The Good Bad Girl, page 1
Bjornssen
The Abbey is a neutral space in the midst of a lawless city and I stand as its steward. Anointed by the High Power and answerable only to the Bishop, I keep the peace. Sometimes people try to bribe me with gifts—property, cash…people. None of that interest me. After all, I’m a man of the cloth. I’ve said my vows and abide by them and I have never, ever been tempted to stray. This new gift might break me. She might make me forsake my vows. She’s definitely leading me down the road to sin.
Angel
Okay, I was dumb. In my attempt to protect my friend, I got kidnapped and dropped on the doorstep of some…church like place? I don’t really know. The stone mansion is surrounded by high walls and the windows are made of stained glass. There’s a man here with wearing vestments and oh, I’m going to hell for the things I’m thinking about him. Truth be told, though, I need to get out of here because I’m worried if I stay, I’ll never want to leave.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Bjornsson
Chapter 2
Angel
Chapter 3
Bjornsson
Chapter 4
Angel
Chapter 5
Bjornsson
Chapter 6
Angel
Chapter 7
Bjornsson
Chapter 8
Angel
Chapter 9
Bjornsson
Chapter 10
Angel
Chapter 11
Bjornsson
Chapter 12
Angel
Chapter 13
Bjornsson
Chapter 14
Angel
Chapter 15
Bjornsson
Chapter 16
Angel
Chapter 17
Bjornsson
Chapter 18
Angel
Chapter 19
Bjornsson
Epilogue
Also by Ella Goode
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CHAPTER 1
BJORNSSON
“You’re a priest?” shouts the girl when I enter the small antechamber where my staff has placed Kane Santino’s gift. I stop short when I see her. Jet black hair, honey complexion, eyes as dark as my soul. Her sneaker-clad feet dangle in front of her. Idly, I speculate on her age. Old enough to know better, but too young to be here, I conclude. I rein in my galloping imagination and reply, “Is there a problem?”
“No priest I know would tie a girl to a chair.” She jerks against the bonds.
I drag a finger along my white collar. If she knew, she’d probably scream in anger. She has all the hallmarks of a good girl, which means she’s off limits to someone like me. I place a hand on her head. “Careful, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Unless she likes that. Unless the slight bit of pain would make her body clench with excitement and anticipation. Unless the bite of a strap or the hot drip of candle wax brought out moans of pleasure. Then she could hurt herself. Or I could do it for her. I make a careful fist with my hand, squeezing my fingers tightly until need loosens its grip on my neck.
“As if you care.” She jerks again with an angry scowl etched into her brow. Not even those lines can mar her prettiness. She probably looks like an angel when she cries. Men have laid treasures at her feet before. I’m sure of it. Where did Santino find her and what was important about her? That’s more important than anything. I don’t want to have to fight his organization. I laid down my weapons long ago. Someone in this dirty world needed to be an arbitrator, a Switzerland, and why not me? Of course, I had to snuff out a few contrarians, but no one opposes my position now. Everyone has acknowledged the necessity that is Father Bjornsson and the Chapel. In the past, people would’ve brought this girl to my doorway as a prize. No one does that anymore since these are the types of sinful things I’ve rejected.
I capture her jaw in my palm and turn her face from left to right. “You look too fine to be caught up in Santino’s messes. Although my advice might be too late, hmmm?”
“How about you then? Are you just the right amount of ugly to be doing business with this Santino guy?”
I burst out laughing. “Yes, of course. No one likes this face.” I lightly slap my cheek. The girl flushes and averts her gaze. I’ve been called a lot of things in the past—heartless, amoral, ruinous—but not ugly. I’m amused. “What part of my features bothers you the most?”
“Any guy who has to ask for compliments is a guy with a small dick.” She sniffs.
“A small, wicked guy would feel the need to disprove this immediately.” I tilt my head to the side and catch her eyes. “I’m not here to hurt you, Angel, but there’s a girl at Kane Santino’s home. You have a relationship with her. Why don’t you share with Father Bjornsson all the details? You can consider it your confession for the week.”
Silence descends as the girl’s mouth remains stubbornly closed. I could pry it open. I have my hands, the pills in my pocket, and the belt around my black wool pants, but I do nothing. I let the silence hang between us like a heavy cloud. This girl has a sweetness about her, an innocence that you can almost feel. It stirs something primitive inside of me. I’m not a man given to reckless impulses. I’ve built my empire on steady, thoughtful decisions. It has made me reliable to people in all walks of life. If there’s a problem that you can’t solve, call the Chapel.
“I’m not a bad man. Just someone who needs a small piece of information. Tell me who the girl is, and you can go free.”
“Right. Like you’re going to let me out of here unharmed and that’s why I’m tied up? I’ve seen this movie before. Once you reveal your face, the person in the chair dies, and I’m the person in the chair.”
