Scandalous (Sinners of Saint Book 3)

THERE WAS SOMETHING IN THAT morning that had felt rotten even before I opened my eyes. My intuition proved to be right as I walked into the kitchen to find my mother crawling on the floor, gathering bits and pieces of…what? What in the world was she holding? It fell between her fingers, like molten gold.

Hair.

It was her hair. My eyes darted from the floor to her.

My mother had cut it all off.

Every inch of wispy blonde hair was gone. The lonely patches of yellow hung from her skull reluctantly, uneven in shape and length. Her eyes were red. And the blonde beautiful hair she took pride in…it was everywhere.

“I need it back.” She snapped her head up to look at me. “Oh, God, Edie. What have I done? Now he’ll never want me. I just…I need to fix this.”

I made her tea. Shoved her pills down her throat. Told her I would get it all fixed, even though we both knew there was nothing I could do. Then it was time for me to face the music and her husband.

I stood at the front door, my father outside, his monstrous Range Rover already purring. He stuck his head through his window, obviously annoyed at how his driver had called in sick that morning and now he had to do the journey from Todos Santos to Los Angeles using his precious hands and holy feet. My car was still at the shop so it made sense to carpool, even though the idea of spending time with him in a confined space sent uncomfortable shivers up my spine.

“Come on, Edie. It’s time to go,” he barked.

“Mom,” I said, gripping at the doorframe and feeling myself losing balance, “do you need me to stay with you today? Please be honest, because I will. I totally will.” She was getting worse. So much worse. But not as bad as she’d been when she’d been hospitalized for a year because she’d completely lost it and tried to slit her wrists. She didn’t cut too deep, fortunately, which meant I wasn’t orphaned at the age of twelve. But I still remember what my father had told her two months after she got back home from the rehabilitation center.

“Can’t even end your own life properly, can you, Lydia?” he’d huffed, shaking his head as he zipped up his suitcase, no doubt on his way to another mistress. “Next time let me know if you need any assistance.”

I wasn’t sure when exactly my father had started despising my mom, but I knew it had to do with the fact he couldn’t leave her, with her current mental state, if he ever wanted to get into politics. What was even more confusing to me was the love my mother still felt for him. Though I wasn’t sure whether it was love, a habit, or simply a crippling fear of being alone.

Back in reality, my mother huffed, her chin resting on her shoulder, her back to me.

“No, I don’t need you, Edie.”

“Are you sure?” I pressed. I knew she’d ignore my existence altogether if I stayed without permission.

“Edie! We’re going to be late. I have a meeting at ten. Drag your butt over here before I let you walk all the way,” my father boomed behind me. I ignored him.

“Positive. Your dad wants you to go. Just go.”

I didn’t even ask her what had happened to planning a vacation and getting better. She’d probably quit her meds and was now on a nasty downward spiral, spinning out of control all the way to rock bottom.

“Okay. I’ll keep my phone on.” I waved the device in the air.

“Thank you, sweetie. When you come home, can you…can you help me with my hair?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“Keep an eye on your dad.”

There was no need to elaborate. I knew what she meant.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, darling girl.”

And I believed her, because Lydia Van Der Zee wasn’t a bad person.

She was just a bad mom.

To do list: attain flash drive.

I couldn’t let Jordan send Theo off somewhere on the East Coast. I couldn’t.

And that’s the thought that drove me on that Monday when I fetched people their coffee, made dry cleaning runs, did other people’s children’s summer school homework, held a whiteboard up for twenty minutes straight while the maintenance guy tried figuring out why it had fallen from a wall in one of the meeting rooms, and grabbed Jordan’s mail.

The mail room was my favorite place in the building.

It was situated on the fourteenth floor and was deserted of people. The PA’s used to pick up mail every day at four p.m. Any other time, it was just the envelopes and me. And even though I could see the cameras wired all over the place (Fiscal Heights Holdings dealt with sensitive contracts and packages), I still felt alone there.

It wasn’t the ocean, but it was good enough.

