8. Checkers
EIGHT
CHECKERS
LUCA
C lothes. She needs clothes.
And food, too.
Shit.
What was I thinking? That I could hide a girl in a basement, lock her away from the world, and my determination to keep her safe would be all that she needs? Fucking idiot. I packed up a couple of changes of clothes before I left my place. Why didn’t it occur to me that she’d need some, too?
And if I’m kicking my own ass for being so stupid, it’s only because it’s easier to focus on that then remember the twinkle in her eyes when she invited me to join her in the shower.
It’s obvious that was a nervous offer made by someone who doesn’t know what to make of the situation they’re in. Like it or not, she’s at my mercy. I have the gun. I have the orders that I can’t let her step foot out of the cabin or else Devil expects me to use it. And while my boss is one of a handful of people I’ve told about how I was raised—mainly because our religious trauma was something we had in common, and the reason why he allowed me to join the Sinners in the first place—he doesn’t know how I struggle with the fifth commandment.
Thou shall not kill.
There are some rules I can’t bring myself to break because they’ve been beaten into me so deeply, it physically aches me to even think of going against them. Taking a life isn’t one of them. There might come a day that I’m going to Cross, asking for my ninth tally mark, but I’ll hate myself even more if it’s because I extinguish her twinkle.
I don’t know her name. I don’t know anything about her except the initial impression I got of her down on Skid Row, plus how our recent interaction took everything I already believed and spun it on its damn head.
I expected to have to calm her. To soothe her. To make her understand something that most civilians never would. I was prepared for terror. For pleading. For a quick acceptance that, in exchange for her life, she’d keep her silence.
What I didn’t expect?
Was for her to break out of the handcuff I put on her, smash the chain that kept her tethered to the basement cot, and wake me up from the first sleep I had in nearly twenty-four hours by throwing open the door off the side of Burns’s living room.
That one was on me. Exhausted yet undeniably amped, like I sucked down one of the energy drinks that Cross seems to live on, I plopped down on the couch after I got her set up downstairs. I planned on keeping her down there as long as it took to get her to understand that she’s mine now, at least until Devil can be sure she’s no longer a liability. Locking the door was essential, and I could’ve sworn I did.
At least the basement door, I thought I had. I didn’t want to know why Burns had installed an outer lock in the first place—or why his mountain cabin needed a furnished cot supposedly capable of keeping a woman on top of it—but I must’ve fucked up and not engaged it all the way.
The front door was my mistake. Burns’s nearest neighbor is at least three miles away. With the girl safely downstairs, I wasn’t worried about someone breaking in. Not only is this a notable cop’s hideaway, but with the old snow making it a tough climb as it is, no one would head over here.
No one but me, that is.
I can’t let her escape. She’s dead, and if I prove myself unreliable to Devil, that’s my head, too. She has to stay, and though she seemed to accept that… Fuck . It’s too easy.
Nothing in my life has been this easy.
What sort of captive wants to stay? Oh, sure, she said it’s because she doesn’t want a bullet in her skull, but instead of swearing she’ll do anything to keep herself safe, she asked about food. About clothes.
About checkers .
And I have to admit that, watching the slight smirk stretch her gorgeous face, the tease in her husky voice as she called me ‘ace’ before chiding me for leaving the door unlocked, and the way my cock came to life as soon as she made her mocking offer to join her in her shower… I’m fucked .
I already knew I was attracted to her. It only took one glimpse earlier tonight for my breath to catch in my throat. There was something about her. Something I couldn’t quote explain, only that it was enough to make me forget my duty for a moment. But that’s nothing to how I’m walking around with an erection pulsing against my suit pants, palming my length as if that’s do anything to get the fucker under control.
Somewhere below my feet, she’s naked and wet, enjoying the shower while I do everything I can to resist the urge to do what she offered and join her.
Would I frighten her? If she saw the mark on my arm, would she be afraid—or would she pity me? Would she cover up or let me see what she looks like naked?
Would she make a move on me to save her skin, or laugh that I’d ever believe a creature like her would ever pay attention to an awkward, broken man like me?
She has no idea just how safe she is with me. I know most of the Sinners. I know their secrets, and I know their vices. Sometimes it takes the worst kind of men who join a syndicate like ours, not for the fraternity of it, but because they want power. Money.
Pussy.
Not me. All I’ve ever wanted was freedom, and even if I sold my soul to be Devil’s servant, it was better than what I left behind. And I don’t just mean Hamilton. I regret what happened there, but those two years are nothing compared to the twenty-two that came before it.
Everyone thinks that the reason I left Hamilton when I was twenty-four was because I lost my cool on a job, three of the crew ended up in jail after a bank job went bust, with one dead even before the others were caught. Leon Martinez took a bullet from an armed security, and I took off the second the shots rang out. As the wheelman, I sacrificed the rest of the crew to save my skin.
Part of that is true. A wheelman did lose his nerve, but it wasn’t me. That was a new kid called Stache, a last-minute replacement when I had to back out on a long-planned heist.
