Page 1 of Sinful Mates

CHAPTER1

Author’s note:this book contains crossover scenes and situations withFestive Mates.

Slade

Loopholes in the rules.Gotta love them. Whether Castor’s would save Zethan’s ass from excommunication remained in the hands of the club.

Strain stretched the air thin. Zethan’s shoulders fell along with all the plans we had for the club. Tragedy writhed on his bond, staking mine at intervals with railroad spikes, crucifying me for being the bad guy once a-fucking-gain. All the elation I felt earlier at ending the Wolves and finding a way to save him deflated.

Determination set Castor’s features. Scientific by nature, he enjoyed puzzles and solutions, and I came to rely on him for that.

Shackles clamped over my wrist, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Set’s dark, chaotic power left the taste of blood in my mouth. I had half a mind to reduce the clubhouse to ash for my cornered position. But there was a time and place to lose my shit, and this wasn’t it.

Fourteen abused women whimpered outside in the recreation room, being tended to by my men. Women under our protection. Mutilated, sexually assaulted, and scared for their damn lives. Doc Schriever could patch them up physically, but they needed a hospital with specialized medical attention. Psychological counseling focusing on their form of treatment. Rape kits and evidence collected against their captors and abusers to commence investigations.

Fuck. I scrubbed at my jaw as if it would give me the answers I sought.

We couldn’t take them to the damn cops since they were the cunts that harmed them in the first place. The rescued women would end up floating in a creek, buried under garbage in a dumpster, or brutalized to death. They were our problem now. Finances were tight, but we had to make do.

Problem after problem mounted, and I was close to my fucking limit.

Pressure.

Secrets.

Betrayals.

Aaliyah’s latest duplicity smashed me to pieces, the pain destroying me worse than bullets, knives, and fists. Damn secretive woman had a daughter, a bomb dropped out of fucking nowhere. Brought her into the clubhouse, straight into a war zone. Not an ideal place for a child. Vendettas hit us from every angle, and if this avatar cunt struck again, we might fail to protect our mate, let alone her baby girl.

Darkness cloaked our relationship from her latest transgression. Frustration slammed in my chest at the number of secrets she harbored. What else didn’t she tell us? Skeletons in her closet with the potential to cause us grief. Tension set tightly in my body at the secrets destroying us at every turn, my mate’s the worst of all.

I didn’t blame the kid, an innocent in all of this. Any child of Aaliyah’s was mine too, and I’d care for her as if she were my own. But, damn, my woman and I needed to talk, and she better not hold anything back from me… I couldn’t bring myself to consider the outcome of that.

Shaken by the news, I went berserk, the Wolves the recipients of my unbridled rage. I ran a hand over my worn face to rein in my anger before I acted on it. Impulse and chaos were never a good combination when it came to mine and Set’s temper.

“Am I excused?” Zethan’s gaze carried detachment but his bond sparked with the beginning of a storm.

Heaviness pulled at my conscience. “I need you to clean up the mess and hide any evidence.” The request felt like glass in my throat. “Then go home and rest. I’ll call a club meeting for tomorrow to sort this out.”

The resentment in his eyes turned a shade darker. “Yes, President.” Each word came out like metal dragged along stone.

The door slammed after him.

Fear squeezed around my throat. My quest for wrath destroyed one of our enemies and threatened to cut away the ones I loved. Salvaging Zethan’s future with the club wouldn’t do the same for our friendship, or my relationship with Aaliyah for that matter. Once she discovered what I did to her mate, she would take sides, even though she promised not to.

I was sick of crushing the people I loved. History repeating itself, I guess. Set, the black sheep of his family, and me, the cunt leader of the Jackals. Zethan, the goddamn hero for rescuing Aaliyah’s daughter.

I felt the pull of Zethan’s magick as he opened a portal to collect the dead Wolves and dispose of them.

Leather creaked as I squeezed my best mate’s cut, unable to burn it or throw it away. Five long and hard years of dedication went into this vest, building the club into what it was today. Effort that I had to throw away for stupid indiscretions. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled, briefly comforted by Zethan’s oil and metal scent.

Tumblers clinked as Castor set two on my alcohol tray. Whisky trickled into the crystal like floodwater carrying away everything precious to me.

This bullshit crisis could have been avoided if Brix shut his big mouth and not gone around rallying the rest of the club to punish Zethan. For creating discord with the men, I would make his life hell for every fucking little thing. Flaunting his sweet butts when he was married. Shitty maintenance of his bike. Laziness in his job—turning up late, leaving early, and bitching for every little thing. His ass was mine. Raw. Whipped. Dead. Next time he would think twice about putting me in a difficult spot. Hopefully he quit the club and we’d finally be rid of the asshole. Long time coming. I only kept the cunt around out of loyalty to his retired father. Loyalty the prick didn’t return.

Castor clapped me on the shoulder. “Zethan will get over it. Give him time.”

“No, he won’t.” There was no coming back from this.

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