Elijah (Seven Deadly Sins #1)

Chapter One

The split-second of inattention nearly cost Elijah Sin the fight.

His opponent’s fist slammed into his jaw with the force of a sledgehammer, snapping his head back.

Thankfully, his skull withstood the punishing blow.

His eldest brother liked to say it was as hard as a rock.

His youngest brother always countered that claim, insisting it was full of rocks.

Either way, he couldn’t afford the distraction. Nor could he afford to lose. Not only was his pride at stake, but knowing the odds were against him, he’d laid a sizable bet on himself. Not to mention his brothers would never let him hear the end of it if they ever found out he lost the match.

Didn’t matter that his opponent was four inches taller than his own six-four and outweighed him by about sixty pounds. A werewolf lose to a human? Not happening.

Eli countered the punch with one of his own, pulling it so he didn’t accidentally kill the guy.

Control was always a challenge in these situations.

With his superior strength it would be easy to hit too hard.

That would bring trouble in the form of the cops, or the guy’s friends.

He wasn’t looking to get locked up, just win the damn fight.

Blood flew from his opponent’s mouth. The big guy staggered back several feet and shook his head. Time to end this so he could give all his attention to the distraction—the woman who’d just entered the illegal fight club.

His opponent lowered his head and snorted like an enraged bull before charging.

Light on his feet despite his size, Eli danced out of the way.

With a roar, his adversary swung wildly.

The big guy was used to winning with strength, not skill.

Eli ducked and came up swinging. Bare knuckles found their target.

A bone cracked. The man staggered, but unlike last time, there was no coming back from this punch.

Like a massive redwood being felled in the forest, he went down hard, shaking the makeshift fighting ring when he landed.

Spectators yelled at him to get up, but he wasn’t going anywhere. He was out cold.

Eli vaulted over the ropes and grabbed his t-shirt from the chair where he’d left it. “I’ll take my winnings.” He held his hand out to the owner of the bar, who supplemented his income with the fights.

“Double or nothing.” The owner tried to smile, not easy with a cigar clamped between his teeth. He wore an ill-fitting suit and diamond pinky ring. Talk about a walking, talking cliché. But the money was good and Eli was only passing through.

“My money.” The owner flinched beneath his black-eyed stare. Two men, bouncers or bodyguards, whatever the heck they were, took a step closer. If he had to fight his way out, he would. Wouldn’t be the first time, and likely wouldn’t be the last. “My money,” he repeated. “I won’t ask again.”

Around them the crowd grew restless. Some people worked their way toward the exit.

Others were revved at the thought of a brawl.

It wouldn’t take much for the place to erupt into all-out violence.

That would translate to property damage and a hefty repair bill.

The owner sensed it too. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.

” He counted the money and shoved it across the table.

With a grunt, Eli folded the stack of bills and pocketed an easy four grand. Not that he needed the money. It was more about blowing off steam between jobs. It was either fighting or sex. Fighting was easier and a hell of a lot less complicated.

He didn’t feel bad about taking the money.

Underground fighting was illegal. Plus, he’d overheard the organizer bragging he was setting up Eli with a brutal opponent, one who wouldn’t mind permanently injuring him.

As far as Eli was concerned, he was performing a public service by putting the big guy down for awhile and costing the owner some big bucks, or at least big money for this place.

He slung the towel he’d been given around his neck, and with shirt in hand, he headed to the bar in the far corner where the reason for his earlier distraction was currently located.

The noise level rose as a new fight was announced, people rushing to place their bets in hopes of recouping their losses.

Everyone moved out of his way as he crossed the room.

The crowd was about seventy-five percent male.

There were enough females in the place that the newcomer shouldn’t have stood out, but she did.

She was tall for a woman. A couple inches shy of six feet.

Thick auburn hair tumbled in waves around her shoulders.

Faded jeans fit snugly in all the right places.

Blue eyes that reminded him of the cornflowers that grew wild back home tracked his path to the bar, making no secret of her interest. He dragged his fingers through his hair and grinned.

