I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC, #2)

by C.M. Stunich

I woke up that next morning with hope, this foreign, sticky thing that causes more harm than good. Hope does not get you anywhere but to the ass-end of disappointment.

Guess I was born ruined, but now I’m dressed in sin. It’s an outfit I wear like a designer dress, as proud of it as a red-carpet gown, something to show off. It’s in my blood, that awful, awful blood that I share with Cat.

His body is hot, the sounds that spill from his throat like gems I want to pluck and put in my dragon’s horde of memories. Mine.

“I know, sugar, I know,” she tells me, reminding me of Beast. Beast. My future husband. Jesus. “Don’t let your past mistakes haunt you; let them guide you instead. If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.”

My hand grasps that metaphorical knife inside my heart and yanks it out, spraying blood across the surface of my soul.

I don’t have to get up on my tiptoes because he leans down, closing the distance between us in a way that only he could, like a shadow eclipsing the sun. His scent, like a fine cup of Earl Grey with just a dash of milk, like ancient ink and the pages of yellowing tomes, sweeps over me at the same time his left arm encircles my waist.

He could kill me right now if he wanted to, snap me like a twig. But he won’t. Because he loves me. Because he’s given me his leash to hold.

Fire Love by Yacht Money and Gabrielle Mooney. Considering it’s a song that mentions Tennessee, whiskey, and sex all within the first verse, we’re off to a good start.

Without breaking my stride, I throw myself into him and jam the knife into his gut. He’s briefly disoriented, firing the gun at the ceiling and knocking plaster loose as we topple to the floor. He’s bigger than me, stronger than me, but I’m scrappy as fuck. That, and I’ve been training with Beast.

A white dress, a hot fuck, a bomb blast. Sounds about right. I am dressed in sin, bathed in it, consumed by it. And in sin I shall remain—right down to the cold, hopeless depths of my own grave.