Page 4 of Sin (Salvation #1)

Cassidy

I hear Sin calling my name. I must still be sleeping. I’d dreamt that he’d stayed with me all night, watching over me. Sighing, I contentedly burrow back under my blanket, happy to let my sleeping brain give me what I can’t have in reality.

A rough palm touches my cheek, and a thumb gently traces the line of my cheekbone.

I’m not asleep. The touch feels too good to be a dream.

My eyes fly open to meet Sin’s grayish blue ones staring intently down at me.

I feel that thousand-volt charge of connection I always feel with him. Time stops as I get lost in his gaze.

I’m growing hard, and I hear my breathing begin to quicken. The raspy sound of it breaks the moment between us. Sin pulls his hand back from my cheek, picks up my inhaler, and hands it to me. “Take a hit and get your lazy ass up. We have places we need to be.”

The world rushes back harshly at the loss of his touch. Sin, mercurial as ever, seems to be fine as he straightens up and retreats several steps from my bed. He’s wearing a blue dress shirt that clings to his muscles and tight-fitting chinos.

I groan. Partly at the impossibly sexy sight of him and partly because my chest feels like a boulder was parked on it all night.

Sin reaches over and picks a bottled water from the side table next to my bed. “Drink.” He shakes the bottle impatiently at me. “Hydration will help.”

Sitting up, I take the water from him and chug half of it down. I look out the window and notice that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. “It’s still dark outside?”

“We have an appointment downtown in an hour with an asthma specialist.”

“A doctor’s appointment?” None of what Sin said is making sense to my sleepy brain.

“An attack like you had last night is not happening again,” he states, his jaw set and determined. “An asthma specialist will make sure of that.”

Why does he even care? “How did you even get a doctor’s appointment on a Sunday?” I look out the window at the darkness. “And this early?”

He gives a cocky shrug. “I won’t hear no, and I’m willing to pay premium for a yes.”

Money is just another one of the huge differences between Sin and me.

He’s rich. Really rich. I’m not. Before my mom remarried, we were barely making it, and in the prenup my mother signed, Gideon is only required to provide lodging and food for me.

She’s responsible for the rest of my upkeep, but since she doesn’t work, I’m always scrambling for extra money.

I do a lot of online tutoring to keep afloat.

“You didn’t need to do that,” I insist. I don’t like him spending his money on me. “Since I’m gonna be a student at Thurston, I can just wait and make an appointment at the health center on Monday.”

Sin’s eyes darken, and his mouth gets tight like I’ve insulted him somehow.

His knee comes down on the bed as he leans toward me and grips my shoulders.

“There’s no fucking way I’m gonna let you go to some second-rate, crackerjack-box university doctor who’s only used to treating the flu and the clap. ”

I start to protest. He shakes my shoulders and leans closer. “Go get ready,” he orders, his lips close enough to me that I feel the soft buzz of his words in my ear, “or I’ll carry you into the shower and wash you myself.”

I gulp. He really wouldn’t do that, would he?

“Cassidy,” he says in warning.

I look at the determined glint in his eyes and the stubborn lock of his jaw that answers my question. Of course, he would . The new question is—would that be so bad?

My body and my mind have two different opinions, but when his muscles tense as if to pick me up, I panic. “Okay. Okay.” I push at his chest. “Let me go.”

His arms release me, and I jump out of bed, careful to face away from him so he doesn’t see how hard I am.

Gathering a few things from my unpacked suitcase, for just a second, I swear I see something like disappointment in his eyes.

I must be wrong, because in a microsecond it’s gone as he throws a pillow at me. “Hurry up,” he yells.

I guess I’m the only one who’s left disappointed.

I feel sorry for Dr. Chaudhary. Sin has been interrogating her for the last hour. I guess it helps that he paid her an outrageous amount of money for her to fly from New York to Nashville for the consult.

I cringe over the money he spent, but I’m grateful because she’s completely revolutionized my treatment plan.

Changing my medications out for ones that have fewer side effects and replacing my inhaler with one that’s not even on the market yet.

She had me test it out, and it immediately eased the severe tightness in my chest I’d been experiencing since last night’s attack.

