Page 4 of Vows in Sin

R eign

I’m the Consigliere—the unseen blade at everyone’s side, steering every move from the shadows. Strategy is my currency, silence is my shield. I disdain the ballroom glitter and whispering ladies in six-figure gowns.

I’d bleed for this family.

My name is Renan, but the boys call me Reign—the monarch of whispers and warfare. Born in England’s council estates, forged by hardship, crowned by power.

Tonight’s operation was simple: trap a Moretti errand boy, plant a tracker, send a warning. I had club manager Burns set the bait. I never expected to snare an angel. But here she is. Wide-eyed, fearless; chaos in silver and hot pink.

She’s the storm I didn’t see coming. And I’m enticed by every curve.

Work waits, but temptation weighs heavier. Weakness is the prelude to every mistake I’ve made. And yet… I cradle this beguiling danger against my chest, ready to learn just how reckless I can be.

She’s defiant; shoulders back, violet heels digging into the concrete. The tender pulse in the soft skin of her neck rises and falls, thrumming like a warning for me to retreat.

I let her go, dropping my hands like I’ve touched a flame.

Free from my hold, she takes a step back. After smoothing down her dress, she looks up at me, steel in her pretty brown gaze, yet she trembles.

I eye her, curls to heels. “You don’t look like one of Dame’s girls.”

“And what does that mean? Are you calling me ugly?” She pulls a face.

I lift a brow. “Did I say that?”

“You said I don’t look like Dame’s girls.”

“You don’t.” Splashes of hot pink, the glittering dress, and the fear she fights to keep at bay.

“You don’t look like a Bachman.” She eyes me, making her point—my grease‐stained jeans, a dark tee, workboots heavy with shop grime.

“I came straight from the shop. The chain on my Harley needed fixing. And I only meant you’re a natural beauty.”

“Dame’s tastes have changed. He’s gone au naturel. I’m here to surprise him.”

“Dame doesn’t do surprises.”

“I meant to say he’ll be waiting for me.”

“He’s either waiting or he’s not. If he’s not…there will be consequences, little girl.”

She juts up that defiant chin. “Who are you calling little?”

“You.” I step closer. My hands itch to grab her and pull her to me.

Her spine bows, but her chin stays high. I admire that fire. I can’t stop myself from reaching out. My hands clamp to her waist like a vice.

I pull her flush against me, love the feel of her trembling against my chest.

My face to her cheek. Soft skin and strawberries. My gut clenches. “Bachmans have lessons for naughty girls.”

She swallows. “You’re not touching me.”

“I’m already touching you.” I press my mouth to her ear. “You lied. And I hate lies.”

I savor the power I have over her, intoxicated by her defiance, fear, and the hint of need she’s giving off.

“Now,” I growl, “you’re mine to punish.”

“Try me,” she dares.

My British manners come through. “My pleasure.”

And now, I reign over this doe-eyed beauty.

Clearly, in over her head with our notorious playboy, Dame, she’s put herself in harm’s way. It’s not my job to teach her to take her safety seriously. I’ve got thirty things to do tonight, and as of now, I’ve done fuck all.

But she’s everything missing from my dreary night. A tasty, tantalizing morsel standing before me, ready to be devoured.

I pull her close, pressing her against my chest, feeling her warmth. She gazes up at me with the deepest brown eyes I’ve seen. Her rapid heartbeat is like a hummingbird’s, her breaths come shallow, yet she maintains her stare with soldier-like courage.

My gaze travels lower, to her painted pink lips. Blood flows to my cock, thinking of the fullness of that pretty pucker. I press my hips to her. She gives a little gasp, feeling me against her. But curiously, she doesn’t back away.

Her grit makes me want her all the more.

I pull her down the hallway. One hand grips her wrist, the other palm presses against her lower back where the silk of her dress clings to her like a second skin. The bass from the club pounds in my chest, matching my racing pulse.

Too-high, too-pink heels click against the concrete floors. She knows she’s under my control, yet she’s got some fight in her. She proves it with the march of her stilettos, loud and proud, the sound echoing against the walls with defiance.

I tug her into the privacy of the office, shut the door, and turn the lock with a click, then turn my full attention on my little temptress.

She stands in front of the desk, as far from me as possible. Her hands rest at her sides, nervously clenching and unclenching, unsure of what to do with them.

Driven by an unexpected hunger, I moved across the room, bridging the gap between us. I tower over her, loving the feeling of her trembling body against mine.

I push her against the desk hard enough for her to feel the promise behind the gesture. I lean in, our faces just inches apart, our eyes locked. There’s an ache in my chest.

I want her that badly.

I move closer, mouth to her ear, not quite touching. “You know what this place is, little doll?”

She doesn’t answer.

“The family club. Only invited girls get through that door.” I brush a loose curl aside, exposing her neck and her trembling little secret; she’s intrigued by my threats. “You took a gamble. You wanted to play. You lost. Now, you pay.”

I don’t wait for permission—she lost that the minute she stepped past the dumpsters. Defiance has consequences, and I plan to imprint that lesson.

Deeply.

She’s too pretty a little thing to be putting herself in danger like this.

She gasps as I grab her hips. “You’re so beautiful. Let me see all of you.”

“Huh?” She shoots me that adorable deer in headlights look with her deep brown eyes. I’m flipping her around so fast she can’t get any real words out.

Her hands plant against the desktop to steady herself as she faces the wall. “Ooh!”

God, to have this girl bent over my desk, under my control, looking this good—I almost can’t manage.

Almost.

I drag my fingertips up the backs of her thighs. “Skin shouldn’t be this soft.”

I lift her sparkly silver dress, inch by deliberate inch, exposing more of her beautiful body to me. I tug the dress higher, my breath hitching at the sight of black lace panties—almost sheer, barely covering her lush curves.

My pulse spikes.

“Goddamn,” she's temptation wrapped in silk and lace.