Sinners Anonymous (Sinners Anonymous, #1)

by Somme Sketcher

He might not be much of a made man, but it feels like I’m face to face with a predator.

Girls with the biggest smiles harvest the darkest secrets.

The Angels of Devil’s Dip. That’s what the locals used to call me and my brothers growing up, because we were the deacon’s sons.

Just like Angels of Devil’s Dip, Vicious Visconti is a nickname from a different lifetime. For the last nine years, there’s been nothing vicious about me.

Just like how religious people go to church to confess every Sunday, I call the Sinners Anonymous hotline twice a week from the same phone booth by the church. I confess everything I’ve done, from the slightly gray to the dark.

I force a polite smile and shift my attention to the other brother, Gabriel. Instantly, a chill runs down my spine.

Among all the candles, robes, and dusty stacks of Bibles, our father told us that from then on, on the last Sunday of every month, we’d have to decide which was the worst confession we’d heard. And then we had to do something about it.

My brother is a fucking shark. All pearly white teeth and charm, but nobody survives his bite.

“Fuck me, brother,” Rafe barks down the aisle. “Do you own any footwear that aren’t steel-capped boots? You stomp around like the Big Bad Wolf from Little Red Riding Hood.” Gabe looms over us like a storm cloud and scowls down at Rafe. “All the better to kick your head in with, my dear,” he growls.

Gabe’s a goddamn mystery.

“Mama was a fucking saint, and don’t you ever forget it.”

But I’m fooling nobody. My moral compass: it’s as weak as a house of cards, and if Aurora lets out one more fucking breath like that, she’ll blow it down.

This is ridiculous. I eat girls like Aurora for breakfast.

I can’t remember the last time I saw Gabe smile, but I swear, the corners of his mouth turn up before he picks up my whiskey glass and downs it in one.

But then a laugh trickles from the parting of his lips, a cocktail of velvet and nails. Husky and raw. It lights up my nervous system, like I’ve just heard a song that was once my favorite, yet I hadn’t heard it in years.

“Aurora.” I come to a reluctant stop and tilt my head to the sky. “I don’t care what Alberto says. Wear your hair curly.”

Gabe’s different. He’s sadistic. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t kill the sinner, he’d find new and exciting ways to torture them for as long as possible.

His eyes focus on me. “But it’s not. You saw her, and you decided to stay.” He rakes a hand through his hair, still staring ahead. “You just don’t know it yet.”

“When you realize you’re moving back, let me know.” His jaw ticks. “Because when you steal Uncle Alberto’s girl, I promise you, you’re going to need a fucking army.”

The vein in his temple ticks. His gaze mists over. In one, large step, he closes the gap between us. “Do. Not. Tempt. Me.”

They say be careful what you wish for, and tonight, I got my wish. Angelo Visconti wants me as much as I want him.

“Don’t test me today, Aurora. I’ve spent nine years resisting temptation. You’re making it very hard for me to get to a decade.”

“I need release, Aurora. Avenging sins gives me the same release you feel when you confess them.”

“There’s an alternative to confession, you know.” Our eyes clash. Hers sweet and innocent, mine dark and corrupted. “What’s that?” she rasps. But by how fast her chest is rising and falling, I know she already knows. “Atonement.”

“Because seeing you in your engagement dress is hard enough. But seeing you in your wedding dress?” A growl vibrates deep within me. I tighten my grip. “That’ll be fucking torture.”

But that’s the thing about lines in the sand. Eventually, they wash away, and you can’t remember where you drew them.

“You’re wearing sunglasses too,” I snap back, jerking my chin up to his mirrored Aviators. “What’s your excuse?” “How else am I meant to check out your ass without getting caught?”

Christ. I have a Wasabi-flavored Kit-Kat melting in my glove box. It’s left over from my trip to Tokyo a few weeks back, and when I found it tucked into the seam of my luggage, my first thought was her.

“We’re going to hell, Angelo.”

I glance from the paperwork in front of me up to Gabe, standing in the doorway of our father’s old office. Despite it being November and pissing down with rain, my brother is shirtless and sweaty, looking like a damn Chippendale calendar.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Only now do I realize there’s a stupid grin on my face. “Like what?” “Like…” She swallows. Drops her eye line to my lips. “Like you want to kiss me.” Because all I fucking think about is claiming those lips, even when they spout geeky shit about birds I couldn’t care less about.

Angelo Visconti isn’t a knight in shining armor, he’s a monster in an Armani suit.

“I think my first word was a bird-word.” “It was,” Chester chuckles, kissing the top of her curls. “I told you it was bedtime, and you told me to “finch off.””

“He doesn’t recognize me outside of the forest, Angelo. That’s why it can’t be knocked down, and that’s why we can’t leave. What my father and I have, it doesn’t exist outside of it.”

“You’re not thinking straight.” “Yeah, you seem to have that effect on me.”

“Rory?” His thumb pad carves a trail over my jawline. It stops at the corner of my mouth, but I turn my head to catch it between my lips. He lets out a soft moan, watching me, eyes half-lidded with lust, as I slowly lick it. “Yes?” Danger sparking in his eyes, he pushes his thumb further into my mouth, and with wetness pooling between my thighs, I open my mouth wider to take him all in. “Out of all my sins, you’re my favorite.”

“I swear to God, Rory. You better know how to fly, because if you fall, I’m coming with you.”

“Sorry, Magpie. I’m a thug through and through.”

“But you hate Devil’s Dip.” His eyes harden on the windshield. “But I don’t hate you.”

Gabe and I stand shoulder to shoulder as we watch Angelo’s Aston Martin disappear down the hill, taking a piece of me with it. Beside me, he shifts. “Shame.” I turn. “What is?” “I was looking forward to listening to your call. I never could stand uncle Alberto.”

Christ, I’ll be whatever Angelo Visconti wants me to be.

“I stick by what I said,” he mutters. “And what was that?” I rasp back, sinking into the warmth of the bath. “You’re worth starting a war for.”

“The Angels of Devil’s Dip, back together again. Fuck man, this is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I can’t believe Angelo Visconti is in love with you.” My ears grow hot at the mere sound of the word. “He’s not.” “Shut up, Rory. He left his entire life in England and came back to Devil’s Dip for you. He’s so in love with you that it makes me sick.” “She’s right, I am.”

I want to make you so damn happy that you shit sunshine and piss rainbows and people think you’re as high as a kite when you walk into a room.”

“You don’t have to do bad things anymore, baby girl. I’ll do them for you.”

“But what happens if you’re both bad? Both the same side of the coin?” I graze my nose against his, smiling. “Magic happens, baby.”

Rory’s laughter floats from underneath the door, making me stop in my tracks. Instead of knocking, I press my forehead against it and smile, my heart full of her.

I lick my lips. Shake my head in disbelief. “Sometimes I think I conjured you from a wet dream.”

“You ready to go to war, baby?” A cocktail of lust and adrenaline trickles down my spine. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”