Page 1 of Sweet Sin

PROLOGUE

FALCON

Eight years earlier…

Dad isn’t particularly happy with my plan to join the Navy right out of college. He insisted I build my house on the property, and I did, but the military has always been my dream. My buddy and I have been talking about it since our middle school days. Leif Ramsey and I went to separate colleges, but we stayed in touch, spent our summers together, chasing women and getting drunk. Talking about what we’d do once we joined up.

In two weeks, Mom and I leave for a wine tour of France and Italy. Then, once I’m back, Leif and I are leaving for officer training.

We both want to be Navy SEALs.

We’re both crack shots, but even Leif admits I’m better than he is.

My brother Hawk is a close second.

We like to practice on the edge of the Bellamy property, where the brush of Texas forest meets our ranch land. Hunters come for the mule deer.

An old barn sits right on the edge of our property, built by my grandfather—hell, maybe his grandfather—years and years ago.

We never go in the barn. It should probably be condemned. But there’s a clearing about a quarter mile away that’s excellent for target practice.

Hawk sets up the targets while I load my pistol.

The clouds above us are rolling, and thunder cracks in the distance.

Once the targets are set, Hawk returns, also looking at the sky. “I don’t know, Falcon. Looks like we might get rained on.”

“So then we get wet.”

I line up my target, aim, shoot three bullets in a row dead center.

“You’re good,” Hawk says. “But not as good as I am.”

He aims, shoots three bullets the same as me, right dead center of his own target.

“I always beat you in contests,” I say.

“Yeah? Nothing says I can’t get better.”

Hawk is three years younger than I am, just finished his freshman year of college. I’m not quite ready for him to be as good as I am at anything, but it’s not like I have a fucking choice.

We continue our practice, until lightning strikes close, and thunder cracks right over our heads.

And then the rains come.

As if from nowhere, water falls from the sky, drenching us.

“Fuck.”

“I better get those targets,” he says.

“Leave them. The winds are picking up. This isn’t going to be any run-of-the-mill Texas rainstorm.”

“We’re pretty far from shelter.”

“There’s that old barn. We can go there.”

We set into a run, reaching the old barn in just a few minutes. The door is latched, which is odd.

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