By Sin to Atone, page 1
By Sin To Atone
A Forced Proximity Secret Society Romance
Sinners Duet
Book 1
Natasha Knight
Contents
About This Book
Note From the Author
Prologue
1. Blue
2. Ezekiel
3. Blue
4. Ezekiel
5. Blue
6. Ezekiel
7. Ezekiel
8. Ezekiel
9. Blue
10. Ezekiel
11. Blue
12. Ezekiel
13. Blue
14. Ezekiel
15. Blue
16. Ezekiel
17. Blue
18. Ezekiel
19. Blue
20. Blue
21. Ezekiel
22. Blue
23. Ezekiel
24. Blue
25. Ezekiel
26. Blue
27. Ezekiel
28. Blue
29. Ezekiel
30. Blue
Thank you
Also by Natasha Knight
About Natasha Knight
Copyright © 2024 by Natasha Knight
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
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Cover photo by Wander Aguiar
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About This Book
I crossed him. Now he owns me.
* * *
When I tried to blackmail Ezekiel St. James, I thought it would be easy.
* * *
But I had no idea who I was dealing with.
* * *
The moment his steel-grey eyes locked on mine, I knew the game was over.
* * *
He knew exactly who I was. What I’d done.
* * *
And he wasn’t going to let me walk away.
* * *
With his immense wealth and power, he had me kidnapped.
* * *
He could make me disappear.
* * *
I’m no easy prey, though, and it’s not just my life on the line. I have to protect my sister.
* * *
But when I’m hurt, he does the unexpected. He takes care of me.
* * *
In some twisted way, he sees his atonement in me.
* * *
Desperate and vulnerable, I need protection. He offers his, but it will come at a cost.
* * *
His terms are as grey as his morals. I’ll be his in every way.
* * *
But when he touches me, my skin catches fire.
* * *
And there’s something inside me that wants to belong to him.
Note From the Author
The Sinners Duet is set in the world of The Society (officially known as IVI) and tells the story of Ezekiel St. James. We first meet Ezekiel in the Devil’s Pawn Duet, but you can read The Sinners Duet without having read any other books in this world.
IVI
Imperium Valens Invictum
The story you are about to enjoy is set in the world of The Society created by A. Zavarelli and Natasha Knight. Although you do not need to read any other books to follow this story, here is a brief description of what IVI is and how it operates.
Imperium Valens Invictum, or IVI for short, is Latin for Strong Unconquered Power. The organization is frequently referred to by its members as The Society.
We are a well-established organization rooted in powerful dynasties around the world. Some call us thieves in the night. A criminal syndicate. Mafia. The truth is much more intricate than any of those simplistic terms.
Our ancestors learned long ago there was power in secrecy. The legacy handed down to us was much more evolved than that of the criminals waging war on each other in the streets. We have money. We have power. And we are much more sophisticated than your average knee-breaking Italian mob boss.
IVI holds its members in the highest regard. With that power comes expectation. Education. Professionalism. And above all, discretion. By day, we appear as any other well-bred member of society. They don’t and never will know the way our organization operates.
Thirteen families founded the ancient society. These families are held in the highest regard and referred to as the Upper Echelon. These are the Sovereign Sons and Daughters of The Society.
The Society has its own judicial branch, The Tribunal, that operates outside the norms of what is acceptable in the world today. Its laws are the final law for Society members.
The Society will go to great lengths to protect its members from the outside world but their expectations are often higher and sentences handed down from The Tribunal often harsher if even, at times, Medieval.
Welcome to The Society…
Prologue
Ezekiel
I know what you did.
Ice clinks against the crystal tumbler. I lift it to my mouth and sip the whiskey but don’t quite taste it. Don’t quite feel the numbing effects of it.
I read the text message for the hundredth time, tempted to reply, angrily staring at my screen as if it will give me an answer. A name. A fucking face.
I know what you did.
That’s it. Five words accompanied by a newspaper article about the accidental death of my father and his mistress.
Mother. Fucker.
“Mr. St. James?” a woman’s soft, slightly accented voice interrupts.
I shift my gaze up to the server who clears her throat, a blush already creeping along the pale skin of her neck.
Nora.
I check my expression, force a smile.
“Yes, Nora?”
“The gentleman you were expecting is here to see you, sir.”