“I don’t care that you’ve seen me. Please feel free to tell others everything you have observed here at the Chapel.” I walk around behind her and loosen the ropes. There are red marks where she struggled against her bindings. I cough into my fist to hide a groan. Fuck, that’s sexy. I want to tie her up in a million different ways with a million different ropes. Her body would look perfect framed by a harness of silk bindings and knots, hung from the middle of my ceiling so that I could taste her any time I was hungry. I suspect my appetite would be unquenchable.
“I take it you are going to keep your secrets?” I manage to squeeze out in a somewhat light tone.
“I’m not telling you anything, that’s for sure.” Her small chin points up to the ceiling. “You can keep me tied here for a week and I’ll still have my lips sealed.”
“I’ve untied you,” I reply.
“What?” She raises her arms, looking at both hands in surprise as if she can’t believe she’s free. When recognition sets in, she hops to her feet and runs over to rip open the door. I follow her sedately as she races down the hall. I suppose she thinks she is going to find an exit, but the Chapel is a maze of rooms, and there is only one way out. Unfortunately for her, it is well guarded.
Lars, who was standing guard at the door, peers at the girl’s back as she runs away from us. “Do I need to fetch her?”
“No.”
“Get the information that you need?”
“Yes and no.”
He nods and then after a moment, “Should I send her back to Santino?”
“Of course not. She’s mine now.”
CHAPTER 2
ANGEL
My heart races as I run down the long, beautiful hallway with stained glass windows and overdone art with frames that look like they weigh more than I do. A sadness hits me that I can’t stop to appreciate their beauty, but this may be my only chance to escape.
I swear this place looks like it has been dropped out of Rome or something. Not that I’ve ever been. The closest I’ll ever get will be Google Earth and what I’ve read in books. My imagination will have to suffice because I definitely don’t have the means for a trip like that.
A rush of relief fills me when I hit the end of the hallway. I can either go left or right. I follow my instincts and go right. They’ve never failed me before, so I’m hoping that luck stays with me. I glance behind me but don’t see the priest guy anywhere in sight. I pick up my pace anyway, making sure to keep ahead of him. It’s not long before the end of the hallway is upon me. I choose to go right again.
I try to take in my surroundings as I continue to walk. Light pours in from the doors in front of me. I take off on a dead run again. I hold my hands out to push through them. Unable to help myself, I glance behind me as the doors fall closed but don’t see anyone.
I smirk. I made it. The sun warms my face. I drop my head back to look up. Glass covers the ceiling, letting the light pour in.
“The hell.” I glance around. A fountain sits in the center of a garden. Flowers overflow the giant encased room. I haven’t escaped. “Fuck.”
“That’s no way to speak inside of a church.” I spin around to see the priest that I thought let me go but obviously not. It was all a game.
“Are you even a priest or preacher?” I growl. To be honest, I don’t know the difference. A few foster parents I had growing up dragged us to church here and there. It was hard to believe when I saw the awful things they did, but still every Sunday they’d go and pray away their sins.
Bullshit. They could pray till the day they die, and I’ll still remember some of the things I saw them do. They should be given no forgiveness. Jail or death would be the only suitable outcomes for them.
“I try to keep the peace.”
I knew i t. There is no way this guy is a real priest. He is way too handsome to be celibate. They’re supposed to be celibate, right? That’s how it works. They’re married to their God from what I know. Actually, I think some of them can get married, but I don’t see a ring on his finger.
“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” I should have known when he untied me so easily. I can still feel the ropes against my skin.
The burn of them didn’t hurt. In fact, I might have enjoyed it. I didn't get the feeling I was about to be tortured. I’ve got to stop hanging out in the library so much reading dirty books. But the library has always been my safe place. A place of solace. It’s how I met Laurel.
“You have two options. Either give me the information or you stay.”
“Why can’t you let me go?” I plead.
“Because Santino will have you picked right back up, and who knows where he might send you next.”
I swallow.
It was ballsy to storm into Kane Santino’s home, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Laurel was gone. I failed her. I knew her father wasn’t treating her right. I noticed over time that things with him got worse and worse. She stopped coming to the library or leaving home. Her whole world was that little apartment over the dry cleaners her father owned. She’d been wilting away.
Slowly, I tried to lure her out and convince her to run with me. Then she fell into Santino's hands. One of the most feared men in the city. If I had gotten her away from her father sooner, that would have never happened.
“I’ll never give you what you're asking of me. So I guess I’d better make myself comfortable.” I jut my chin out.
“Then shall I show you to your room?”
“What?” My brows raise, but I try to quickly hide my surprise. That wasn’t what I thought he was going to say. Honestly, I wasn't sure what his next move would be. He’s clearly not the normal man of the cloth.
“You said you wanted to get comfortable.”
“You’re serious?” His expression doesn’t change, answering my question without words. “So I’m a prisoner.”
“You have the key. Use it at any time.”
“You’ll have to pry it from my dead hand.” I give him my best glare.
“Dead men tell no tales.”
