Page 81 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

“That’s not⁠—”

Dominic grins. “You walked into that one.”

I would retaliate, but I’m secretly proud that he said that in English. He must be practicing.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifts. The men around me tense.

“Fuck me.” Zeke backhands my chest. His gaze focuses on something over my shoulder. Wesley does too, his eyes widening. Even Dom stares.

Mercy.

I know it without turning. No one else has this effect on a room. Someone on the other team wolf whistles. Footsteps slap across the wet deck behind me, louder each time.

Half afraid, half filled with anticipation, I slowly turn, and suddenly there is no life. No air. No heart pumping in my chest. Nothing exists except for the woman walking toward me in a red two-piece. It is the kind of swimwear made for sports, cut from thick Lycra. It’s not particularly revealing, but on her … it is merely a red flag pointing to the shapely curves it contains. The top boosts her ample breasts, lifting them precariously close to spilling. Okay. I was wrong. It is revealing. It just does it effortlessly.

The flat of her stomach flashes hardened muscles when she walks, hinting at the strength she’s honed from training. Her hips and thighs are too womanly for the bottom half of the swimsuit, turning what is probably modest on slimmer frames into a high-cut tease.

Still looping her long hair into a topknot, she smirks at whoever whistled from the bench.

All the while, I am rooted to the spot, staring like a teenager with no control of my hormones. The woman is every man’s wet dream come to life, and she knows it.

“You’re fucked.”

Zeke’s voice startles me.

I manage to compose my wits before Mercy arrives, but my palms are already sweaty. My mouth is dry. How am I to grapple with her when there is only flesh to take? A horrifying thought hits me when I see the old circle of bruises around her thighs—how am I to feel anything other than disgust at myself for adding to the marks on her skin?

This is a mistake, I try to say. But the words don’t come out because she is here.

She is here, standing before me, smelling like a floral drug and a sin rolled into one.

“I’m ready,” she purrs.

I don’t realize I’m staring until her lips move. I lift my gaze. This is when I notice the new makeup. Mascara, eyeliner, blush. It’s subtle but designed to accentuate her already beautiful features. She wore less this morning.

She wants to win, and I was always going to let her. But now I am wary of this new performance. This is the more twisted bella figura I am familiar with. The perfect mask of beauty we put on to hide the pain inside. It unsettles me. Reminds me of all the bitter memories I ran away from back home.

“Nice costume,” I manage to say.

“What, this old thing?” She smooths her hands over her hips. “It’s almost falling apart from the chlorine. I half expect it to disintegrate at the first sign of stress, but these girls need support.” She grabs her bust. Winks at me. “You know what I mean.”

This needs to happen now before I lose my nerve. Clearing my throat, I step toward the floating board. “You are ready, so let’s fight.”

“Oh, wait. Sorry.” She holds up a finger at me. “One moment, Father.”

Why does my cock twitch at that word, finally on her lips?

She spins and walks toward the bench, gesturing for Raven to join her at the section of the pool with the floating board. That’s all I notice because now I’m staring at Mercy’s shapely ass. The too-small bottom half of her swimsuit is even more obscene from this view. It gathers in the crease of her buttocks, riding up to reveal tantalizing dimpled flesh. Not the ass of a teenager, or a wafer-thin model, but all woman. Meat for my teeth.

A wave of hot, prickly arousal washes over me, and I close my eyes.

The stakes of this fight have changed.

Violence, pain, sin … these things I can swallow up like an appetizer. Sex, pleasure, lust? They are the mist over the water, hiding the dangerous deep. But is it dangerous if she is there to pull me out?

Yes, it is.

It is.