A Sanctuary For Sin (The Saints of Purgatory #2)

Prologue

James

I don’t know why we’re not killing this girl.

Or at least locking her up until we get some real answers.

That’s my vote. But as number two, my vote is easily overruled by my absolute dumbass of a brother.

So, now, here I am, spending Saturday night sneaking into the house of a seemingly innocent woman who, for some reason, has taken it upon herself to stalk the leader of an outlaw motorcycle club.

“We should just kill her,” I grumble, sliding the spare key I’d made into the back door. I glance up at the security cameras we’ve already hacked. It should be looping footage now, but just in case, I pull the bandana over my nose and my hat down, ensuring any identifying features are covered.

I comb her bedroom top to bottom and plant a bug in her office before moving to the basement.

At first glance, it’s nothing special, but looking closer, I notice how clean it is and that one of the chairs around the small worktable is bolted to the floor.

Frost seems to fill my veins when I try to move the chair and it doesn’t budge.

I can’t immediately place the source of the feeling, but I know it’s nothing good.

I turn to the safe. It’s a good one, not the best, but it’ll take a while to open, so I call Theo.

“She still following you?” I ask, squatting to better study the safe.

“Yeah,” he says. Despite the mic being inside his helmet, I can still hear the air rushing past him and the distant sound of his bike’s exhaust pipes rumbling. “I’m thinking a visit to Basil and a ride south will keep her occupied for at least two more hours.”

“I can work with that.”

“Good. Keep an eye on the cameras.”

“I got it, T.”

He chuckles in response. I hang up and get to work.

It takes an hour to break into the safe, but it’s worth it.

Inside are several important, yet uninteresting, documents that I snap photos of, a stack of at least thirty grand in cash that I’m sure this girl didn’t come by ethically, and a group of items that look suspiciously like a kill kit.

It’s complete with a roll of plastic drop, a gun, a razor-sharp carving knife, several vials of drugs, handcuffs, and other tools that make my balls jump inside my body.

This chick is psychotic.

“Why the fuck aren’t we killing her?” I whisper to myself.

As I’m returning everything, my phone lights up, signaling motion outside the house. I curse, drop the gun in the safe, and quickly shut it before checking the security cameras.

A woman stands on the front porch, one hand holding a phone to her ear while the other unlocks the door. The image is fuzzy, but I can tell she isn’t the owner of the house, and we didn’t find any evidence of a roommate.

I touch the bandana wrapped around my face to check that it’s covering everything below my eyes, then I rush for the stairs, needing to fully shut the basement door before she notices it’s cracked.

Unfortunately, I’m forced to freeze halfway up when the front door swings open, bringing in the sound of happy chatter.

“—just there. I know! You’d think I emancipated myself when I was twelve and never spoke to them again.

” There’s a pause as the new arrival waits for a response, then she laughs.

“Christmas was never huge in my family growing up, but now that I moved out of state, it’s like every single holiday is the most important day of the year and how dare I not spend it with my family?

” She says the end of the sentence in an exaggerated mocking of outrage.

I take a tentative step forward, but I’m still out of reach of the door. Thankfully, by the sound of her footsteps, she’s already walked past the basement entrance to the kitchen.

While waiting, I pull up my texts with Theo, still listening for the woman. He replies, probably using voice to text, seconds after my message sends.

ME

Some woman is here. She had a key.

THEO

Fuck. Are you still in the house?

ME

Yes. In the basement. She’s in the kitchen.

THEO

Graves is still on my tail. It’s not her.

That much was already obvious. Though I wasn’t sure what I expected Theo to do. Pull over and ask the psychopath on his tail to inform whoever’s in her house that a giant intruder would like to leave now, thanks?

Fuck. This wouldn’t have happened if we’d just killed that bitch when she showed up at the Cage last week.

“Listen here, Juney. If you’re not back at your house in the next thirty minutes, I’m changing the movie from Violent Night to some stupid Hallmark Christmas movie.

” A pause, then she says, more tentatively, “You know I don’t mind a little violence.

Whatever makes my girl happy.” There’s a beat of silence, followed by, “Fine. Pick up some Skittles on the way. You’re out. ”

She exchanges goodbyes, then there’s the sound of light feet on the wooden floor. The television turns on, some trailer playing loudly before going silent with a, “What the fuck, June? Are you deaf?” from the woman.

Just as I start to worry that she’s never going to leave and I’ll be stuck here, in what could very well be the kill room of a psychopath, I hear footsteps walking down the hallway toward the main bedroom.

I wait for the door to shut, then, as quietly as possible, I clear the rest of the stairs, shut the basement door behind me, and head for the back exit.

I let out a heavy breath as soon as I’m safely outside.

But instead of running for my bike, I hesitate.

Logic screams to get the fuck out of there while I still can, but my bones stay locked in place.

I’m standing diagonally to the back living room window, allowing a perfect view inside without being seen from the house’s inhabitants.

A few minutes later, I see the woman re-emerge.

She has black hair that hangs about half an inch above her shoulders and is wearing sweats and a hoodie.

At the couch, she twists to grab the blanket laying on the back, giving me a perfect view of her face.

Square glasses, a pointed chin with what looks like a dimple in the center, and the plumpest lips I’ve ever seen.

Her skin is tan, like she’s been at the beach for a month even though it’s fucking December, and her eyebrows seem to arch over her glasses.

Even from this distance, she’s stunning. Like, freeze in place when you should be running for your life beautiful.

Fuck me.

~

“Here to prove that paradise was never in the garden is crowd favorite—Lillith!” comes a voice over the speakers.