I glance at my wristwatch and nod to her. That pink hue blooms, coloring her cheeks. She’s sweet. Young. Pretty. Very pretty. And far too inexperienced for her own good. There’s a part of me that knows I should warn her. Tell her to stay away from the men who frequent this club. Men like me. But I’m too selfish for that. And nowhere near good enough to do it.
“Show him to my table.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And make sure we’re not interrupted, will you?”
“Yes, sir.” She turns to go, hesitates.
“What is it, Nora?” I ask, trying to keep the impatience from my tone.
“Um. I was wondering if you’d perhaps need me later?” she asks, a note of optimism in her voice even as she swallows the last part.
That pink deepens to crimson. She’s embarrassed.
“You’re sweet to ask, but no. Not tonight,” I say.
She blinks, looks every which way but at me. “Oh. I…” She finally clears her throat and is able to meet my gaze once more. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“Let’s not keep my guest waiting, Nora. You know how I feel about being made to wait.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” She nearly trips in her rush to get to the door. I don’t even watch her go. I look at my phone instead. At that fucking message that has stolen the little joy I have these days. But when I hear the overly exaggerated twang that can only belong to Robbie Shetland, I tuck the phone into my pocket and watch him enter, charming Nora. He towers over her with his big cowboy boots, the signature fur coat he inherited from his granddaddy, as he likes to tell the story, the black hat still on his head. He catches my eye but there’s no break in his monologue.
The other patrons turn to take in the large, loud American who clearly doesn’t belong. Eden 9.5 is a high-end bar known for its many shadowy corners. It’s tucked in an out-of-the-way alley in Amsterdam’s Red Light District. Hidden in plain sight, it doesn’t draw the multitude of tourists who frequent the district.
Robbie tips his hat to someone whose eye he catches, and I study the way he makes himself appear so casually unaware. So fucking clueless and not at all like the man he is. In reality, I am sure he’s cataloged all the faces in this room already. He has that kind of memory. I’m certain he will know all their names by tomorrow morning.
I stand, adjust a shirtsleeve. The polished Montblanc cufflink gleams when it catches the light.
“Robbie,” I say, stepping around the small table. I extend my hand in greeting. “Pleasure to see you again.”
He shakes my hand. “Pleasure’s all mine,” he says, then turns to Nora. “Truly. All the pleasure is mine.” He bends to kiss the inside of her wrist and I almost roll my eyes.
“Nora if you’ll take Mr. Shetland’s coat and hat?” I ask.
“Yes, sir,” she says as Robbie slips his coat off and hands both it and his hat to her.
“You take good care of that, sweetheart,” he says with a wink.
“I will, sir. Can I bring you anything else?” she asks, but there’s a bottle of whiskey and a second tumbler already waiting on the table.
“Looks like I’ve got ever
Nora nods, turns and walks away.
Robbie watches her go. “Sweet little piece.”
“Inexperienced,” I tell him.
“Lucky for her, I’m a very patient teacher.” He settles into the chair across from mine.
I take my seat. “Remind me again why you make such a spectacle of yourself,” I say, pouring Robbie a whiskey before picking up my glass and leaning back in the deep, comfortable leather chair.
He glances around the room. Most of the patrons have resumed their conversations although a few still glance his way. He smiles, says a howdy to one, gaze steady. The man who was looking down his nose at Robbie clears his throat and turns away.
“Don’t know what you mean. I’m just a loud American tourist,” he says to me, sipping his drink.
“Right.”
He shrugs. “Better for me if everyone thinks I am at least. Easier, considering my line of work.”
He’s right about that. Robbie Shetland is one of the most cunning men I know. He came from nothing, no, less than nothing. His mother and sister probably cleaned toilets for men like those sitting here tonight. The elite of the elite with more money and privilege than brains. And he has a way of finding people who don’t want to be found. He’s known within The Society. Although not a member himself, he has worked privately for several members. It’s one of the reasons we’re meeting here tonight and not at a Society venue. I don’t want anyone knowing my business.
“What do you have for me?” I ask.
He takes a single, folded sheet of paper out of his pocket. It’s crumpled and he makes a point of setting it on the table and flattening out the creases.
“It’s fine.” I pick it up and when I see what’s on it, I raise my eyebrows. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” It’s some sort of computer-generated code I can’t make heads or tails of.
“That piece of paper tells us where those emails originated.”
I glance again at the sheet as he points out a couple of things and starts explaining.