“Pretty sure yours does. Got a whole book or somethin’.” I stride past him, keeping my shoulders back. His mouth forms a line. I don’t know if I’ve pissed him off or he’s fighting a smile. I’ll take either as a small victory. “Got a name, or does everyone call you Father?”
“Some.”
“What about Daddy?” I wiggle my brows. I’m pushing it, and I know it, but I can’t help it. I’m frustrated, and I want someone to be angry with me.
“If you wish. What shall I call you?”
“Prisoner 69.”
“You’re blushing.” He opens the door for me. “Come on, Angel, before you bite off more than you can chew.”
“Are you sure it’s me that’s bitten off more than I can chew?” I challenge. He steps right into me, taking up all the space, his body pressing flush against mine. I should step back, but I don’t. The air in my lungs freezes when I feel the outline of his cock against my stomach.
“Don’t tempt me, Angel.” He leans down. His warm breath tickles across my lips. “I will bite.”
Okay, maybe it is me that has bitten off more than I can chew.
CHAPTER 3
BJORNSSON
“You put her in the Mary room and are feeding her gourmet meals?” Lars frowns. “Should I beat her after dinner?”
“I’d prefer you did not. I like you, Lars, and if you were to hurt her, I would have to cut your throat.” I carve a piece of meat off for myself and shove a bloody piece of wagyu into my mouth.
“What do you plan to do with her? She’s not talking, and Santino will call us.”
“Santino has his own pigeon from which to squeeze his information. He doesn’t need this girl, and at some point, when his dick isn’t dominating his thought process, he’ll realize it.” I eat the last piece of meat and then finish my glass of burgundy. A light chime sounds in the room, signaling an arrival. “Is it that time already?” I glance at my watch. It’s seven, which means Abbott Emerson has arrived. I wipe my mouth and push back my chair.
Lars immediately moves toward the door. My bodyguard takes his job seriously. Abbott Emerson is waiting in the reception room. His slight body is shrouded in his black robes. When his eyes fall on my collar, a small smile touches the corners of his eyes. He holds out his hands. “I see you are keeping the faith.”
I take those old, liver-spotted hands in mine and bend deeply until my forehead hovers just above the backs of them. “As always.”
He removes one hand and places it at the back of my head. “You’re doing well, disciple.” He presses in a downward motion. I take the hint and kneel and raise my cupped palms upward. A small object, a wafer, is placed in them. Abbott Emerson says a blessing. When he is finished, I bring the cupped hands to my mouth and inhale the wafer. Closing my eyes, I give thanks for having caught my very own angel. Lars steps to my side and places a check in Abbott Emerson’s palm. “For the Church, from the Chapel.”
The older man peeks at the amount. Once his curiosity is satisfied, he pockets the offering and takes a seat in the middle of the upholstered sofa. I fill a crystal glass nearly to the brim with thirty-year-old whiskey and hand it to him before taking my own seat.
He savors the first deep gulp before saying, “Whenever I visit, I think it will be my last. How can someone with so many temptations remain pure?”
“I take it you have heard that Kane Santino sent me a gift.”
“A gift? More like a siren.” Abbott Emerson leans forward. “Son, you have made it to thirty without a blemish in your history. You’ve maintained the Chapel like a monastery. Your gifts to the Church are generous. Do not allow your soul to be tainted.”
I rub a finger across my lower lip. The Church does not care if I steal or murder, but lie with a woman and I will be excommunicated.
“My soul remains pure, Abbott, but thank you for watching over me.” I lift my hand, and Lars steps forward with another check. “Please accept this additional gift as penance for any sins I may have overlooked.”
Abbot discreetly clocks the amount before tucking the check away. Since he doesn’t make any remarks, whatever amount Lars put there must cover the amount of sinning Abbott presumes I’ve done.
“Let’s put aside this topic and talk about something else,” Abbott suggests. For the remainder of the visit, he touches on a number of topics from how the current mayor displeases him to his future trip to the motherland. Before he leaves, he blesses the Chapel. “You’re doing well here, Father Bjornsson. Please take good care of yourself as I don’t want to lose even a single member of my flock.”
“That sounds like a threat,” Lars says after closing the door behind the swishing black robes of the Abbott.
“Institutions with international ties always feel that they are more important than local chapters.” I dump the whiskey into the trash and then, after a moment of consideration, toss the glass in there as well.
“They never know what’s happening in their backyards,” Lars complains.
“That’s a good thing.” The less the Church knows about my organization, the better. If they knew the scope of my holdings, it would present a problem, and they would send people in to remove some of my possessions, to try to prove their power over me.
“How much was in the second check?” I ask.
“A couple of zeros,” Lars replies. “I didn’t think you had sinned too badly, but maybe next visit, it will be three zeros.”
“You have no faith in me?” I hadn’t realized my reaction to Angel was that obvious.
“Every man has a weakness.”
“Speaking of, how is the angel doing?”
“She didn’t eat much,” Lars says.
