Page 29 of Sin (Salvation #1)

Sin

Time loses all meaning. It’s split between a scant amount of sleep and losing myself in an endless loop of orgasms with Cassidy.

When I realize it’s actually around noon on Sunday, I coax Cassidy into skipping class tomorrow so we can fly back to Nashville late tomorrow night instead of the flight we’re supposed to be on that takes off in a little over three hours.

I crave more time alone with him before we have to go back to our complicated life. Hell, I’m tempted to tie Cassidy up and keep him locked in this hotel suite until I can sate my need for him, but it might just take a whole lifetime and possibly longer than that.

When I’m on my phone changing the flight, I notice six texts from Mercer. He’s not the type to be giving attitude about ditching Freedom Fest, so I know something must be up.

I’m about to text him back when Cassidy says he’s going to take a shower.

Phone forgotten, I pick him up and toss him over my shoulder to drag him into the shower where I use every one of those eight pressurized jets on him while I go to my knees to give him his first official start-to-finish blowjob.

Afterwards, while Cassidy is leaning against the marble tile, panting and looking at me like I’m a god, I mentally add another one of his firsts to my list.

We order room service and are having a picnic on the bed when I remember Mercer’s texts. Not wanting to get bogged down with back-and-forth text messages, I go out to the balcony and call him. He answers on the first ring. “About time you picked up your fucking phone.”

“I’ve had better things to do,” I tell him, looking through the sliding glass door at Cassidy, who’s chowing down on his avocado bacon burger and chili cheese fries with gusto, a contented smile on his face.

He tried to order a salmon power bowl, but I nixed that and ordered a meal that I know he loves instead.

I also ordered him a chocolate-hazelnut cheesecake, which, as soon as I hang up with Mercer, I’m planning on slowly feeding him so I can taste the chocolate on his lips.

“Which I want to get back to, so what’s got you texting me like a tween who got their first phone? ”

“I bet you do,” Mercer snorts. “But while you were shacked up with your stepbrother having a kinky family love fest, the world has turned upside down and your father is right in the middle of it.”

Mercer proceeds to tell me about a wild ride of events that has Digger Mcree being the victim of an assassination attempt at Freedom Fest, the perpetrator of a kidnapping, and the runner of an illegal fighting ring where he livestreamed a death match that he forced his own son to fight in.

“It's a fucking soap opera,” Mercer says. “It’s the only story on the news right now. Gideon has issued a statement that he denies any close association with Digger and had no knowledge of any illegal activity, but the media keeps showing pictures of your father and Digger together at political events and of the Reivers acting as security at the Citadel.”

Fuck. I have knowledge and proof of their association.

My father forced me to go to Digger’s “fight nights” a shitload of times while I was growing up.

He said they’d “toughen me up and make a man out of me.” They were brutal, bloody, and illegal as hell.

I’m pretty sure Oliver has a slew of pictures of my father attending them from when he was running surveillance on him in the early days of his investigation.

Add in all the copies of my father’s paper-only financial records I’ve collected over the years, full of tax evasions, shady deals, and several partnerships with some questionable business associates, including Digger Mcree.

I’ve kept them in my arsenal, but had no plans to use them because I know how a scandal involving my father’s many misdeeds would turn out.

He’d climb up on his pulpit, give an Oscar-worthy, tear-soaked apology to God and his parishioners for falling from grace and giving in to the sins of the flesh, and miraculously, all his misdeeds would be forgiven and, thanks to his powerful connections, any criminal charges would be dropped.

And even if the evidence I’ve built up would put him behind bars, it’s not how I want his destruction to play out.

I want my father to go to jail for the murder of my mother.

I want to be in the room and watch as his arresting officer handcuffs him, and he realizes that he didn’t get away with ending her life and taking her away from me.

But the scandal might make getting the DA to decide to prosecute a whole hell of a lot easier.

Things are about to blow up.

I’ve got to get back to Nashville. I need to see how the Digger Mcree scandal affects my plans for revenge.

I also need to do a threat assessment. A cornered Gideon is a dangerous one, and though I’m confident I can withstand the fallout, I don’t want Cassidy to be vulnerable.

He might be eighteen now and no longer under my father’s legal control, but I don’t trust that Gideon won’t strike out at him anyway, like the snake that he is.

I don’t know how I’m going to navigate this. The last two days have upended my carefully laid out plans. Friday night I was actively forcing Cassidy out of my life. I don’t think that’s possible any longer. One sweet taste of him, and the thought of a mere day without him seems impossible.

It's too much to process right now. I have to concentrate on the most imperative order of operations—get home so I can accurately assess the situation from an eyes-on view.

Not willing to wait for navigating commercial airlines, I arrange for a private charter while I listen to Mercer’s detailed account of what I missed the last two days.

I offer him a ride back with us on the plane, but all I hear is dead silence at my invitation.

“I think I’m gonna stay here for a couple more days.

I have a gallery I want to talk to about showing my work,” he says, and I can almost see his eyebrow twitching as he speaks his bold-faced lie.

I’m betting the extended stay definitely has something to do with Devlin, but that’s a conversation for another day.

I tell him I’ll see him back in Nashville and hang up.

Then I shoot a quick text to Oliver, telling him that I need to meet with him ASAP, and then I spy on Cassidy.

He’s finished his burger and is lying sprawled out on the bed, looking like he’s waiting just for me.

Need for him hits me like a sledgehammer, and because I don’t know how I’m going to manage our new relationship along with the suddenly accelerated plans to get revenge on my father, I do what I learned to do as a child when things got hard: I go cold and shut down.

I come back to the suite, and Cassidy greets my return with a flirtatious smile. “Get dressed,” I order, in a tone that to my own ears sounds distant. “There’s been a change of plans. We’re headed home.”