Cheers erupt throughout the club, Raphael’s being the loudest. The idiot will empty his wallet tonight, insisting that this time, he’ll successfully convince her to go on a date with him.

I scowl as the willowy woman with bright red hair saunters onto the stage, hand immediately wrapping around the pole. I watch her do two spins before boredom takes over, and I drop my attention to the phone in my lap.

Sadie Oliver. That’s the woman who almost caught me breaking into her best friend’s house.

She seems mostly normal, from what I’ve gathered.

She has a much larger digital footprint than her friend, as does every member of her family.

I guess that makes sense when your mom is a C-list celebrity, your oldest brother is a film composer, and your other brother is a stunt double who’s dating a singer.

The entire family lives in Hollywood, and I’ve yet to figure out why Sadie is out here in Tucson, Arizona.

It can’t just be to open some little plant and flower shop.

I’m scrolling through her Instagram, which is filled with selfies and pictures with her friends and dog, a giant Great Dane, when someone shoves my shoulder. “Want a dance, bro?” Raphael asks, holding out a wad of money. I stare at him, and he laughs. “Alright! At least I asked.”

He always asks. No matter how often I tell him I don’t want a fucking lap dance from some stripper, Raph has to ask. Then he’ll complain that I’m no fun and “Why do you even come if you’re not going to enjoy it?”

Because someone has to be here to make sure you idiots don’t cause trouble. Either Theo, Kip, or myself always join on these outings. Seeing as Theo is stalking his stalker tonight and Kip is with his sister and brother-in-law, the duty falls squarely on my shoulders.

After another hour, I text Theo to ask how it’s going, hoping he’ll come relieve me. Instead, his answer causes something to curdle in my stomach.

THEO

There’s definitely something weird about this chick. She is freakishly good at kickboxing. Could probably even take you in the ring. Her friend, that Sadie chick, is also pretty good, but not like… suspiciously good. IDK, but this doesn’t look like just self-defense for her.

The feeling in my gut is fear for my brother.

Has to be. Fear and confusion and a desire to kill something.

It has nothing to do with wishing I could trade places with him so he could be here, watching sexy women get naked on stage, and I could be there, watching a psychopath and her friend punch bags.

I scratch my beard, tugging at the wiry strands slightly, and click off my phone. Turning to Raphael, I say something I haven’t said in years. “Fine. One dance.”

~

I hate the second Tuesday of the month. Theo is always in a bad mood all day, not that I can blame him. I can’t say why it’s the second Tuesday that gets him and not the actual anniversary, but either way, my body always picks up on his mood.

Shiloh has been gone for almost eight years.

My sister for seven. On days like this, it’s all I can think about because it’s all Theo can think about.

Sometimes, I’m jealous of my father. To just pick up and leave the state, move to the beach where no one knows me, where the only life I’m responsible for is mine?

It sounds like a selfish paradise. Feeling my own grief is enough; feeling Theo’s too can be debilitating.

But I’ll never leave. He’s my brother, and he needs me.

Still, I need distractions. Which is why I volunteered to keep an eye on Theo’s stalker. The fact that she’s at a Mexican restaurant with three of her friends, including Sadie, is completely coincidental.

There’s a loud laugh in the direction of their table.

I scoop extra salsa onto my chip and shove it in my mouth, fighting the desire to move closer.

Coming inside the restaurant was already a risk, even with the hat covering most of my red hair and my Saints cut left at home.

I was lucky this bar seat in the shadows was open.

Their table is in view, and Graves is facing away from me, but if she looks back, there’s no doubt in my mind that she’ll recognize me.

She’s more agitated than normal, glancing around so often that I wonder if her friends have commented on it.

“Want another?” the bartender asks, gesturing to my empty beer glass.

I shake my head and check my watch. The restaurant closes in half an hour, so they’ll have to leave soon. If I didn’t have to walk past their table to leave, I’d head out to my bike.

Instead, I wait, pay my bill, leave a large tip, and tap my finger on the counter. Finally, the girls stand. I hop from the stool and turn to the hallway behind me that leads to the bathrooms, planning to wait there while Graves leaves. After twenty seconds, I start toward the exit.

And run right into Sadie Oliver.

“Oof, so sorry,” she says, letting out an awkward laugh. She’s tall, about five-foot eight, but her gaze still meets my chest first before she has to step back and look up to find my eyes. “Damn, André.” The words are a whisper, like she meant to think them.

I frown. “Sorry?”

“Nothing, I…” she trails off, then looks past me.

My brows lift as I wait. I should move if I don’t want to lose Graves. But just like outside of her house, my legs decide against listening to my brain.

“The bathroom,” she blurts out in explanation. “You’re blocking the way.”

Oh. Right. The hallway isn’t big, and I’m in the center of it. I step to the side, making space for her to slip by.

“Thanks.” She ducks her head, letting thick strands of black hair cover her face, and walks past without touching me.

I watch the bathroom door close behind her, then mumble a curse and rush outside to find that, of course, Graves has already left. Straddling my bike, I text Theo that I lost her. He likes the message but doesn’t respond. He rarely responds on these Tuesdays.

Something sticky scratches under my skin, like the tiny, barbed legs of June bugs.

I blink, and for half a second, there’s a happily shrieking toddler on the seat in front of me, slapping her hands down in a wordless command for me to start the bike.

Then I open my eyes and there's no baby, and my heart constricts in an ever-shrinking metal box.

I start the bike, and right before shifting down from neutral, Sadie exits the restaurant and climbs into her car.

I don’t question my instinct to follow her.

Anything to subdue the beetles ripping my skin raw.