Chapter Three
TEMPLE
“Whore.”
I spin in the direction of the insult muttered behind my back.
The brunette who collected Sin’s car all those months ago stands in the middle of the doorway. A tide of students exiting the double doors of the lecture theatre flow past, though not close enough to disturb her Prada outfit.
I hate her on sight.
Everything about her was bought and paid for by the mob. Even though I’d love nothing more than to punch her in the face, it would be suicide. Between my studies, the garage, and avoiding Sin, I’ve got enough to deal with as it is.
I turn and keep walking. Calm yourself and move away, Temple. This won’t end well otherwise.
High heels clacking on concrete follow me.
“Slut,” she throws at my back.
I stop. Breathe. Turn to face her. “What did you call me?”
“You heard me.”
Around me, students pause. Whispers start, their low hum building into a sea of excited murmurs. Some attempt to feign disinterest, though there’s no disguising the swift shared glances. Others are blatantly staring, their phones out and recording.
Uncaring, I block them out. Looking past her inch-thick makeup, I search for any signs of danger.
Nothing.
I’ve seen her kind a hundred times before. Hell, I’ve been fighting rich bitches my whole life. If she wasn’t backed by The Collector, the worst she would do is pull hair and spit venom.
Ignorant of my assessment, she waits.
“I mustn’t have heard you right.” My voice is calm, belying the simmering tension beneath. “See, for a second there, I thought you called me a whore. But that can’t be true, because I don’t know you and you sure as hell don’t know me.”
In a practiced move, she flicks her hair over one shoulder. “The name’s Eve McNamara.”
“Your point?”
People snicker.
“My point,” she spits, “is not to mess with me, trash.”
“I wasn’t,” I say slowly, because, Jesus, is she blind? “I was leaving class along with everyone else.”
Heat teases my nape. It spreads across my skin, my heightened senses warning me it’s from the presence directly behind me.
Treacherous.
Merciless.
Dominant.
Without turning my head, I know it’s Sin Brandt.
College is meant to be my escape. Only, when his eyes are on my body, it feels like a prison. I tried doing the right thing. Every lecture, I sat on the other side of the theater, never making eye contact, and pretending he didn’t exist.
It didn’t work.
As much as I tried to lie to myself, it was pointless. Like the sound of his Ferrari, I know when he’s nearby.
“You must be fucking the professor,” Eve sneers. “I mean, come on. How else are you getting those grades? You work in a garage, for God’s sake.”
Pushing past the intensity licking my vertebrae, I think back to my tattered English Fundamentals textbook resting on a broken milk crate next to my mattress. It’s the same book I had to pull an all-night shift to afford. The expensive secondhand resource has pages missing, some are falling out, and the rest are scribbled over, but I don’t care.
It’s my ticket to freedom.
And this bitch isn’t going to take that from me. “Careful, Evie, your stupid is showing.”
She leans forward, eyes flashing. “It’s Eve, garage trash. Don’t forget it.”
Oh, hell no. “Trust me, Evie, the second you’re out of sight, I’ll forget all about you.”
“Everyone knows you’re pathetic. It’s obvious by your third-generation hand-me-down shirt that you can’t read.”
I don’t bother explaining that the phrase, Reading is for Pussies, printed on my favorite T-shirt is intentionally ironic.
“Don’t pretend to know anything about literature, Temple.” Eve crosses her arms, the buttons on her top ready to burst open.
I still, though my mind skips ahead, wondering how she knows my name. Through Sin? Did he mention me or the fact that I stood him up?
The disadvantage doesn’t sit well with me.
Sick of the web The Collector weaves and the way everyone in Bayside falls victim to it, I promise myself never to let him, or anyone else, control me. Eve might enjoy the cash perks from the mob, Sin might get off on the social status, Dad might have loved the illicit highs, but I’d rather be dead than live a life that isn’t my own.
Resolution settles in my bones.
A muttered, “Oh shit, Eve’s fucked,” sounds from nearby.
Acting on muscle memory and adrenaline, I grab her by the neck, slam her against the doorframe, and bring my face within an inch of hers.
Her eyes widen in shock. “What the hell—”
“Let me give you some advice,” I warn, my voice deathly calm. “Don’t talk to me, look at me, or breathe in my direction. I don’t want you, or anyone associated with you, polluting my world again. You feel me?”
Fear briefly flickers across Eve’s face before she schools her expression. “Get your filthy hands off me.”
The scent of the ocean floods my senses.
No.
Not now.
I won’t give him that power over me.
Forcing my attention away from Sin, I refocus on Eve.
Her face is scarlet.
Jesus. What the hell am I doing? If I don’t backpedal now, I’m a dead woman.
Letting go, I step back. “Leave me alone.”
I turn on my heel, and the losers watching all shove their phones away, tripping over themselves in their haste to leave
All except three.
Sin, Saint, and Angel.
My stare trails each of them in turn.
Cut as fuck. Their jeans and shirts are glued to their muscular bodies like second skins. All of them are tall, but Sin is built like a damn warrior. His long legs are set shoulder-width apart, his muscular thighs obvious beneath expensive dark jeans. His shirt is fitted, but I don’t think it’s on purpose. He’s so damn huge, it’s impossible for it not to be. With a strong jawline, cut cheekbones, deceptively soft lips, and straight nose, he’s so beautiful it hurts.
The memory of the last time we spoke flashes in my mind’s eye. Sin’s unexpected interest, his confidence, the way his mouth kicked up in a smirk when he looked at me. For a brief moment, I wish he wasn’t a part of the mob and I wasn’t trying to escape it.
Maybe then, things could have been different.
Chapter Four
SIN
“I want the thousand in cash,” I tell Saint.
“Fuck you.” He counts the bills in his wallet before palming me the money. “How’d you know she’d do that?”
I fold the notes in half. “Already told you, I checked her files.”
“Not all of them,” Angel mutters, staring at his phone. “She’s got one I haven’t hacked into yet. Cops have the password on a loop, and it changes every hour. Annoying as fuck.”
“That’s because they’re onto you.” Saint puts his wallet away, a shit-eating grin on his face. “You’re getting soft, man.”