I leaned against an industrial printer, exchanging text messages with Bane and burning time. No one needed me for another hour or so, and I couldn’t stand all the suits and pencil skirts roaming the fifteenth floor. They thought what they were doing was so important. I called bullshit. They didn’t save lives. They didn’t teach kids how to read. They didn’t build houses, fix broken cars, or produce food, electricity, clean water, life. They just made rich people richer, or less rich, if they were doing a terrible job. They made corporate companies stronger or weaker. It was the adult version of ToyLand, and it bored me to death.

Bane

So when the fuck are you going to drag your ass to the beach?

Me

Things are busy right now. Just trying to keep afloat tbh.

Bane

That’s the point of surfing, smartass.

Me

What’s up with you?

Bane

I’m buying a houseboat.

Me

GTFO

Bane

—

Me

Does that mean that you’ll finally let people come over to your place? I’ve never been to your house. You’re always so secretive.

Bane

Yeah, that means I can ride you somewhere private from now on. The perks of being a boat owner.

About that.

I should have probably told Bane we weren’t going to have sex anytime soon, or maybe ever again. It wasn’t because of what Trent had told me. No. I’d really meant it when I’d said that I wasn’t going to take any orders from him. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that I could sleep with Bane anymore.

Trent was on my mind. He invaded my brain, occupying more and more space there, nudging aside all the things that used to inhabit me, to the point of madness. I thumbed the neckline of the black dress I’d borrowed from my mother’s closet, getting ready to text Bane back, when the sound of a closing door made me snap to attention. I twisted my head and saw Trent standing there, his shoulder leaning against one wall.

Hands in pockets. Dark navy suit. The eyes of a predator. Delicious.

Our encounter yesterday had left me aching for more, but it also buggered my mind that he’d gone that far. It made me wonder how much more I could get him to do with me. I clutched my phone, arching an eyebrow.

“Are you stalking me, Mr. Rexroth?”

“Are you complaining, Miss Van Der Zee?”

Never. But I’m not sure I’ll get out of this alive once you find out just how bad I am going to hurt you.

“Undecided yet. Depends on whether you’re in the mood to be a jackass today.” I pretended to examine my nails. My heart drummed so fast and hard, it threatened to shatter my ribcage. He looked, walked, talked, and moved like a flawless demon. It both scared and thrilled me at the same time. Trent stopped when his body was next to mine. When everything ceased to exist but us, and we were alone in the world. My breathing was ragged, and it became painfully difficult to look at him without rolling my eyes and giving in to his powerful scent.

“I love the color black on you.” He raised his hand, seemingly to brush a lock of hair away from my face. I wondered if he knew what he’d said, because it sure as hell was obvious that he had meant it.

“What are you doing here? Rina gets your mail every day,” I said quietly, staring at his pecs, not his eyes.

“I saw you on the CCTV.”

“And?”

“And I wanted you alone.”

“Why?” I licked my lips. Why did he want me alone? He was nothing but rude and arrogant toward me, unless Luna was involved. I reached for my seashell necklace and clutched it like it was expensive pearls. His gaze followed my hand. He unwrapped my fingers from it and took it in his hand, examining the shell.

“Why did you want me alone? You say you can’t touch me, but you almost do. All the time. Last night, you lost control. Tomorrow, you will do it again, because we can’t stop this. Whatever it is, it is happening. You tell me I can’t sleep with other people, but you don’t give me what I need. Give it to me, Trent, or I will find it elsewhere.” I couldn’t believe those words left my mouth, but at the same time, was relieved they had. His thigh pressed against mine and my back was firmly pressed against the printer. Now his hand moved away from the necklace, his thumb brushing my collarbone.

“I should warn you, Edie. I’m not the prince in this fairy tale. I’m the villain. The poisonous apple, the flame-breathing monster.”

“Good. I always enjoyed the broken in the fairy tales better. The apple always looked shinier because I knew it could destroy me. The villain was just damaged and misunderstood, and the monster…” I leaned on my tiptoes, biting the tip of his ear, just barely reaching his impossible height. “I always kept the door to my closet a little ajar as a kid to make sure it could come out in case it wanted to play.”

His breath skated on my neck, hot and wanting and deliriously fresh. “The monster wants to play.”

“And I’m not scared of the dark,” I retorted. “So what are we waiting for?”

“Frankly, for you to be legal,” he deadpanned.

“I turned eighteen in January.”

