Page 9 of Unholy

I flip to the last page and hold my free hand out without looking up. A black pen is placed into it, and I sign my life away. Giving his clipboard and pen back, he grabs the detector from under his arm. “Legs apart and arms up.”

“Charming. Does all this foreplay usually get the others wet?” Sarcasm drips from my words.

His face doesn’t budge as he scans my body for weapons of mass destruction. Once completed, he nods to my bag, which I open so he can rummage through it. His fingers wrap around my phone, taking it out. “Mine until you leave.”

Blowing out a sigh of frustration, I don’t argue.

“You may enter. Master Sinclair will be waiting for you in his study,” are his last words to me as he turns on his heel and walks away.

But that doesn’t stop me from shouting, “Because I know where that is.”

Walking up to the large wooden door, my hand grips the iron handle and pushes it open. Taking a step inside, I am welcomed with the smell of warm vanilla. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath in. It’s my favorite scent.

A deep voice interrupts my moment of peace. “Down here.”

Nathaniel.

Opening my eyes, I bring myself inside, closing the door gently behind me.

And with the click of the latch, it occurs to me that if I am going to kill him, getting anything in here to do so will be nearly impossible.

Well played, Sinclair, but I can play better and smarter.

Smirking to myself, I make my way down to him. The front entrance is large; you can see the back of the house from here. Large windows allow the moonlight through; the silhouette of the mountainscape can faintly be seen beyond the lush tree line. Stairs are on the right to me, and as I peer up, a balcony going left shows itself. Dim lights line the walls, adding to the ambience already set by the vanilla scent. My heels click against the flooring, echoing, making my arrival to his office door known.

His deep voice greets me. “Come in.”

Stepping through the threshold, I catch myself, biting the inside of my lip, but I stop myself before he sees and takes it for a weakness, even if it’s not. Men like him will take the smallest thing and manipulate it against you.

Confidently with my shoulders back and chest out, I add a hint of swing to my hips while my eyes move up, taking in the very masculine space. Dark leathers and wood fill the room; a bar is off to the side with a bookshelf lining the wall behind my host. A large, dark desk sits before me as I continue moving toward him. My eyes find his crystal glass of whisky, which has a lit cigar sitting in the ashtray next to it.

Tattooed hands meet the glass, his fingers wrap around it, and my eyes follow it up as he moves it to his lips. Watching, he takes a sip, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallows. His jawline is shaded with a mixture of salt-and-pepper facial hair that is perfectly manicured. Wandering upward, my eyes find his, and I curse internally. Why do men always have the best lashes?

Deep lines surround his eyes, showing endless days and nights of stress. And then his dark brown orbs, which are hidden behind a thick pair of black glasses, penetrate mine in return. I don’t allow mine to linger there long; they move up to his full head of thick, graying hair. It’s untamed, as if he has just thrown his fingers through it moments before I entered.

What’s on your mind, old man?

“Like what you see?” His words come out slow and seductive. Smooth like the aged whisky he is indulging in.

“Hardly. Rude to not offer your guest a refreshment,” I throw back.

Placing his glass on the desk, Nathaniel rises, and my breath hitches. My eyes move back down his face and thick neck to his strong, defined shoulders. This motherfucker knows my weakness as I take him in further. Ink decorates his chest and abdomen that reveals a six-pack underneath. Then, I see the Adonis lines leading to his cock that has the seven pieces of silver through it. But it is currently covered by a pair of gray sweatpants that are hugging him in all the right places.

Faintly I hear a chuckle, but don’t let it bother me. “Just seeing what I have to work with,” I coyly retort. But it doesn’t stop there. Walking around his desk, his feet are bare and equally as covered in black inked designs. I give my head a slight shake to bring my mind back into focus, and as I do, Nathaniel has made it to his bar, where his strong arms flex while picking up the whisky bottle. He pours me two fingers, then walks over in front of me, holding it out. My fingers grip the crystal at the bottom so as not to touch his. Bringing it to my red lips, I take a swig of my own.

The flavors are tantalizing, full-bodied, and rich. Pairs incredibly well with the vanilla scent he has filled the home with. A hint of clove and honey can be tasted once swallowed, leavinga warm feeling in my mouth. Looking up at my host, I ask, “Thirty years?”

The corner of his mouth smirks. “Precisely, Ms. Vandenberg.”

Deeply inhaling through my nose, there is an added layer, his musky sandalwood aroma invading my senses.

He knows exactly what he is doing. A bachelor. Sure, he was married once, but that ended in divorce, and I hear he wasn’t faithful anyhow.

“I saw you that night, at Hell Fire, coming out of the orgy room. Wearing nothing but your shiny latex mask, hair slicked back in a pony like now, and pasties covering your hard nipples.” Nathaniel takes another step toward me, the tip of his toes brushing against mine. “Was your pussy as wet then as it is now?”

A tiny giggle passes my lips. “You must be mistaken, Mr. Sinclair. My pussy is dry as a bone.”

Reaching his hand up, he takes the glass out of mine. “If I were to check, it would tell me you are lying,” he taunts before taking the last swig of my whisky for himself.

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