plaything for Taylor Huntington? He would be the man choosing my fate, giving others permission to do as they pleased.

My hands curled into fists.

This was what had driven me to murder Nathan Spencer, this realization that the “fate worse than death” was already my future. It was already my life.

So why bother?

Why not fight back?

Why not kill?

Asher’s gaze narrowed as though he could hear my thoughts. Maybe I wore my intentions on my face.

But I couldn’t kill him right now. I didn’t have any knives nearby or a plan. Just a few towels and water and sheets.

This is a really sparsely decorated room, I realized, glancing around at the modern fixtures. The curtains were gauzy and white, framing several floor-to-ceiling windows that appeared to also function as doors to reach the patio beyond.

Not bad for a jail cell, I decided.

Although, I suspected this was temporary.

Asher was probably the one in charge of me until someone else arrived to take me to wherever the fuck bad Elite Brides truly went.

Taylor would probably decide. We’d still be wed, the company given to him via the agreement with my parents, and he’d ship me off to be fucked by whomever, whenever, and however.

I’d probably die there.

Which would be convenient for my future husband, actually. Because then he could pick a new bride. A better-behaved one. A female who wouldn’t try to stab him in the middle of the night.

“Adalyn?” Asher murmured, his voice drawing me back to him. “Can I get you anything?”

I blinked at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Drawing it out?” I asked, sitting up again and purposely letting the sheet drop. His gaze flicked downward, his nostrils flaring. “I know you want to hurt me. So do it. Get it over with. Fuck me. Knock me out again. I don’t fucking care. But I won’t play this game. It’s boring me.” A lie. I was absolutely fascinated by his approach, my curiosity more than piqued. But I wouldn’t dare admit that out loud.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Adalyn.”

I scoffed at that. “Yes, you do. You have sadist written all over you.” I tilted my head, evaluating him. “I’m guessing breath play.” I looked down at his full lips, taking in the way they tensed at my words. “You like control. Feeling a female helpless beneath your hands. Mmm, bondage, definitely.”

I stared at his throat, watching as he swallowed, confirming my comment.

“Shibari takes too much time, and the focus is on the female. So you probably just use cuffs, maybe some thick rope if you want to make it chafe.” Hmm, but he winced with those statements. Interesting. “So no rope, then?” How… refreshing. I met his gaze again. “Shibari?”

“It’s not one of my skills, but I enjoy watching it.” His gaze narrowed. “Why are you trying to provoke me, Adalyn?”

“To get the party started,” I replied. “You can’t put me at ease. It’s impossible. So stop trying to mindfuck me.”

“I’m not trying to mindfuck you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you need me to act out? Is that it?” Does he want me to try to fight him? To attempt to escape?

Maybe that was the key to hastening this endgame.

I ripped the blankets away from me to roll off the bed, only for him to catch me with his arm around my torso.

“Adalyn.”

I grabbed his forearm and dug my nails into his skin, trying to rip his grip away from me. He cursed, removing his arm. I scrambled toward the edge of the bed. My feet touched the ground and I moved to run.

Except the room started to spin.

Violently.

I fell backward into a wall of steel and felt a pair of muscular bands wrap around my torso.

Everything turned upside down.

And somehow I found myself staring up at a pair of furious black eyes.

The wall of steel had moved to my front, my back pillowed by the soft mattress beneath me.

My hands were pressed into the pillows on either side of my head, and my hips were pinned by his. Now we’re getting somewhere, I thought deliriously. “Do your worst,” I slurred.

He grunted. “I prefer my women to be conscious and healthy, thank you.”

I tried to shrug, but the motion felt stilted and sluggish. “Your loss.” The words came out on a hiss, and I shut my eyes, the lids too heavy to keep open.

I must have fallen asleep because when I came back to awareness, he was no longer on top of me, but sitting beside me again.

There was no more cloth this time.

Just him doing something on his phone. I ran my gaze over him again, noting the way he relaxed against the headboard, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He appeared to be the epitome of relaxed grace. Elegant. Model-like.

His dark eyes drifted down to mine, perhaps feeling my focus on him. “Good. You’re awake,” he murmured. He went back to his phone for a moment before reaching over to set it on the nightstand.

I glanced around him to see that the sun had entered the sky, confirming that I’d fallen asleep. I had no idea for how long, but the exhaustion in his features suggested it’d been a while. Something told me he hadn’t slept last night. At all.

Because he’d been waiting for me to be awake enough to fuck?

That took dedication and admiration.

“We need to have a discussion about your situation,” he said, finally arriving at the point.

“Yes, let’s do that.” I meant the words to come out with a snarky lilt, but my voice was hoarse again.

He reached over for a glass—the same one as before, only it was full again—and brought the straw to my lips.

I sipped and swallowed the water because I wanted to.

He watched and waited for me to finish, the cool liquid just as refreshing as the first time. Definitely a recently filled glass. It made me wonder if he’d felt me waking up or if he’d continued to replenish it with ice while I slept.

“Nathan Spencer brought you here as a guest,” he stated as he returned the glass to the nightstand. “He then conducted business on my island without my approval. And he broke one of my primary rules—consent.”

Um. “Okay?” That wasn’t the summary I had anticipated, nor did I really understand it.

“This is my island,” he continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “And I don’t tolerate trafficking or slavery of any kind.”

A rich statement from a man of my world. But all right.

“It’s an affront to my business to break the rules,” he went on. “So I killed him for the offense.”

I gaped at him. “Wait, what?”

“I killed him,” he repeated.

“No, you didn’t.” Because we both knew that wasn’t true. “I killed Nathan Spencer.” I wasn’t afraid to admit it. Hell, I was proud of myself for it. And I would kill this asshole as well, just as soon as he gave me the chance.

“No, Adalyn. You didn’t kill him. I did. That’s the story we’re going to tell everyone. Which is why we need to discuss the details—so we’re on the same page.”

“But…”

“It’s already decided. I’ve informed several others of his death and how I killed him. Not you.” His dark eyes smoldered with dominance, yet his voice carried a velvety softness to it as he whispered, “I’ve already taken on this burden. There’s no going back now.”