Pause. Tick of an overhead clock. A loud swallow—I wasn’t even sure if it was me or him. And then…

“There will be rules,” Trent informed me, pulling away to cup my cheek and look into my eyes. “And if you break them, the consequences will be grave. Do you understand?”

My eyes dared him to continue. I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of answering him. He moved away, walking out of the room. He left me there for several minutes—standing, waiting, hoping, begging. I looked up, watching the cameras in the room die off, one by one, the red dots disappearing. Then the door creaked again, Trent reappeared—was the security panel even on this floor?—and walked back over to me.

“I don’t kiss. I fucking hate it. I don’t do relationships—my life does not allow for it right now. And I don’t like when people try to stab my back.”

A thin smile found my lips when he reclaimed his position, almost on top of me. “Gotcha. Pretty Woman. No kissing. No flowers. No stabbing. I have rules, too,” I said.

“Of course, you do,” he humored me, his hand skimming to my neck. “Let’s hear them.”

I hooked my leg over his thigh and leaned back on the printer, feeling his erection digging into my stomach, and moaned my answer. “Rule one—it’s just sex, nothing more, so you don’t get to boss me around about what I do separate from this. Rule two—no Saturdays. It’s non-negotiable. I have somewhere to be on Saturdays. Rule three…” With this one, I got a little creative. I’d only had two in mind, but it gave me an excuse to demand what I’d silently prayed for. “I want you to go with Luna to those sign language classes.”

“Already booked us a private lesson for tomorrow evening.” He hoisted my leg against him, his self-control hanging by the thread. “There’s a fourth rule,” he informed me.

“Fine, but it’s the last one.” I grinned against him as his palm dragged up under my dress.

“I’m going to give you the twelve thousand dollars a month, no questions asked, and in return, you will stop stealing shit from me and sniffing around my business.”

I froze. He knew about the iPad. About my little mission. Why hadn’t he said anything until now? Even now, he was just implying. I wanted to keep it that way. The less I knew, the more I could shrug off later when it came to bite me in the ass. And I did absolutely need to keep giving Jordan dirt on Trent. It wasn’t personal against the handsome devil in front of me. It was about saving the only person who’d ever really loved me.

“You’re not going to pay for the…” I started, but Trent slammed his groin into mine in one thrust, causing my back to arch and my legs to spread and curl around him, clinging to his waist like poison ivy. I was dripping and ready for him to finally claim me.

“Shut up, Edie. I said no arguing. This is one of the rules.”

“I’m not going to stop.” I swallowed hard, refusing to look him in the eye. “You should know now, Trent. I’m always going to do whatever Jordan tells me to. Not because I like him. Not because I’m scared of him. But because he has something I need. I will always obey him, Trent. Always.”

For a moment, it looked like he was going to pull away. Everything about his posture said it. His hand stopped sliding up my thigh, invading my flesh, riding up my dress, and his body pulled away, the heat from him subsiding.

“You do know what it means, right?” I cleared my throat. I may have been a thief, and a liar, but I wasn’t a jerk. I needed him to know. To acknowledge what we were. His hand resumed its journey to my inner thigh, his swollen cock pressing against me.

“It means”—his teeth dragged along my neck—“that what we are to each other is potential sacrifices. As long as you know I will throw you under the train if you mess with my plans, I’m good.”

I swallowed. “I’m good, too.”

“Let’s have some fun then.”

And that was all the preparation he gave me before shoving his hand inside my panties. His strong, warm fingers stroked my folds gently, as if soothing them, preparing for whatever he was going to give me.

“One last warning,” he said, his hot tongue making its first appearance, licking a trail of tantalizing desire up the side of my neck, making me shiver violently. “I fuck rough.” He shoved one finger into me and I arched my back, gasping from the sudden penetration. “Deep-throating is a requirement, not an option”—he shoved a second finger into me—“and I’m about to fucking ruin you for any other man. So when the time comes and no one else can compare to me, just remember—you asked for it.”

Third finger.

Fourth finger.

Jesus Christ, this man had four fingers inside me and he thrust them in and out. His thumb rubbed my clit—which he found in record time—while he played with me with little regard to the fact this was the first time we’d properly touched each other and we hadn’t even kissed. I hooked one arm around his neck and ground my core against his hand, moan after moan escaping from my mouth. My lips felt naked, in contrast with the fullness between my legs. I was riding his hand shamelessly, our eyes locked. My core tightened and the buildup to orgasm was quicker than I’d ever felt it. I wanted to cup him in his pants but knew he would never let me.

