Page 5 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
"Jesus fucking Christ," he says and then pauses, like he realizes what he's just said, making the sign of the cross over his chest and then moving over to kneel down next to me. "Girl, you're in a bit of a shit state," he says, grabbing a washcloth from a silver rack next to the counter. He's so big he doesn't even have to stand up to reach it and soak the rag under the still running faucet. "Err, Natalia, right? Sorry, cursing is a sin I'm having trouble giving up."
He leans forward and captures my chin in his long, strong finger, turning my face toward him. In his dark eyes, I see genuine concern. But like, less priestly and more like … a man who's seen a woman that he wants to be his.
“Are you new?” I ask him. Surely that explains why he’s such a terrible priest? And why there seem to be way more priests living here than one church really needs?
A small smile touches his lips. “Very.”
"I'm a mess," I repeat, naked and wet and dressed in heels and blood. Mace's eyes—a dark blue that mimics the sea beneath the moon—take me in slowly, so slowly that I swear I can feel heat sweeping my bare skin, scalding me.
"You're not a mess," he grumbles, wiping my tears from my cheeks and then cleaning off a smear of blood on my neck that I must've missed. "You just look lost."
Mace tosses the washcloth onto the counter and leans one of his massive, muscular shoulders against the cabinet door, studying me with eyes that seem impossibly astute, like he can see everything I'm hiding deep down, everything I'm running from.
"Priests give hugs, right?" I ask, and his dark brows go up. He scrubs a hand over the messy stubble on the lower half of his face, eyes glimmering as he watches me uncurl myself from the toilet. I'd rather hug a solid, warm body than a cold piece of porcelain.
"Not to gorgeous naked women," he says and then he must see something on my face because he sighs and reaches out his arms, tugging my naked body onto his lap.
Oh.
Shit.
Maybe this isn’t the best idea, after all. Pressed against him as I am, I’m too acutely aware of his strong, hard body.
Leaning my head against Mace's shoulder, I close my eyes again, focusing on his breathing. When he talks, his deep voice—like mountains and shadows all wrapped into one—rumbles through me, vibrating my body and making me shiver with pleasure.
"Where the hell did you come from and what the fuck are we going to do with you?" he asks, but before I can think up an answer to that question, I've fallen asleep on a warm shoulder, smelling of musk and man and laundry soap.
I've never felt so safe … or so exposed in all my life.Chapter 2NATALIAI wake up to bars of silver light streaming across the foot of a narrow bed, my hair dry and hanging in tangled ropes, my body draped in a baggy t-shirt that smells like man and soap. Definitely not the nun habit I was given, and definitely not the clothing of a priest, right? Or can they wear t-shirts on their days off?
Wait, do priests even have days off?
I have no idea.
I barely know what religion it is that I've stumbled into. After fleeing my father's party, I hadn't paid attention to where I was running. Things had all started looking the same in the wet, dark streets of New York, but when I saw the light streaming from behind the gorgeous stained glass of this church, I didn’t second-guess it.
It was a sign, right? From … God, I guess?
All I know is that I need help. Spiritually as well as physically. Last night my father shot the man fucking me against the wall of the bathroom. His men had held me and forced me to watch as the dragged Kisten's half-dead body into the garage, doused him with gasoline and then lit him on fire.
It was a punishment for me, and a message to them: Kisten’s family.
A revolting show of strength and cruelty.
And today I can't even muster enough emotion to feel sad about it.
Kisten wasn’t exactly my boyfriend. Hell, he was barely even my lover. We just liked to get coked up and fuck. My father vehemently disapproved of Kisten's family for ‘business’ reasons, so I'd been fucking him deliberately to piss Daddy off. I just didn't expect him to be that pissed off when he found out.
What the hell is going on?
I never knew my Daddy to take matters into his own hands, but the way he placed the barrel to Kisten's chest and just fired …
A deep shudder runs through me as I remember.
My dark thoughts are interrupted by a polite knock at the door, and I clutch the sheets to my chest. Why? I have no idea. But suddenly in the light of day, without my familiar crutch of alcohol and blow, I'm shy.
