Lace and Sin (Sinners Series Book 1)

BOOK: Lace and Sin (Sinners Series Book 1)
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Lace & Sin

 

Aneta Quinn

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Copyright © 201
6
Aneta Quinn
All rights reserved.

This book or any
portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner
whatsoever
without the express written permission of
the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a
book review.

 
 

This book
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark
owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have
been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not
authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

 
 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Prologue

Kayla

 

The New York Weekly

The Misfit strike
s
again

New York,
November
2014 – Thieves in central
New York have struck again, breaking into a secure downtown warehouse used for
storing expensive
artefacts,
and heirlooms set for auction. Officials are still
currently investigating and so far only one item has been reported stolen.

 

The
auction
directors are refusing to divulge information on the item in question,
or
the details of how they
actually
came into possession of the
artefact, with
the total value still remaining undisclosed.

 

The thief is now
being dubbed as
one of New York’s most notorious misfits
by many newspapers and
journalists, tying in with a string of other robberies with similar
circumstances. Authorities are yet to comment on whether these recent crimes
are related
,
or if there is more than one criminal out there on the streets of New York.
Is there
something officials are not disclosing?

***

I
don't
even
bother finishing the article, instead
I
fold
the newspaper in half and
slid
e
it to the other side of the
table.
Notorious misfit, really?

 

I
shake
my
head and sip my coffee as I watch the black SUV pull up beside the curb. The
sharply dressed man
,
with an earpiece and gun in his holster under his jacket
hops
out
,
and automatically
pulls
open the rear passenger
door – right on time, just like every other day.

 

I’m not stalking
,
I’m just merely observing.

 

I didn’t grow up in the most functional and typical
American family. I was born in Poland
,
where I lived up until the age of
eleven
,
before moving to New York to live with my Uncle
Johnny (I use the term Uncle but essentially he was my dad’s best
friend)
.

 

You see
,
my family isn’t what
you’d
call ordinary. I grew up learning the sleight of hand and the art of con, the
tricks of a common pick pocket and mastering the art of thievery. The
Deminski
family was widely known
across Europe
,
and
I guess my parents had
made an enemy of
someone deceitful. Someone I was willing to spend my life searching for, and
destroying once the time was right.

 

My parents died when I was
eleven
, hence why I moved to New York.
Uncle Johnny
was one of the best
though
,
and I guess
after months of pleading he finally agreed to teach me
everything he knew. He reminded me of my dad so much that sometimes it drove me
nuts, but in the end
he kind of became the father
figure and mentor I needed. The person I found myself
looking up to and truly grateful to have in my life. He was a brilliant man -
smart, cunning, and one truly skilled with a set of knives, no matter how big
or small. He liked cartoons just as much as any kid might, and he had a knack
for fixing things no matter how damaged they might be.

 

So upon moving to New York
,
I went from Krysia
Deminski,
to
Kayla
Remy.
Remy was what my uncle was going by so I only got to choose a new first name.
Apparently he chose Remy after some famous con-artist and thief from the French
Revolution – at the age of eleven you hardly care where a surname comes from.
After much debate with my uncle, I chose Kayla as my new identity. As an eleven
year old I wanted to be named Bunny, after Bugs Bunny, and thinking back to
that moment now as a mature adult, I realise it would have been a stupid idea –
brilliant, but stupid.

 

I watch the man exit the back of the SUV that
I’m
inconspicuously observing
,
and automatically glare at
him. I guess
it’s
an
instinct to let the hatred flow out of me for the man that murdered my parents.

 

The job section of the newspaper lays spread open in
front of me, and I grin as I take my bright red pen out. I pull the lid off
with my teeth, and then circle the job in the left column an unnecessary amount
of times with a smirk on my face. This will be my ticket into the building, and
my opportunity to get closer to this man I hate so much.

Chapter 1

Kayla

 

Stacking the folders on top of each other
is
the most tedious task I’ve
ever been assigned
.
I
finally
get
up off the floor and brush
off any dust from my skirt.

