The Sins that Ruin (Obsidian Knights Secret Society #3)

16. Scarlett

SIXTEEN

The next warehouse we go to is set back from the water across the street in an area of cement buildings that reminds me of old school Greenpoint, the parts we’d run through on the way to the cool spots, the wine bars, microbreweries, and yoga studios that sit between Greenpoint Avenue and the water.

This place looks empty until a slender man steps outside, the open door revealing music and laughter in the depths of the place.

He checks something Malone hands him, and then we enter another world.

It’s dark with low lights and comfortable seating, and yet everything from the bar to the fake leather chairs to the tables to the rugs all seem like they were put here just for tonight.

Staged.

Or maybe it’s just me, because what the hell?

How is there a swank, underground place here in nowhere Brooklyn?

This isn’t working class, Polish Greenpoint, Bushwick, or even Sheepshead Bay. This is quiet, with apartments off beyond the warehouses, and no shops or buses or loud noises that come with a bar or restaurant.

The area is a work and residential place. That’s it. Nothing pretty or special. Just out of the way, lonely.

It’s loud inside, yet outside…

This can’t be a pop-up, either. It’s soundproofed, and maybe they change what happens in here on a day-to-day basis, but as I look around, I think it might be some illegal place that’s off the radar.

Malone’s in his element. His angelic good looks are in stark contrast to the jaded, deadly expression on his face, the film of sleaze who’s completely at home in here.

A man who’d kill, fuck a girl in front of a body because he gets off on death and violence, then come up with an excuse for murdering the guy, calling him a pervert.

None of that changes the fact that Malone dragged me right down into his own perverted depths, which I let him do way too willingly.

I swallow hard. And if I came during sex, what the hell does that make me?

Dirty.

Sick.

Twisted.

I can never be scrubbed clean of that.

“Stop thinking about what happened and fucking smile,” Malone says, wrapping a hand in my hair and pulling my head up so he can capture my shocked gaze.

Of course he knows what’s going on in my head.

The green of his eyes glitter as he looks down at my mouth. Then he kisses me hungrily. It’s a total mauling, this kiss. And I let myself get mouth fucked by him in front of everyone in here.

It’s like there’s a switch inside of me only this man has access to. When he flicks it, I light up, a blaze of need. If he asked, commanded me, I’d probably go down on my knees and blow him, right here in the open.

When he lifts his head, I swear he’s staring into my soul. He grins like he just won all the prizes at the fair. “Good girl, and if you keep it up, I’ll reward you later. And maybe I won’t let all the men in here fuck you senseless.”

My head is in freefall as he presses a drink into my hand and he makes the rounds, shooting the shit as Lacey says, usually with a sneer on his gorgeous face.

I’m about to categorize Malone as one of those men who loves the sound of their own voices when I realize something.

Two things, actually.

The first? Malone doesn’t actually talk that much. He can, and when he does, it’s liquid gold, but he chooses his moments. And he’s so good at it that I never noticed until now, because he ordered me to observe.

The second? He both fits in and doesn’t.

He looks the part, but there’s something that sets him apart. I don’t know what it is, because he’s exactly what he says he is, but I keep getting the feeling there’s more hidden behind the fa?ade he wears in situations like this.

Malone pulls me close and bites my neck. A draft of air hits my skin when he lifts my skirt to palm my ass. Then he slips his fingers between my cheeks, and I have to swallow the moan, tamping down the mix of heat and discomfort that flood me. Heat because there’s something about him exposing me that’s a turn-on.

And there’s the sickest part. I shouldn’t be feeling hot and bothered after that.

But I do.

He kisses his way up to my ear and the boozy, leather of him coils around me. I rub a thigh up against him.

Malone laughs. “You want to be fucked, Red? See anything interesting? If you do, tell me when we leave, or you can get all up in my face and rub that fine cunt on me while you talk.”

He’s such an ass.

I’m not that much better.

The night goes on and he joins the poker table. Now that I’m used to him, watching him along with everyone else, and I can see how exceptionally good he is at drawing information from people without them noticing.

I don’t know exactly what he’s looking for, but as I gaze around the place, I see someone I recognize, and the bite of Malone’s fingers as he pulls me onto his lap tells me he noticed. But he doesn’t ask me a damn thing.

The man in the corner doesn’t know me, but I know who he is. I once dropped by the shipping offices with some cupcakes for Dad and Grant, and that man had been there, talking with my uncle in his office.

Dad had taken the Tupperware from me and ushered me out because he had a busy day. It seemed true enough. There were trucks lined up outside for the cross-dock deliveries and the other shipments heading to final destinations. Their receptionist had been snapping at someone on the phone, so I left.

But I remember the man.

It wasn’t often—like ever—that men dressed in tuxedos hung around those offices and loading docks.

I reach up to wrap my arms around Malone’s neck and kiss a path to his ear.

“This better be good because you’re really fucking with my concentration.” He pulls me against him. “Sit on my lap, your back to my front, legs either side of my thighs. Do it.”

I do, and I’m extremely thankful for my panties with the greedy pairs of eyes opposite me zeroing in on the area between my legs. There’s something so erotic about being this exposed that it makes me tremble with need.

God, I want to rub myself all over him.

“Scarlett? Stop grinding on me and talk.”

Heat flares through my skin. “The man to the right in the corner, I recognize him.”

