Page 13 of The Sin of True Love

“Fuck,” I curse, knocking back what’s left of my coffee as I step out the door. I’m gonna need at least a couple more to keep myself going for the rest of today.

I think about for the whole drive to the site. I had her in my hands last night. I kissed her, and she kissed me back. She let me touch her, and yet somehow, she slipped away.

At this rate, I’ll probably never see her again.

When I pull up to the site, there are three all-black SUVs parked out front. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the president was here with a Secret Service escort.

I pull my truck where I usually park and see the boys already hard at work. I wave to Dave, but he flashes me a concerned look as I climb out of the truck and grab my bag from the back.

“You won’t be needing that,” I hear a voice from behind me say. I turn around to see four tall, suited men who look like bodyguards standing in front of me, staring me down like I’m a suspect. And between them, the Reverend Patrick Tuttle.

“This is my work bag,” I reply. “I’ve got tools in it.”

“And you would need those if you worked here.” My stomach twists into a knot as the man looks at me. Somehow his tone is friendly and lethal at the same time. He’s smiling at me, but it’s the mask of a smile, like something you’d buy off a rack at a Halloween supply store.

“I do work here.”

“You did work here,” he corrects me. Pressure builds in my chest as we stare at each other. “I’ve spoken with the contractor, and due to you choosing to interfere with the personal affairs of my family, we regrettably have to let you go.”

“Interfering…” I repeat slowly.

This can’t seriously be happening, can it? The Reverend himself out here getting his hands dirty? He must really think I’m a threat to stealing away his daughter if he’s here with his boys, not only to try and intimidate me, but to personally let me know that I’ve been fired.

He knows there’s nothing I can do about it. In all honesty, he could probably bring some kind of legal case against me with the people he knows and the power he holds in this community. Just getting me tossed off the job is actually going easy on me.

But all this spectacle does show that I’m on his mind, and that he’s worried about me. I wonder what Jerry told him, because I know this: There’s no way Michelle spilled her guts about what happened last night.

Behind Patrick, the door to one of the SUVs opens, and Jerry steps out. He’s dressed like a businessman in a navy-blue suit with a shirt and tie. My fists clench at my side. He grins like my superior at me as his father, Richard, steps out beside him.

“Wow, the whole fam is here,” I reply. “What a nice display of force this is.”

“This can go one of two ways for you, boy,” Patrick says, the façade of his smile fading. “You can walk away like a gentleman and go find yourself a new job, or you can cause a scene right now. And well, let’s just say you will end up regretting that more than you could ever imagine.”

I can’t believe this is happening right now. I mean, this is crazy. But what’s even more insane is the fact that I’m actually thinking about how I’m going to destroy these bastards. And over what? A girl I just met?

But that’s the hold she has on me. Her perfection, her beauty, her warmth, her innocence. I’m willing to risk it all to have it. To save her. Christ, it’s like she’s cast a spell on me and I’m incapable of backing down, despite staring into the face of such disastrous odds.

I step forward, and Patrick’s men immediately move in like they’re going to take me down. But Patrick stops them with the slightest motion of his hand. He steps closer to me, looking down at me like he owns me. I guess he’s used to looking at people like that.

“I know what you’re up to, Reverend,” I hiss, mocking his title straight to his face. “Your church? It’s just a façade. I’m going to expose you! I’m going to bring you down!”

Patrick just smiles, and for the first time since we’ve been looking at each other, his smile is actually genuine.

He leans in close, so close that I can smell the whiskey on his breath when he speaks.

“Try it, boy. I dare you.”

7

CASEY

“He seriously canned you?” Rodney asks in disbelief. “That son of a bitch. I say we smoke his house out.”

“Oh, yeah?” Chris asks, handing me a beer. “How we gonna do that?”

We’ve all gathered at Rodney’s for some of his barbeque and a funeral to honor the death of my job. My ID card for the site has been buried in a bowl of dirt in the middle of the table between us. Chris and Rodney have been chatty, but Dave’s been oddly quiet most of the night.

“I take my smoker–you know the one I used for those short ribs I made last month? We sneak it into one of his bathrooms, fill it with pork bones, barricade the door, and smoke the whole place out!”

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