“I don’t want a lesson in reading code. That’s why I hired you. I just need the answers.”
“I’m getting to it. You ready for this?” He pauses for dramatic effect. “The email you received originated from New Orleans.”
“What?” I ask. Judging from the look on his face, the shock must be evident on mine.
“From an unremarkable little apartment in a part of town I’m sure you, being Society folk, don’t frequent.”
“New Orleans?” Dread claws my gut.
“Oh, forgot one more thing.” He digs around in his pockets and takes out another crumpled piece of paper. “Here she is.” He unfolds the sheet and hands it to me. “Coincidence of coincidences, turns out she’s an employee of The Cat House.”
I take it from him. It’s a grainy, black and white printout on cheap paper.
“The Cat House? As in, The Society Cat House?”
“One and the same. Hell of a coincidence.”
“And it’s a woman?” I try to make my eyes focus on the page, take in the shoulder-length dark hair, the big eyes on the woman’s unsmiling face.
“Women do blackmail. We live in modern times. Equal opportunity and all that.”
I shift my gaze back to him. “You sure this is correct? If she works at the Cat House—”
“Not in the way you think.” He winks, chuckles while shaking his head. “Dirty devil. She serves drinks.”
I look again at the sheet of paper. “This is the best photo you could come up with?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Hotel’s printer was nearly out of ink.”
I study the printout more closely. “How old is she?” she barely looks to be eighteen.
“Twenty-seven according to her ID.”
“Right.” This girl is not twenty-seven. It’s a fake, obviously. “What do you know about her?”
“Her name, well, I should say the name she gave HR, do you all have HR?” he asks, pausing. I raise my eyebrows. “I digress. The name she gave whoever hired her is Blue Masterson. She doesn’t have a social media profile, no on-line presence at all, in fact. Very odd especially for someone her age. That there is her employee mug shot.”
I look from the photo to him. “Blue Masterson. Even that sounds fake.”
“Blue moved to a shitty little apartment in NOLA about six months ago.” Six months. The first email only showed up around two months ago.
“From where?”
“Don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“No paper trail but I’m still searching.”
I look at the picture again. She’s attractive. Like all the things that are bad for you are attractive. Her gaze is sharp, clever and cautious in that way people who are hiding something have. I know it well.
“Are you sure it’s her?” She just seems too young. Too poor. Too much not a part of the world I come from.
“I don’t make mistakes, Zeke.”
“Ezekiel.” Only my mother, my brother and my niece call me Zeke. Zoë used to. Not sure she’d ever even said my full name.
“Ezekiel. Pardon me.”
I blink to clear the memory of Zoë. “It’s fine.”
“Blue Masterson has managed to erase her past. She’s better at it than most which is surprising. Dig as I might, I don’t get any hits. Like she didn’t exist until she showed up in New Orleans. The only thing I’ve managed to find are monthly payments to the Oakwood Care Center.”
My forehead creases. “What’s that?”
“Psychiatric hospital.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t know more just yet. All that fucking patient privacy and this place actually has decent online security.”
I sit back looking at the strange girl’s face, her narrowed eyes. She looks like she’s telling off the photographer. “So, she’s using a fake name. Fake papers. But if she works at IVI, she’d have been vetted.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “If you say so.” He finishes the whiskey in his glass and reaches to pour himself another. “I’ll be sticking around here a few days. Never been to Amsterdam, you know. But I’m guessing you’ll be heading back to New Orleans pronto.”
“It appears so.”
“I jotted her schedule down on the back of that photo.”
I turn it over. “You’ll keep looking into Ms. Masterson.” I get to my feet, taking out my wallet and dropping some bills onto the table for Nora.
“I wouldn’t consider my job done until I figure out who the hell she is.”
“I want to know everything there is to know about this woman. Every fucking detail.”
“You got it.”
“You know how to reach me.”
He nods and I turn and walk away.
1
Blue
24 Hours Later
* * *
I sip cold, burnt coffee, and scan my phone, refreshing the screen. Waiting. Still waiting. I should have had the money by now. Actually, Ezekiel St. James should have made the deposit weeks ago. But nothing. I sent another message this morning telling him not to play hard to get. Mentioning going public with my information in an attempt to light a fire under his rich ass. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money. Hell, a man like him will hardly miss 100K. For me, that money could mean the difference between life and death.
