Sinners

  SINNERS

  SE JAKES

  Copyright © 2019 Stephanie Tyler

  Published by Stephanie Tyler, LLC

  Cover Art Design © Garrett Leigh

  Book Formatting by Croco Designs

  All rights reserved.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental or has been used in a fictional manner.

  SINNERS

  Sometimes a broken man ends up stronger than he ever was—and far more dangerous…

  Travis Smith is a grifter who's wanted by both the Russian Mob and the FBI. He's got the means and motive to stay hidden—until he's picked up by Lochlan "Loch" Black, a CIA operative who threatens to unravel all Travis's secrets.

  Loch has enough secrets of his own, and they all lead back to the man he and the CIA have been hunting for years. And when Loch realizes Travis might be the key to that op, he and longtime friend and fellow agent, Tarquin "Tar" Simons, have no choice but to keep Travis under their protection.

  But no one's able to protect them all from the man who's been hunting them back for years. Jabez Snow is a former CIA operative who didn't stop his experiments when he disappeared.

  And when Travis, Loch and Tar get involved, it triggers a chain of events none of them could foresee, and it threatens all their futures, unless they can hunt down Snow…before he finds them.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgments

  Newsletter

  Bound by Honor

  Chapter 1

  Bound by Law

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Hold the Line

  Chapter 1

  Also by SE Jakes

  Writing as Stephanie Tyler

  Writing as Sydney Croft

  About the Author

  For MS…can’t ever thank you enough for listening.

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE DOOR to the bedroom slammed open with a shout, followed quickly in turn by a heart-stopping, unexpectedly loud-as-fuck bang and a flash of blinding light that Travis swore he could see behind closed eyelids, all of which immediately disoriented him, leaving him to struggle out of the bed and blindly find the door.

  Smoke and popping sounds filled the air, accompanied by yells of panic. Travis resisted the urge to panic, even when he realized he couldn’t see or hear very well.

  Later, he’d find out that the SWAT Team assisting the FBI had thrown in flash-bang grenades ahead of their bust, but all he knew in the moment was pure fear and total confusion.

  He’d been nearly naked, in bed, and suddenly he was being dragged by strong arms that wouldn’t let go no matter how hard he’d struggled. Whether this was a kidnapping or an attempted takeover by another Russian mob family, he hadn’t been able to differentiate…not until he heard, “You’re under arrest. On the floor on your stomach, hands behind your back.”

  Travis complied, freezing against the concrete. The metal cuffs clicked tightly on his wrists, he was unceremoniously hauled up, and a blanket was roughly shoved over his shoulders.

  “Name?”

  “Travis Smith,” was all he’d give them. They kept asking him, over and over, what his connection with the Russian mob was until he finally said, “I fuck Serge. That’s all. I have no idea about anything else you’re talking about.”

  Which was a partial truth—he knew Sergei was Russian mafia and he fucked him anyway. Partially because he wanted to, but mainly because Travis was grifting Sergei, and had been over the past eight months.

  Finally, the feds shoved him into the van, already packed with Russians Travis had seen at one time or another in Sergei’s house, now all handcuffed and chained together.

  Across from him, Sergei mouthed, “One word and you’re dead,” and Travis nodded because he wasn’t stupid. He didn’t want anything to do with the police at all.

  But the law had other plans for him. And even after he lawyered up, it didn’t seem to matter because all decisions seem to have been made about the best way to handle him. Apparently, it was an end run to force him into testifying, and his public defender didn’t seem too familiar with the concept of defending. Because his pathetic choices boiled down to snitch or prison, which, translated, equaled dead or dead.

  He heard a cage door slam open and then there was blessed silence in the retreat. He didn’t recall anything more until waking in the middle of a police interrogation room, looking down at a paper he’d signed agreeing to turn against Sergei. The cage door slammed shut and Travis understood what he needed to do, why the paper had been signed. He could play along, since he’d been given his escape route.

  He was always grateful for that cage door.

  He let the marshals get him settled in a safe location, but they weren’t about to give him twenty-four seven protection. Instead, he got new identification and some pocket money and had to check in several times a day. And he did that for several days, merely running on survival mode, because he was damned good at surviving. He wanted nothing more than to get the hell out from under the government’s stranglehold and go back to what he did best: grifting. Maybe he’d stay away from sleeping with the men he grifted and maybe he wouldn’t. But the money he’d earned over the years was tucked away safe and sound, from both the government and other criminals, in an overseas account.

  He had no fear of the marshals, the law, authority figures in general. The latter were all he’d known growing up, and he’d spent his twenty-three years learning to thwart, escape, defy and embarrass them.