Kane never came after me because he knew it was Stache’s fault the job went belly-up. He even offered me a chance to make up for it—drive for another job he was plotting in Hudson since he was now down five members—but I was already in my Mustang, heading out of town, hoping that, this time, it takes longer than two years for my parents to come looking for me again.
Because they did once, and though I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, expecting to see Frank and Val St. James behind me, that’s because they’re convinced they still pull my leash and control their only son even now.
It’s been three since I’ve hunkered down in Springfield. I’ve avoided them so far, and there are times I honestly begin to think I’ve broken free of them at last, but then a pretty girl has my blood pumping, my cock responding to her playful overtones, and I’m suddenly back in Oklahoma again.
I’m in the secluded hamlet of Donovan, named after the man who founded and ruled the Holy Church of Jesus Devotion, where a population of barely one hundred was expected to do as commanded. And if they didn’t…
The girl wasn’t the only one in shackles. I removed hers, though, when she asked me to—and it never even occurred to me to refuse—while mine, invisible as they are, are still holding me down nearly twenty-seven years later.
I’ve always wanted to be free. Now look at me. I’m responsible for being someone else’s jailer.
Using the palm of my hand, I shove roughly at my erection. With everything I have to do now, borrowing the bathroom down the hall to rub one out is a shitty idea. My body needs the release, but I’m an old pro at resisting the temptation.
Don’t fall in love, Luca.
Don’t let your dick control you.
Don’t get your stupid heart broken.
Don’t watch the girl you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with accept the prophet’s proposal while wearing your ring—or be forced to witness it when he fucked her the first time to prove to the entire congregation… the fucking cult … that she was a virgin.
Before I lost Emily to Jack Donovan, I never whacked off. Well, no. I got caught once at fourteen by my dad, and when he was done with the belt, I couldn’t sit down without pain for a week. He slapped my dick, too, so much that it left a mark, and every time I got an erection in that days that followed, it was agony. Masturbation was a sin. To the HCofJD, everything was a sin, but pleasure without the intent of procreation was unacceptable.
It was a Hell offense. Touch yourself. Hell. Think of touching your girlfriend’s boobs. Hell. Sneak your finger into her pussy, though you knew your dick would never get wet until your wedding night. Hell.
I was allowed to kiss her. That was all. A prim kiss on the lips that wasn’t enough when the choice came down between the leader of the church and Luca St. James.
I’ve kissed a handful of women since Emily. God knows I’ve watched enough porn to try to burn the image of Emily beneath Donovan as every adult member f the churche witness in awe—and dismay—as she became the prophet’s bride. Once I was out of Oklahoma, beating my meat became my first attempt at rebellion. My parents disowned me. They thought I was the devil reborn.
A little jerking off and fantasizing over being the one to make Emily mew like that is what you’d expect from a sinner. It was how I was defiant, even if I still can’t bring myself to have penetrative sex until I found the woman I choose to marry.
Brainwashing goes fucking deep, I tell you. I’ve spent five years trying to shake it off, even going so far as the visit the girls who work the upstairs of the Playground to finally say I’d did it for once and for all. But I couldn’t. It’s not even the fear of eternal damnation that had me losing my erection whenever I tried. Melissa even gave me my first blow job to see if that would help me keep it for the main event. It didn’t, and I never went back upstairs again.
Waiting until marriage… It’s the idea that sex belonged between two people who were in love. Who were bonded in the eyes of the church and the lord. Who belonged to each other.
I know better than to believe that shit now as a grown man, years removed from the church. Tell that to my poor cock.
He’s listening now, and so am I. The pipes somewhere in the cabin are creaking. My prisoner is in the shower, and instead of my dick deflating at that thought, I nearly cream my pants at the thought of her giving me another smirk before dropping to her knees in front of me…
I grit my teeth, shake my head, and double-check that the lock’s engaged. Once I have, I finish the tour of the cabin I neglected to do before I passed out on the couch.
The Burns’s bedroom is off-limits. He gave me permission to borrow their room during my stay, but it didn’t seem right to lay down in their marriage bed, especially knowing that they fuck on it. I have to pretend like a recently married couple—together for about two years or so—wouldn’t take a trip up to their cabin and bang right away on the couch since that’s where I’ll be spending my nights until I have the girl downstairs under my control.
My dick twitches.
I ignore it since, damn it, we both know that’s not what I mean.
She’s made it clear that she has integrity. Morals. If given the chance, she’s turning Devil in. I can’t… I can’t let that happen. So I still have to do whatever it takes to get her to side with me.
To fall for me.
To love me, even knowing that I’ll never be able to do the same for her in return.
My dick twitches again, calling me a fucking liar.
No. No . There’s a difference between lust and love, and after spending all of my hormonal teen years, hoping that Emily would take pity on me and at least get a peek at her tits, I know the difference. Twenty-seven years of pent-up sexual frustration has me looking at such a pretty girl and reacting.