                                                         

I
’ve got
to
keep reminding myself that this
shit
is necessary for
the
plan
to come together nicely
.
For now
it’s
just part of the first
stages
-
getting in, mapping the
best routes, knowing who was
here,
and who he kept by his side at all times
;
start planning a way to finally take him down.

 

Abram
Mikhalov
,
the man in question
,
is
the current owner of this
building I was forcing myself to work in
-
king in his mighty tower. He’s got the whole top floor to himself, for whatever
unnecessary reason, because the building is essentially occupied by different
businesses – like I said; he’s just the owner of the building. I’ve been
looking at numerous ways to get closer to him and was lucky when I came across
this job posted in the paper the other month. A few white lies on my resume and
bam, here I was, filing documents like it was my god given gift to organise so
well.

 

After keeping an eye on him I noticed he arrives
every day right on
seven,
but
always l
eaves
at different times
. It makes it a tad hard to keep track of because
there’s no pattern, no similarities on specific days. He lives in an
obnoxiously giant mansion on the outskirt of town right on the edge of the
hills, and has an intense security that’s going to be a pain to get through.
Luckily I’m not one for running away from a challenge, because it’s all the
more rewarding when you succeed.

 

“Are you the new office assistant?
” says
a smooth
,
deep voice behind me
. I’m surprised as I thought most people had already
left for the night. What the hell is the time anyway?

 

“Yes?” I answer and realise it sound
s
more like a question than
an answer.

 

I wipe my sweaty palms down the front of my skirt as I
turn around
– hopefully plastering what
looks like a casual smile on my face,
and
I find myself
momentarily
caught off guard. The man
is casually
leaning
against the door frame watching me with a
slight smirk on his face
. He is
,
without a doubt, the sexiest man
I’ve
had the pleasure of seeing in the last few years
.
Hello
handsome.
Either I need to get out more, or there’s a lack of good looking
men in New York.

 


You
do realise it’s after
seven
right?”
he ask
s
as he
crosses
his arms in front of him
and my traitorous eyes follow
the small
movement.
God I need to get laid, or
maybe
it’s
just ingrained in me to
watch people
and
to
observe their movements
,
especially knowing the things I get away with when people aren’t
paying attention.
It
could be a slight movement with my left hand, whether brushing some hair behind
my ear or touching my lip
,
and a quick sneaky
manoeuvre
with the right to get something without them realising.

 

“Uh sorry

I
must
’ve
lost track of time down
here sorting these files” I lie
,
knowing full well I was waiting as late as possible until the offices were
empty
-
so I could go snooping
, of course
.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“K
ayla
…with a K” I
say
automatically
and stupidly since I’m pretty
sure that’s the normal way to spell it anyway.
A
small smirk spread
s
across his face as he
uncrosses
his arms and
extends his
hand
for me to shake, “Well
,
K
ayla
with a K, I’m
Carter
.”

 

I look from his deep green eyes down to his outreached
hand
,
and warily
shake
his hand for a few seconds
before releasing.
His grasp wasn’t the
lazy handshake I was expecting. It was firm and warm, yet strangely his
calloused grip was soft. I take him in completely – sharp suit, dark hair that
makes his eyes stand out like flashing neon signs, and slight stubble – which
is surprising to see considering the rest of him looks so refined. Feeling
slightly nervous
I wipe
my palms
down my thighs
again,
before clenching and unclenching
in fists
quickly out of habit. He notices
the small nervous movement, but doesn’t comment.

 

“Well
,
Carter
, this has been sufficiently
pleasant but like you pointed out
it’s
after
seven
so
…I guess I’ll be going
.”

 

He
just nods
at me
and
stands
aside while I graciously
walk passed him to collect my stuff. I
see
he’s
watching me
the entire time
I
walk back to my
cubicle
,
and
when
I
finally
grab my
stuff
I
see
he
’s
still casually propped
against the same door frame
. H
is
body is
tall
and lean, yet still defined and muscular. H
is
hair a dishevelled
mess
that look
s
like his fingers roamed
through frequently
, instead of the
slicked back hair I’d expect from someone in such an expensive suit.