  Granted, Sergei ended up playing a crucial role in this escape—especially when Travis had passed a message through his lawyer about how best to help him get out from under the marshal’s watchful eye, which would in turn let him escape the feds and their insistence on his testimony. It involved a chain of people to keep names far removed from Sergei and his reach, but it had been worth it, especially because it would put Travis back with Dodge.

  Dodge was mid-forties, handsome as fuck—a silver fox who was also a master thief with a penchant for helping guys in need get back on their feet. He’d told Travis when they’d first met that someone long ago had helped him get off the streets, and even though he ended up continuing to work them for several more years, it was under his own control, not anyone else’s. He charged rent but he didn’t care how you earned your money, as long as you kept yourself, and the rest of the house, saf
e. And if you couldn’t figure out how to earn, he’d help you with that too.

  Dodge wasn’t a monk or a saint, but he was the closest thing to the latter that Travis had met so far.

  Now, after leaving behind everything the marshals had given him, he walked along the edge of the highway for half a mile and found Dodge waiting for him, his car running as if he’d just pulled over to take a few minutes rest.

  He got into the front seat of Doge’s car and breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s been a while. Thanks for taking the 911.”

  “I told you that I always would.” Dodge pulled the car back onto the highway smoothly.

  The stop was pretty full, mainly truckers and drivers, all of whom were sleepy and distracted enough that they’d believe Travis came out of the bathrooms and hadn’t walked up the highway.

  If they did, and if the FBI questioned them, he and Dodge would be long gone anyway, Dodge’s black car ready to ghost through the night. Travis had no doubt the FBI would be searching for him after this. “You can just drop me off at the nearest train station. I don’t want to bring trouble for you.”

  Dodge threw a smile in his direction. “I won’t lie—deciding to help you is causing us all to relocate, but it was time. Things got too comfortable, and with comfort comes mistakes.”

  “Where to now?”

  “I think you’ll like it. Upstate New York—not too big, not too small. Close enough to the city but not too close.”

  “Middle of nowhere. Middle of everywhere.” Travis closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat, letting a few moments of safety lull him into relaxation. “Best place to be.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  LOCHLAN WOKE with the smell of fire in his nose and the splitting pain of a hangover pounding through his skull, like a demand. The dream—the same fucking nightmare that had threatened every night for the past eight months and then made good on its promise—wasn’t deterred by the whiskey. In fact, the whiskey might make it worse, but Loch preferred to wake numb.

  Tonight, the ringing phone threatened to change all of that.

  He picked it up anyway.

  Dodge had recommended that Travis stay inside and out of trouble for at least a week, and he provided him with the space to do so—a third-floor apartment in the large house he’d rented. But after three days, which in his mind was more than enough time, he decided to test the waters, if for no other reason than a pressing need to slip into his new life and try it on for size.

  Dodge didn’t bother arguing about the timetable, telling him instead, “Looking to hook up? Go to The Wall. Looking to grift or hook, go high end and hit Tally’s. It won’t look like it, but you’ll find what you need there,” in some alternative universe version of normal parent / son life.

  Travis wasn’t sure what the hell he needed. He had a full bank account under an assumed name, he was bored, and in hiding from the mob and the feds.

  Maybe he’d go for just sex tonight. Maybe he’d do the picking up, not for money or scamming, but just for pure goddamned pleasure.

  He realized he had no idea what that must feel like.

  Maybe tonight he’d actually find out.

  In deference to the fact that he was still a wanted man—and with the help of one of Dodge’s other charges—he’d cut his hair shorter and took his natural brown to a lighter color. It made his blue eyes look brighter. Made him look like a different guy, which he supposed was the point.

  Inside, he still felt exactly the same, and because of that, or in spite of it, he went to Tally’s. Even though he was simply looking to hook up, he didn’t have to slum for it.

  The bar/restaurant was big inside—dark and cool and expensive looking. He got quite a few looks from both sexes, since it was a mixed crowd, but it only took him a couple of minutes to figure out that this was mostly a place for gay and bi men. There was definitely a lot of grifting he could do here, and easily, but instead he laser-focused on one man. The guy was all dark hair, classic, chiseled cheekbones, albeit in a rough-honed kind of way—an irresistible mixture of aristocrat and street. A combination Travis had never been able to resist.

  This time, there was no reason to even try. Besides, the guy had laser-focused on him in return.

  It was crowded, but he slid into the space the guy made for him and suddenly they were close. So motherfucking, dick-hardeningly close.

  “Hey,” Travis murmured.

  “Hey,” the man echoed with a raise of his eyebrow, a flirting mock before the appraisal. From the flare of heat in his eyes, it was apparent he liked what he saw. “Name?”

  “Travis.”