When Sin is finally convinced I’m receiving the most optimal care, he cross-examines Dr. Chaudhary about the malfunctioning inhalers, dumping them out on the desk, and wanting to know the exact mechanics that could lead to their failure.

She’s checked for a recall and didn’t find one, but promised to send them to the manufacturer for further study.

After making the doctor promise to contact him immediately with the results, we jump in Sin’s car and he drives us back to the compound, which houses the Citadel, the name of the church Gideon started while Sin’s mother was still alive.

Sin is quiet as he weaves in and out of traffic, blasting heavy metal music, obviously trying to charge himself up for the next three hours.

I don’t blame him. I never used to mind church before it became my duty as Gideon Brandt’s stepson to attend his services.

Before my dad got sick, he would sometimes take me to the small, non-denominational church by our house.

It was nice. Lydia, the pastor, wore colorful caftans and chunky jewelry and hugged everyone at the church door as they entered.

She would begin every service telling her parishioners that no matter who they were, who they loved, that they were welcome on this communal journey to become closer to God.

I’d been totally unprepared for the Citadel.

First of all, it was huge, and instead of a simple sermon like I’d been used to every Sunday, Gideon Brandt put on a show.

There was music, flashing lights, and always several large buckets being passed around for donations.

That wasn’t what had bothered me, though.

I’d been shocked at the fiery messages of hate and fear Gideon preached.

Maybe it was me, but I didn’t see any room for an all-loving God in his ideology, and I’d begun dreading attending the sermons.

One of the good things about being sent to Massachusetts to attend school was missing out on Gideon’s services at the Citadel every Sunday.

As we near the parking lot, there is a huge collection of bikers parked around the perimeter of the church. They’re all wearing cuts that proclaim them as members of the Reivers Motorcycle Club.

I look to Sin for explanation.

“They’re in charge of security now,” Sin says.

“Security?” I remember there always being several off-duty police officers around before to direct and oversee the large crowds that flooded to see Gideon preach every Sunday, but this battalion of heavily armed and intimidating bikers seems wrong at a place of worship.

“You must not be tuning into dear old dad’s sermons,” he says in mock shock. You haven’t heard how he’s teamed up with Digger Mcree, the leader of the Reivers? They’re planning on touring together this summer in a series of men’s rights rallies.”

“I’ve been too busy with school,” I tell him, not wanting to admit how much I hate Gideon’s services. The blush I feel on my cheeks clearly signaling my lie.

Sin watches the play of color on my skin, his lips quirking up at my falsehood. “My father has declared there is a war going on between the moral and the sinful. He calls the Reivers his ‘army of righteousness in his battle against the devil.’”

I digest that. “Where do you fit in on this?” I ask, curious to know how he aligns with his father’s views these days.

“Have you also been too busy at school to not read all the articles and posts written about me?” He slowly studies me as if ferreting out any more lies I might tell him. “According to my father,” he says, a glint of something dangerous in his eyes, “I’m the devil.”

I don’t know how to respond to that statement, and I think he wants a reaction from me because after pulling his Audi R8 straight up to the Citadel’s front doors, he turns the car off, releases his seatbelt, and turns to me.

“Do you agree with him, Cassidy?” He leans in and I almost feel intoxicated by the smell of him—a darkly spiced complex scent, that, like him, seems both exotic and forbidden to my senses.

“Do you think I’m bad?” he asks, his voice low as it roughly vibrates against my ear. “Would you follow me into temptation?”

As my mouth chokes on the question, my body answers it by silently straining toward him.

A loud thump hits the hood of the car. I jump at the sound and look up to see a big, frizzy-haired biker glaring down at us over the windshield. “Can’t park here,” he growls, pointing his finger at Sin. “Move it.”

Within a microsecond, Sin has pulled away from me and is out the door of the Audi. Not sure how he’ll react, I scramble out after him.

“If you don’t like it where it is, park it somewhere else,” Sin calls back, throwing the leather-wearing biker his keys. “Feel free to bring it back washed and detailed.”

The huge, dangerous-looking biker automatically catches the keys and just stares at them, getting red-faced as his anger builds.

“I don’t think you should have done that,” I hiss at Sin as he places his hand on my back to usher me inside.