“Oh my God, I’m going to come,” I panted, knowing I sounded like a cheap porn star but not really caring. This was…what the hell was it? I’d never had a man enter me so roughly and boldly, and we weren’t even having sex. He acted like he already knew my body, like he owned it. Worst part was, I couldn’t argue with that notion. I usually took a long time to get off with a partner. Trent had managed to get me soaked, moaning, and chasing his touch after less than two minutes.

He smirked. “Check you out, wet as a fucking lake.”

He withdrew one finger…two. What the hell was he doing? The sense of loss was immediate, but that was before I realized he wasn’t slowing down. He was setting me on fire.

“Hello, Edie’s G-spot,” he murmured into my ear, rubbing the spot furiously. I think I had a mini-orgasm just having him do that to me. I groaned loudly when his fingers curled inside me, rubbing at the sensitive place. “I’ve a feeling you and I are going to see a shit-ton of each other.”

“Ohhh.” I arched and slithered to bite his exposed neck, tasting the bitterness of his fragrance on my tongue and teeth. “This is insane.”

“Why does he call you Gidget?” Trent asked, strumming on every nerve in my body like a violinist. A hot wave of pleasure was brewing in me, ready to crash. My toes curled.

“Huh?”

“Bane. He calls you Gidget. Why?”

“Why are we talking about Bane?” My annoyance almost caught up with my tone. Almost. I knew Trent. He was a stubborn jerk. He wasn’t going to back off. If anything, he was going to deny me another orgasm, and this time I was going to kill him for it. No one in the world other than Jesus Christ himself was going to deny me this orgasm. Especially not some rich jackass in a suit—someone I’d promised myself I’d never be associated with in the first place.

“Gidget is a term for a small female surfer,” I bit out, as his fingers started slamming into my G-spot brutally. He was relentless. True, Trent didn’t kiss me, but his whole body did. It was glued to mine, and I felt him everywhere. The orgasm claimed me like a storm, starting from the bottom and working its way up until every hair on my arms stood on end. I clutched his broad, muscular shoulders and squeezed his waist between my thighs, the intensity of my climax momentarily blinding me.

But he wasn’t done.

Trent grabbed the back of my knees and raised me flat on the printer, my back against a warm stack of papers. He spread my legs wide, throwing them over his shoulders and nudged my panties aside, not even bothering to remove them.

“What are you doing?” I murmured, horrified. I was still coming down from the high. It was difficult to find my footing when every organ and system in my body was still busy recovering from what might have been the most brutal orgasm I ever experienced.

He didn’t answer me. Just stared intently at my bare pussy, slowly pushing his forefinger into me. He then pulled it away, coated with my lust and wetness, and sucked on it hungrily, his eyes still dead on my pussy.

“I ask myself the same fucking question every time I touch you,” he muttered to himself.

He didn’t look horny. Or delighted. Or turned on. But disturbed.

My already cherry cheeks reddened further. He’d shoved his whole hand into me less than five minutes ago after blatantly breaking the company rules by shutting down the security system on one of the most sensitive floors in the building, and he was bothered by this?

“You just fingered a teenager to orgasm.” I licked my lips, taking control and nudging his hand away from my pussy. I yanked my underwear back in place and jumped down from the printer. My panties were soaked and uncomfortable.

He matched my steps easily as we walked to the door. Before we got out, he switched the cameras back on and punched his phone screen a few times. “Joe? Yeah, Trent Rexroth. I think the CCTV system shut down on the fourteenth. Need you to check it. I just passed by the security monitor and saw that it was blank.”

Oh, God. He was such a sociopath. And I was in so much trouble.

We walked to the elevator together.

“You go first.” He shoved his phone into his front pocket, his cool tone and fuck-everyone attitude on full display now.

“Where are you going?” I asked, walking into the open elevator.

As the doors started sliding shut, he said, “I’m going to jerk off until my dick falls off. With you in my mind, on my fingers, and my lips, Edie. Teenager or not, you’re about to do a lot of grown-up stuff with me.”