  “Scotch, Travis?” He pointed to his own glass of single malt, neat.

  “I’ll take a soda—a Coke,” Travis countered. His ‘no drinking, no drugs’ rules was merely survival for him—it had been so when he was actively tricking, and it would still serve him well picking up guys for pleasure.

  The soda arrived quickly. Travis picked it up and clinked it against the man’s. “Thanks.”

  “Since you’re not drinking, let’s get out of here. My place is a few blocks away,” the man told him, his voice deep and husky and dammit, Travis had only spoken a single word before it had been assumed that he could be bought. Handsome, rich men, like he assumed this one to be, always did. Maybe it was because power did make everything better.

  It did for him, because even though the client rarely realized it, Travis was always the one holding the power. But tonight, the hum in his brain kept pulling him to be led…and he couldn’t shake that. Not when he felt a shift of power, an imbalance—and not in his favor—like never before.

  You’re just freaked because of the arrest. Temporarily off your game.

  Still, he didn’t scare easily and wasn’t about to start now, so sliding back into rent boy/grifting mode and shutting down all other feelings was the quickest way to settle his worries and bring back his confidence. “Someone’s in a rush.”

  “I know what I want. I have no patience with wasting time.”

  Travis’s dick went hard. Hard-er. But he still asked, “What’s your name?” to level the playing field somewhat before he agreed to just walk off with the guy.

  “Lochlan, but people call me Loch.” He pronounced it like lock.

  “That’s different.”

  “Yes, it is.” Loch gave Travis a slow, lazy smile that made Travis shift. Loch gave a small laugh, like he knew. “I’ve never seen you at Tally’s before.”

  “I’m new to the area.” Hell, it was the truth. Loch nodded, and when he didn’t question Travis further, Travis felt the playing field level slightly. “Let’s go.” He finished his coke, icy sugar giving him a tiny sliver of the rush he’d soon encounter. A warning. A highlight. Then he met Loch's eyes before turning to lead the way out of the bar and into the cool temperatures of the city streets.

  It was a Thursday, with most people behaving like Friday didn’t count. Travis followed the man to his car, a black Range Rover, parked a few spaces down from the bar.

  “I live in Park Ridge,” Loch explained.

  It was a gated community, Travis knew, thanks to Dodge, which meant Loch had money. “Works for me.” He got into the passenger’s side and Loch started the car and pulled away from the curb at an easy pace.

  Less than five minutes later, Loch pulled into a long driveway and then into the attached garage. The house was big—elegant-looking. Intimidating even, and that was only the outside. Once he followed Loch in, it was even more so, sleek and masculine and modern.

  “You’re thinking too hard,” Loch told him, a rough palm sliding along the back of his neck. “Second thoughts?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “Your place is great.”

  “So what? Why am I paying for it?” Loch asked, taking away any doubt that this was a rent boy situation. Travis shrugged. “You’ve never had another client like me? You seem high end.”

  True, Travis had never specialized in
typical rough trade situations, not because of the risks, but because the pay was shit, and he’d never worked for any kind of service either. He’d relied on his gut instincts, with a little help from Dodge from time to time. “I haven’t done this in a while,” he finally admitted.

  Loch's brows lifted. “So why me?”

  “I like a challenge.”

  “I propositioned you.”

  “I’m talking about in bed.”

  The corner of Loch's mouth curled, the hint of a smile, the first he’d seen all night. “So do I.”

  “What else do you like?” Travis asked.

  “For tonight, your name is Liam,” Loch told him.

  Liam. So this guy was in mourning for someone. That wasn’t an unusual reason for him to pick up someone, and it made sense.

  Didn’t mean Travis had to like it, though. “Vocal?” he asked, because Loch was under some kind of spell as he stroked Travis’s hair.

  “Vocal,” Loch confirmed. Then his eyes narrowed, and he murmured, “Trouble.”

  Travis didn’t know if that was good or bad, because he liked trouble, and he couldn't tell by the tone of Loch's voice if the man agreed. But when Loch leaned in to kiss him, with a hand behind Travis’s neck to hold him in place, to take him, Travis felt a slam of desire with an underlay of fear.

  He couldn’t remember the last time a client had ever kissed him this much. He’d never had an issue with it, had never thought it too intimate until now. He was feeling and that confused him. He didn’t want anything but a pleasant numbness, but Loch seemed determined not to allow that.

  Travis felt a chill rush through him as the kisses got more intense, Loch tongue-fucking him, and tried not to shudder. But Loch noticed, and a smile ghosted across his lips. Travis assumed that his response reminded Loch of his precious Liam, and why he was so pissed about playing the role of the dead lover when he’d done much worse?