“He’s just a bully dressed in leather, and trust me, I know how to handle bullies.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s my property. I’ll park wherever the fuck I want to.”

As we enter the large building, I notice it’s changed. “It’s been expanded since the last time I was here and redecorated,” I remark as my head swivels around trying to catalogue all the changes.

Sin guides me around the crowds, his hand warm and comforting on my back.

“My father’s construction habit grows with his ego.

Which means it will never be big enough.

” He rolls his eyes. “This place looks more like a fucking Vegas casino every renovation.” He leans down and lowers his voice.

“I half expect him to install a row of slot machines and a craps table with a neon sign above it saying ‘Roll for Jesus.’”

I start giggling at the spot-on description.

At the sound, Sin looks down at me, breaks into a grin, and starts laughing too.

In that second, the distracting, bright, flashing lights seem to dim.

The crowd’s loud chatter quiets. The only thing I’m aware of is the sound of our shared laughter and the sight of Sin’s handsome face, for once relaxed and looking almost happy.

Even after our laughter dies out, both of us seem not to want to let the moment go.

We just stand there grinning at each other.

“I expected you two here earlier,” a voice booms between us. Startled, I look up to find a stormy-faced Gideon bearing down on us with my mother and a cameraman both trailing behind him.

“I want to get the greeting,” the camera man calls, and instantly, Gideon’s face changes to a practiced smile. He opens his arms wide and envelops me in a hug. Automatically, I hug him back, but feel uncomfortable at the empty ritual.

Next, Gideon moves in to hug Sin, who smoothly steps away and offers his hand out as an alternative.

Obviously not happy with the change, Gideon takes his hand in a punishing grip.

“You should have worn a suit,” he says through clenched teeth, nodding judgmentally at the dress shirt and chinos Sin is wearing.

Sin returns the iron grip, maybe too firm from the wince on Gideon’s face. “Only at your funeral, old man.”

Gideon’s face turns red. Sin leans around him and calls out to the camera man. “Hey, Ricky?”

Ricky tilts his head to the side of the camera.” Yeah, man?”

“Make sure to send me a copy of that one.” He grins cheekily. “It’s a keeper.”

I have to stifle a smile at Sin’s antics, and I must not do a very good job, because my mom stomps over in her designer three-inch heels. “You’re encouraging him,” she huffs. “You’re being an ungrateful brat for taking his side.”

I can’t help it. My mom’s words hurt me to the bone. Today is the first time I’ve seen her since last summer, and she doesn’t even hug me or tell me she missed me. I’m such a fool. Every time she hurts me, I’m surprised, like it hasn’t happened countless times before.

Suddenly, I feel Sin’s hand on my shoulder.

I look up at him, and his jaw is rigid, and his eyes are blazing.

“Sheila,” he says in a quiet, eerily calm voice I’m unused to hearing from him.

“I’d think about how ungrateful you’re being if you don’t want my father to find out about the fat check I wrote to get you out of that situation you begged me to help you with. ”

My mom’s face goes white. She looks over at Gideon who is busy talking to the camera man about the angles he wants to be shot from. “You wouldn’t do that!”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Maybe not. Best way to be sure of my continued silence is to start treating your son with some respect.”

It’s like Sin pushed a button because suddenly the pouty scowl on her face vanishes.

“I’m sorry, honey,” my mom says in a little girl’s voice as she tilts her head and gives me a huge, watery-eyed smile.

“You know how much pressure I’m under helping Gideon with the church.

Sometimes it makes me the tiniest bit grumpy.

” She leans over and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, and then, with a quick, fearful look at Sin, she hurries off to go stand by Gideon.

Sin scans my face as if checking to see I’m all right.

Surprisingly, I am. I know how forced and empty my mother’s apology was, but the fact that Sin stood up for me goes a long way in taking the sting of her indifference away. I reach out and place my hand on the hand he still has on my shoulder. “Thanks for that.”

He grips my hand back tight, but then, as if burned, he jerks his hand away.

“It was nothing,” he says in a gruff voice, as he quickly steps away from me.

“Come on, let’s go sit down so we can get this shit show over.

” He takes off like he can’t get away from me fast enough, and when we reach the pews, he makes sure he sits so my mother and one of her friends are between us.