He takes my hair and brings me in close, nibbling the side of my neck. “Ever heard of Dark Desires?”

“A feeling or a business?”

But I have, in passing. I nod.

He doesn’t respond. Malone keeps playing his hand of cards, lighting up a cigarette and drinking scotch. I clutch my drink as he throws more chips in and then, with the cigarette hanging out of one corner of his mouth, he puts his scotch down and slips that hand up my thigh, under my skirt to toy with my pussy.

It’s so brazen, and so breathtakingly wrong because I’m wet with arousal, and his cum from the fuck fest at the warehouse is still inside me. He slides a finger into the side of my panties to dip into my slit and a moan tumbles from my mouth.

The fucker laughs.

Then he pulls his hand free and offers his fingers to me. I suck them. I taste like the two of us, tangled, and unexpected because the taste, like us, shouldn’t work and yet…

Oh, it does.

Malone’s concentration slouches back to the cards. He lets out a deep sigh, downs his drink, drops the cigarette in the glass, and folds his hand.

He pushes me forward. My feet hit the floor and I stand up from his lap.

“Too distracted, gentlemen,” he says. And the asshole has the nerve to wink at a hot, fake-boobed blonde draped over an older man. She grins and her eyes get fluttery. The old guy pretends it isn’t happening, and that both annoys and intrigues me.

It annoys me because this man I’m with thinks he can have any girl, at any time, and it intrigues me because I’m willing to bet that if Malone asked, this guy would hand over his woman without blinking.

Malone slides his arm around me and tucks me into his side. With a quick glance at the man on the other side of him, he says, “Come by the club and we’ll talk more about that deal.”

And he whisks me out of there without another look or word.

“Malone,” I say the moment we’re out in the cool night air. “What?—?”

“The car, Red. Save it for the car. Not that you’ll be talking. I’m gonna have you on your knees with my cock down your throat.”

He hauls me down the street, catching me when I stumble in the ridiculous, murderous shoes he gave me. I wish more than anything that I had those stretchy pants on right now, that I could dump these heels for those sneakers. But he threw them and the bag into the water.

The car’s waiting at the end of the street, like some kind of magic carpet. The balls of my feet burn like they’re being branded by hot coals.

He doesn’t say another word until we’re in the back seat—it’s a limo this time—and heading away from the place, I peer out the window for a street sign as Malone sits opposite me, eyes shut.

“How do you know Bishop?” he asks.

I turn to face him. “Who?”

“You know who, Scarlett. Dark Desires. The man in the corner.” He pauses. “What do you know about Dark Desires?”

“I don’t know what that is. And Bishop?” I shiver. “He sounds like a chess piece.”

“Well, if you’re going to be a chess piece, be the queen. Bishop is his name. Franklin Bishop. He owns Dark Desires.” Malone opens his eyes and smooths his hands down his thighs. He still looks dangerous, all in black like some kind of thief. But something about him doesn’t fit. Even if he’s in the back of a limo that screams “I’m rich.”

Malone cracks each of his knuckles and I cringe. I really hate that sound.

I sit up straight, and a slow smile spreads across his face. “What about UR Fantasies?”

I’m about to snap back that I don’t have any fantasies—a total lie, but I refuse to let them unfurl in my brain because they all have to do with him. And more of the things he’s done to me, with me.

But then I realize what he’s saying.

“UFP?”

“I think that’s the invoice code for that company, UR Fantasies.”

“But,” he says, “you don’t know the other one?”

“I just remember seeing that man, Bishop. Talking to Uncle Grant. He was in a tuxedo in the middle of the day, so he was hard to miss.” I shrug and he reaches out, taking my hand, his thumb drawing circles on my palm.

A shiver runs through me at his touch.

“Do you know what his business is? UR Fantasies?”

“I think they ship camera equipment and DVDs, kinda old school.”

“And the other company? Dark Desires?”

“I’ve never heard of them. I don’t even know if they’re a client.”

He leans in. “How do you know what UR Fantasies ships?”

“I heard Dad talking to someone from there. Dad stopped him when he started to say what he’s shipping, told him that they don’t need to know, it helps with discretion. It’s not his business to know what’s in the crates or boxes, just his business to get it to where it needs to be on time.”

Malone nods. “Can you find out?”

“They don’t know.”

“Okay.” He’s silent now, but he’s still drawing meaningless patterns on my skin. It’s a delicate live wire straight down to my clit and incites the deep ache inside of me. “Can we at least find out if Dark Desires is a client? It could be important.”

I frown. “Do you think they’re behind the threats?” And I shiver because that man, Bishop, gave me an uncomfortable feeling that day I saw him, and it flared up again tonight. “I could ask Dad…”

“No, not yet. I just want to get a list of people since your cousin was threatened. But after tonight’s two events, maybe the threats will stop. Maybe enough people will have seen us together and will back off.”

“Maybe,” I say, somehow not convinced.

He might be a scary and powerful man in his own right, but if someone’s after something with Hanlon Shipping, or if someone is holding a grudge—over what I have no idea—then arming up with all the information might be the best bet of all.

I also think, as I slide my hand free from his, it’s the fastest way to be free of all this crap with Malone.

Because the longer I’m with him, caught up in this fake engagement, the harder it is to remember it’s all a sham.

And doubly harder for me to walk away from the incredible mind-bending sex.

I lean my head against the window and close my eyes.

What the hell am I becoming?