By Sin to Atone (Sinners Duet #1) Read Online Natasha Knight

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Billionaire, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: Sinners Duet Series by Natasha Knight
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Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
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“Either way, at least one person knows our father’s death was no accident,” Jericho says.

I nod.

“I don’t trust she’s telling the whole truth, Zeke.”

“Oh, I know she’s not,” I say.

He seems surprised.

“She has a tell when she lies. She knows where the external drive is.”

“Does she know who commissioned her father?” Jericho asks.

“I don’t think so.”

Robbie sits down, closes the lid on the laptop. “Not much more I can do without the drive.”

“Let’s confirm first if Wyatt is the man who was at her house,” Jericho says. “Then we’ll know if the Councilors are involved.

“How?”

“Isabelle and I are attending a charity dinner at The Society tomorrow night. I’ll add two to the table.”

26

Blue

Zeke tells me the following day about the charity dinner taking place at The Society that night. I’m not exactly thrilled by the idea, especially of potentially seeing the man who attacked me, but it’s the only way to know for sure if it was him which will tell us something about who wants what my father stole.

This whole thing is a little insane. The fact that the gun was registered to IVI, that it is someone from inside this creepy secret society who’d hired my father to steal whatever files he stole. It’s a lot to take in.

“I need something from you,” I say to Zeke once we’re finished discussing the event.

“What’s that?”

“I need you to move Wren and Rudy.”

“I have guards stationed⁠—”

“I’d feel better if she was somewhere new. Someone could have followed us to the care facility. I saw you checking the rear-view mirror after we left them and, well, I’d rather not take a chance with her. You said you’d help us. I’m asking you to help.”

It takes him a minute, but he nods. “Where?”

“There’s another facility nearby. It’s called the Margaret Stone Center. It’s supposed to be good.”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“Do you think we could get her in there? And Rudy as her private nurse? Could you get that done, I mean, you being a St. James and all,” I say that last part loftily.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

I nod. Thank him. The day passes remarkably slowly and, in the evening, when I return to my room from wandering around the house, I find a stunning black satin corset gown hangs on the back of my bedroom door. Soft feathers line the low bodice, and the dress is cut to accentuate every curve. The skirt is split high along the front of one thigh and a pair of heels with feathers matching those on the dress sits on the floor. It’s all very beautiful and also very much not me. At least nothing I’ve ever worn before or could imagine myself in, but looking at it, it makes me want to put it on.

“Your hair wasn’t blue when you were sixteen, right?” Zeke asks as I gently brush my fingers along the delicate feathers, the soft satin.

I shake my head. “I dyed it when I got to New Orleans. I don’t think he’d recognize me. I was a late bloomer so I looked like a kid. What about Craven or any of the men from The Cat House seeing me?”

Zeke shrugs a shoulder. “Let them.” He checks his watch. “Get dressed. We’ll leave in half an hour.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“You’ll be safe.” His phone rings and he walks out of the bedroom to take the call, closing the door behind him.

I pull the dress off the hanger, lay it on the bed and strip off my clothes. The tag is still hanging on the dress. It’s from an exclusive boutique I have walked by once or twice in town. One of those places I’d definitely feel awkward to walk into. My eyes bulge when I see the price. Did he buy this for me? For one night? Did he spend this much money on such an impractical dress?

“Rich people.” I shake my head but there’s a part of me that’s pleased. That’s excited to put the dress on. To wear the heels and to feel beautiful.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror over the dresser, take in my short, blue and black hair, the scar that is not quite invisible although well camouflaged.

I am not beautiful. And this is not a date. I need to remember that. I strip off my things and slip the dress over my head. It’s a perfect fit, as I knew it would be. He has a good eye for size. The cut of the dangerously low bodice accentuates my breasts, pressing them from beneath to make them swell over the top of the dress.

A small clutch that matches the dress sits beside the shoes and I pick it up, dig the flash drive out of my jeans pocket and stash it inside.


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