Maybe he might get laid after all. Although the long-sleeved V-neck top she wore wasn’t the least bit suggestive.

Neither were the low-heeled black boots.

She was the most conservatively dressed woman in the place.

Her expression was serious, not flirtatious. Tension radiated from her.

“Water,” he told the bartender, who snorted but set an unopened bottle in front of him. After paying, Eli unscrewed the lid and took a swig before leaning casually against the bar.

He wished he could catch her scent but it was buried beneath the haze of sweat, booze, cigarette smoke, and perfume that permeated the space. It was stifling down here with no open windows and an outdated air-conditioning system that did little to clear the stench or circulate the stagnant air.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled together in a frown. “Are you Elijah Sin?”

Outwardly, his relaxed posture never changed. Inwardly, he snapped to attention. He should have known she’d be trouble. She also might not be alone. In his line of work, he made enemies, dangerous ones. Time to leave. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

He tossed down the towel and pulled on his shirt. The wolf side of his nature went on alert, searching for threats. It took more discipline than it should to turn and walk away. He grabbed his water and had taken two steps when she bolted in front of him and placed her hand on his chest.

A rumbling growl rose from his throat. Fortunately, the noise from the current fight drowned it out, but there was no disguising his displeasure. She swallowed heavily but didn’t back away. “Wait. Please. I want to hire you.”

It screamed setup, but there was enough desperation in her voice to make him reconsider.

“Over there.” He pointed to a small table in a dark corner.

“You’ve got two minutes.” It was two minutes too many, but he couldn’t walk away without knowing where she’d gotten his name and how she’d managed to find him.

Not like he’d left an itinerary anywhere.

Even he hadn’t known he’d be here tonight until a few hours ago.

She spun on her heel and hurried to the table, taking him at his word that she was on the clock. He sat across from her and leaned back in his chair. The corners of her mouth tightened. “I need protection.”

“From who?”

“A hired mercenary.”

The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He straightened and leaned forward. “Who the hell are you?”

“Kinley. Kinley Wright.” She licked her lips and linked her hands together on the table in front of her. Her knuckles began to turn white. “I have money.”

“I’m a bounty hunter, not an assassin.” Not the first time someone tried to hire him for a hit.

Officially, he and his brothers were bounty hunters and trackers.

Unofficially, they were occasional mercenaries.

Hostage retrieval was their specialty, but they were open to other jobs.

It wasn’t something they openly publicized, carefully vetting their clients.

In his line of work, killing was inevitable, although he did his best to avoid it when possible.

When he couldn’t, it was always criminals and bad guys, so he didn’t lose any sleep over it.

Her incredible eyes widened in shock and her face paled. “No. I don’t want anyone hurt. I just want to get away from the man after me. I need to disappear and hoped you could help.”

None of this was making any sense. Unless it was an official bounty, people hired him to take care of problems, permanently when necessary.

“I don’t do protection.” A couple of his brothers had no trouble with that kind of job, but he preferred the cut-and-dry, black-and-white situations. It suited his temperament.

The back of his neck itched, a sure sign something about this entire situation was off. He shook his head. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry.” Surprisingly, he was. There was something about her that made him want to break the rules he lived by and offer assistance. That would be a mistake.

She reached across the table and grabbed his hand, clinging to it with a strength that was surprising. “If you don’t, I’m as good as dead.” She swallowed heavily. “Please.”

The wolf inside him stirred, as did his sense of justice and something much darker.

He stilled, a scent teasing his nostrils.

Every muscle in his body tightened. Primal instincts surged to life.

Slowly, he lifted her hand to his nose and sniffed.

Beneath the light scent of perspiration and soap lay a more potent one.

Son of a bitch! “You’re a wolf.” The odds of a female werewolf searching him out for protection were astronomical, which served to deepen his belief this was some sort of trap.

He and his brothers avoided all wolves and packs, working exclusively for humans.

He hadn’t stumbled across a lone female in years, let alone had one try to hire him. They usually stuck close to home.