Love at first sight exists. I know that, even if I’ve never experienced that myself. Look at Rolls and Nicolette. The Sinners Syndicate’s fixer knew the waitress would be his the moment he met her. He stayed away because he was her boss, and it wouldn’t be right when he had all the power… but he didn’t stay away forever. Now they’re married, and the power imbalance doesn’t seem to bother either one of them anymore.
Shit, Luca. There’s a difference between the manager of the club thirsting after a waitress he hired. But an impulsive driver having impure thoughts about the woman he drugged and kidnapped?
Focus on the job. Prove yourself to Devil.
Save the girl.
That’s all I can hope for.
And it begins with a phone call to Officer Mason Burns.
He answers on the third ring. “Burns here.”
“Hi. It’s, uh, Luca. Luca St. James.”
“Oh, right. The driver in my cabin with the— yeah, yeah. How are you?”
Could be better.
My aching dick agrees.
“I’m alright.”
“You settled in? Find the place okay?”
That’s the least of my worries. “Yup. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m doing this favor for Devil, and I’ll make sure he owes me.”
Another reason why I have to turn this girl onto our side. Because I asked him to let me keep her, Devil’s now in debt to Burns because of the cabin. He might owe the cop, but I owe the boss.
I’ll probably owe Burns, too, since he goes on to tell me that I can help myself to anything I find in his place while I’m there. Since that’s the reason why I’m calling, I ask him about what I should do if there’s something I can’t find.
“That’s easy,” he tells me. “Place an order. Either from a local store or online. It’ll reach you. I mean, unless the snow hits the mountains again, or it’s Christmas, but tip ‘em well enough and you can get everything you need delivered to the cabin.”
“Oh.” I should’ve realized that. I guess, being sleep deprived and way too attracted to my captive has my head all fucked up. “Great. That’s good to know.”
“Anything else you have to ask? Or to tell me? ‘Cause I’m on duty, but you can always reach out again if you need something.”
My upbringing and hesitation to break these rules that both my parents and myself had set for me doesn’t just revolve around sex. That’s a huge fucking issue for me, but it’s almost made it nearly impossible for me to lie. I just… my stomach gets twisted in knots whenever I try, and my honesty was another perk when Devil hired me on.
Which is why, before I even think about what I’m going to say, I blurt out: “Oh. I should tell you… I’m sorry about the chains.”
“Hang on. Hey, Rook. Hold the corner, would you? Let me finish the call.” Through the connection, I hear the winter wind whipping past, then Burns’s voice again. “Okay. Now what’s that about my chains?”
“Um. Well. The girl I’m watching over for Devil… she kind of broke them.”
I don’t know what I expected his response to me. I’ve been around Burns more than a few times, mostly when I drive Devil to meet with the street cop. I can never get a good read on the guy. He seems so charming and good-spirited at times, but I was a disciple of Jack Donovan. I know a twisted soul when I see one, and Burns has a dark side.
Not just enough to sell out the people of Springfield, choosing to work for the syndicate instead. There’s something there. Something I can’t place.
So why doesn’t it jolt me when he starts laughing.
“Well, fuck. I’m gonna have to make it up to my angel until I can get a replacement. Nothing gets her hotter than when I have trapped beneath me. She’s sweet, but when I get the chains on her… Shame, St. James. You could’ve had some fun in that cabin. You still should. You want to make that girl a Sinner? Sin a little with her first..”
Fuck .
My cheeks heat up.
Like I said, my religious upbringing screwed me up. I’ll be the first to admit it. It did a number on anyone who was fucking unlucky enough to have parents conned by Jack Donovan into worshipping his corrupt ass
The first time I kissed Emily, she cried because she thought I just sentenced us both to an eternity in Hell. The way she ran to her parents to confess, how she was so damn scared, allowed us the permission to peck without any repercussions.
In the years that followed, during our long, long courtship, we pushed the boundaries of what we thought we could get away with. Both of us talked endlessly about what our wedding night would be like—until Donovan noticed just how beautiful a twenty-one-year-old Emily was and took her for himself.
And she let him.
It’s been five years. Closer to six now that it’s December. I was kicked out of the church when it became obvious that I couldn’t even pretend to be happy for the newlyweds. My parents, long sure I was a demon in disguise, made that very clear the night I broke the seventh commandment for the first time.
Thou shall not steal .
Donovan stole my girl.
I stole a key—and then a car.
It was as fair as I could make it…
I shake my head. Too many bad memories drudged up tonight. All my fault, too. That happens when I feel like I’m losing control over my life. Over my body. Over every-damn-thing.
Sleep, I tell myself. I need some more sleep.
But first I have shit to do. So, after quickly ending the call with the cop, I start looking up local stores that will deliver to the cabin. I need clothes. To fill the kitchen and the pantry up. To provide anything my captive is going to require while I have her here. The clothes are easy. So is the food, and the necessities like pads, a toothbrush, toilet paper, and deodorant.
Now where can I find someone to bring me a game of checkers?