 

I
shake
my
head
, give
him a curt smile
,
and head in the direction
of the elevators. What the hell is wrong with me
, and why was he staring? Do I have the word guilty tattooed across my
forehead?

I press the button to call the
elevator, wait patiently for all of ten seconds, and
then press the button a couple more times petulantly to hurry the damn thing
up.

 

After a minute
I
know he’s joined me in the lobby
before
he even
speaks
because I
can
smell him
- not like a gross smell or anything, it’s actually
kind of mouth-watering to be honest.
There
’s
a mix of clean body wash
,
and his cologne that I
smelt just a few minutes ago
cramped in the
tiny filing room with him.
He
clears
his throat and
steps
up beside me, waiting for
the elevator as well.

 

“You know, I’ve never seen an office assistant so
dedicated to work they get lost in filing.”

 

“Are you making fun of me?”

 

“No, just merely pointing out that your job must be very
thrilling” he
says deadpan
and
turns
his face slightly as he
grins
down at me.

 

“You do realise that if it weren’t for people like me
your filing wouldn’t get done and this whole office would be in chaos.”

 

His grin
seems
to
only grow
at my mocking tone
and finally the elevator
arrives
on our floor
,
making
a soft ding as the shiny doors open in front of us.

 

He
gestures
for me to go ahead of him
like a gentleman,
so I step in and press the button for the ground floor.
He
takes
a step in beside me and
stands
unexpectedly close to me
, considering how much room there is in the elevator
.
I can feel how warm he is, and surprisingly I’m
picturing myself untucking his shirt and ripping it open. I really hope it’s
just his cologne messing with my head. Instead I opt to stare at the elevator
doors, going through the different ways one can break in to a standard class
125 safe - just to keep my dirty thoughts at bay.
Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts.

 

“What do you say to a quick drink then to celebrate
."

 

"Celebrate?"

 

"Celebrate
your
ability to keep
the
office chaos to a minimum?”

 

Dammit he seems like a funny guy, as well as a
good-looking one but looking at the way he’s dressed immaculately, I can tell
he’s a wealthy one too. I can’t go there for so many reasons. Firstly, I’d just
be dragging him into a whole world of trouble and sin, and secondly he’d just
distract me from what I really need to keep a clear head about; so I opt for
being a bitch instead.

 

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me yet
again
,
or just flirting very
unsuccessfully.”

 

He
runs
his
hand down his face
trying to hold in a laugh no doubt, and as the elevator
reaches
the ground floor he
extends
his hand to press the car
park floor button.
I see his wallet
peek out from his back pocket and I can’t resist the urge to take what isn’t
mine; maybe just sheer curiosity - I swear I’ll give it back.

 

“Night, Kayla.”

 

I quickly duck out the elevator and give him a small
smile in response as the doors slide shut behind me. I feel bad for judging him
when we’ve only just met,
but
Carter
certainly
comes
off as the
fuck-them-and-leave-them kind of guy that’ll give you a great wild ride and
never call you again.
I consider for the
briefest second of having a no-strings-attached kind of relationship with
Carter, but in the end decide I really don’t need that sort of bullshit right
now.

 

I
have
to
keep my head
on the task ahead,
right now especially because
I’m
so close
- so close to the depths of Hell that I can hear the
faint whispers from Satan himself; and by Hell I mean Abram’s office and
therefore Abram himself. Lucifer would have been a much more fitting name for
him.

 

“Hey
Bunny
,
you want a
beer
?”
yells
my roommate
, Alek,
from the kitchen as I close
the door behind me
. Yes…he calls me
Bunny, because as a young kid himself upon my arrival he fully agreed with my
decision to name myself Bunny. I think he was more devastated than I was when
my uncle said no.

 

“God yes
, maybe even
something stronger.

 

“Bad day huh?” he
asks
as he
comes
into the living room
after a few minutes, holding two small glasses full of
ice and vodka.

BOOK: Lace and Sin (Sinners Series Book 1)
13.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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