Just Me (Den of Sins #1)

Prologue Ava

Four years ago

After nearly two years of hard work, I finally made it, I can officially say I’m the proud owner of a business.

My dream business is taking shape, and today marks day one.

I just signed the lease, and here I am, standing in front of what will soon become the very first coffee shop/bookstore dedicated entirely to indie authors.

This idea has been brewing in my mind for years.

As a book lover, especially of indie authors, I saw the need for a space that celebrates their work.

A place where readers could browse shelves filled exclusively with self-published stories, sip on coffee, and discover the latest from favorites like Luna Mason and Sadie Kincaid, or stumble upon new voices like M.

Elizabeth, Britt Lynn, or Lea Rose, authors who write with so much emotion and excitement.

That’s how Books & Beans was born: a cozy corner where coffee and indie books are all that matter.

Now here I am, keys in hand, staring up at the storefront that’s about to become my dream come true.

I climb the four steps to the door and peek through the glass pane.

The space definitely needs a deep clean and a few coats of paint, but it has heart.

It has potential. And I can already picture it, warm lights, shelves lined with amazing books, the smell of fresh coffee in the air.

Eager to step inside, I slide the key into the lock.

But it won’t turn. I jiggle it, try again, push, pull, but nothing.

I double-check the key. It’s the right one.

I drop my purse to the ground, obviously it’s the purse’s fault, right?

Deep breath. This is a good day. The day I’ve dreamed about for practically my whole life.

Still no luck.

Just two keys, front door and mailbox, and they’re nothing alike.

No mix-up. I mutter a few curses, crouch down, and dig through my purse until I find my phone.

Finally, I text Laura, the leasing agent who showed me the space and helped me through the entire process.

Hopefully, she’ll have an easy fix, because I am so ready to walk through that door and begin the rest of my life.

Me: Hi, Laura. Sorry to bother you, but is there any chance you gave me the wrong key? It won’t turn in the lock.

Laura Agency: Hi, Ava! Don’t worry. That lock is so special, it deserves its own zip code. ??

Me: ????

Laura Agency: Okay, drama aside… hehe. You need to insert the key, push a little on the lock with your fingernail while gently pulling the door toward you.

I know, it sounds weird. But trust me, pushing with your fingernail usually works.

My nail tech hates it. If that still doesn’t work, you can head next door to the tattoo studio.

Elijah runs it. Don’t be scared, he’s big and looks like he hates the world, but he’s actually a sweetheart.

I’m about to go into a meeting, so I can’t help right now. Sorry!

Me: Okay. Thanks for the tips. Hoping I don’t have to ask for help...

Laura Agency: Just go for it! You’ve got this!

I hesitate. Ask a guy described as looking like a bouncer at a fight club for help?

No, thanks. I try Laura’s trick again, key in, push with my nail, pull the door.

Nothing. I groan. This can’t be happening.

I give the lock one last dramatic twist, and when that fails too, I mutter yet another curse and kick the door lightly.

That’s when a deep voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin.

"I don't think kicking that poor door is going to help."

I whirl around, and forget how to breathe.

Towering in front of me is a man who looks like he was carved from granite and dipped in tattoos. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wears a dark Henley with the sleeves pushed up, exposing forearms so inked and sculpted they could star in their own calendar.

His eyes are nearly black, so dark they seem to steal every coherent thought with a single glance. And that hair, tied back in a man bun that should honestly be illegal.

He looks like Roman Reigns… if Roman Reigns had a bigger, hotter twin.

“Jesus! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” I say, still staring at him longer than I should.

“Sorry,” he says, voice deep and unbothered. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just came out for some air and saw you losing a fight with the door.”

“Losing badly,” I reply, my tone a little sharper than I intend. “Laura gave me a list of ‘hacks’ and none of them are working.”

I sigh and hold out my hand. “I’m Ava. The lucky tenant of this charming disaster that won’t open.”

He glances down at my hand, then up at me, amused. Instead of shaking it, he lifts it toward his lips, pausing just shy of contact, and says,

“Nice to meet you, Ava. I’m Elijah, but you can call me Eli. I run the tattoo shop next door.”

His voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I have to fight to keep my expression neutral. What is happening to me? It’s been ages since a real man, not a fictional book boyfriend, has made me feel like this.

While my brain is still short-circuiting, he gently releases my hand and gestures toward the door. “May I?”

I'm so caught in his gaze, it takes me a moment to realize he's speaking. I shake my head slightly, trying to clear the fog and not look like a complete idiot in front of this living, breathing god.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Please! If you get it open, I owe you a big one.”

“You owe me a big one?” he repeats, a slow, flirtatious smile tugging at his lips. “Good thing I like them that way.”

My heart stutters, but that can't possibly mean what it sounds like. Men like him don’t flirt with women like me. Besides, I’m not looking for anything—not now, maybe not ever. So I give him a polite smile, choosing to ignore, or at least pretend to ignore, his comment.

He climbs the four steps and joins me at the door, brow furrowed as he eyes the stubborn lock. Then, with complete seriousness, he says, “Open Sesame.”

I blink at him, turning fully. “What did you just say?”

He meets my gaze, then throws his head back and laughs, and oh God, what a sound. His voice is already sexy, but his laugh? His laugh wraps around you like silk, warm and addictive, the kind of laugh that makes you want to say something funny just to hear it again.

“I’m sorry,” he says between chuckles. “Since you won’t hand over the keys, I figured I’d try magic.”

But when he sees I’m not laughing, his smile falters. His voice softens, sincere now. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you. I joke like that sometimes. I forget not everyone gets it, or finds it funny.”

I give him my best serious face and raise an eyebrow.

“Hmm. I don’t know if forty thieves could break into this place,not with this lock, but you’re definitely missing a turban.”

His eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly vanish into his hair. For a second, he looks stunned, then his eyes light up with amusement, and we both burst into laughter. It feels good. Freeing.

When the laughter fades, I hand him the keys. Our fingers brush, and a jolt shoots straight through me. My skin prickles, my breath catches, and one thing becomes terrifyingly clear: I need to stay far, far away from Elijah.

Because if I don’t… It'll happen again.

And this time, I won’t survive it.