Sin too book two of the.., p.1
Sin Too: Book Two of the Sin Series, page 1
SIN TOO
By S.J. Tilly
Sin Too
Sin Series Book Two
Copyright © S.J. Tilly 2021
All rights reserved.
First published in 2021
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover: James Adkinson
Editor: M. Penna
This book is dedicated to Oscar.
You had to leave before this book was over, and it broke my goddamn heart.
But you’ll always be my guardian. My ride or fucking die.
Writing creates new realities. And in every one of my worlds, you’re there with me.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
BETH
CHAPTER TWO
BETH
CHAPTER THREE
BETH
CHAPTER FOUR
BETH
CHAPTER FIVE
BETH
CHAPTER SIX
BETH
CHAPTER SEVEN
BETH
CHAPTER EIGHT
ANGELO
CHAPTER NINE
BETH
CHAPTER TEN
BETH
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BETH
CHAPTER TWELVE
BETH
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BETH
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BETH
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ANGELO
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BETH
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ANGELO
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ANGELO
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BETH
CHAPTER TWENTY
BETH
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BETH
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ANGELO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
BETH
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BETH
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
BETH
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
BETH
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ANGELO
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
BETH
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ANGELO
CHAPTER THIRTY
BETH
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ANGELO
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
BETH
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ANGELO
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
BETH
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
BETH
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
BETH
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
BETH
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
ANGELO
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
BETH
CHAPTER FORTY
ANGELO
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
ANGELO
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
BETH
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
BETH
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
BETH
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
BETH
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
ANGELO
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
BETH
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
BETH
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
BETH
CHAPTER FIFTY
BETH
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
ANGELO
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
BETH
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
BETH
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
BETH
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
ANGELO
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
BETH
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
ANGELO
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
BETH
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
ANGELO
CHAPTER SIXTY
BETH
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
ANGELO
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
BETH
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
ANGELO
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
BETH
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
BETH
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
BETH
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
ANGELO
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
BETH
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
BETH
CHAPTER SEVENTY
BETH
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
BETH
EPILOGUE
BETH
EPILOGUE II
JOHN (a few days before Christmas)
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Books by S.J. Tilly
CHAPTER ONE
BETH
T he throbbing in my head drags me from unconsciousness. The world I wake to is wrong. It hurts. Pain prickles down my limbs like little needles and there’s a pressure on my chest, like I’m being crushed. I reach out to touch my forehead, but something isn’t right. My arm is already raised, my hand is dangling above my head.
I concentrate on my eyes. After a few tries I’m able to slowly blink them open. The dim light surrounding me is cut through by a moving beam. I have to squint every time the bright light passes in front of me.
Upside down. I’m upside down. What in the hell…
As the acrid smell of burnt rubber and gasoline assault me, it all comes back. The screech of tires. The headlights streaking towards Patrick’s window. The ear splitting crunch of car meeting car. Then… nothing. We must have flipped.
Blackness tries to take me again. I can’t let it. This is bad. We need to get out of here.
“Patrick.” His name comes out as a croak, the attempt to speak causes a round of coughs to break from my chest. Each one hurting more than the last, and I work to control my breath.
My muscles aren’t cooperating. It’s hard to turn my head and I don’t know if it’s because I’m injured or if it’s because I’ve been suspended upside down by my seatbelt for who knows how long.
I swallow and try again. “Patrick.”
A groan from the driver’s seat the only reply.
I heave out a breath. He’s alive.
The beam of light cuts across my vision again and I try to focus on it. It seems a lot closer than the last time I remember seeing it. Is that a flashlight? Is someone already coming to help us?
“Lizzy?” Patrick’s voice sounds strained.
“I’m here. I’m here.” I get my head to turn and look at Patrick. My brain takes a moment to register all the blood. Too much blood. “Patrick. You’re hurt.”
“Lizzy.” He says my name again, but he’s looking out the window. The beam of light nearing.
His voice is shaking now, but not from pain. He sounds scared. “Look away.”
“What do you mean?” Panic is finally starting to claw its way through me.
He turns his neck to look at me. “Don’t watch this part. I don’t want you to watch this part.”
Past him, the approaching silhouettes sharpen. Since the car is upside down, I can’t see their heads, but I can see their hands. And the guns they’re holding.
I wake on a gasp. Clawing at my chest, trying to catch my breath.
My stupid sleep shirt is twisted around my body, strangling me. I wrestle it into place, fighting against the sweat that has it sticking to my chest.
Blinking at the ceiling, listening to the rumble of canine snores, I admit defeat.
“Fuck.”
Throwing back my quilt, I climb out of bed. I know I won’t get back to sleep now.
I pick my way around unpacked boxes and push all thoughts of that night out of my mind. I can’t go down that spiral. Not today.
Flipping on my bathroom light, I mentally pat myself on the back. The rest of the house might still be a disaster, but at least I had the foresight to get my en suite organized. En suite. I snort at the thought. This bathroom is half the size of my last one, complete with the brassy look of the 80’s. But it’s mine. I’ve adjusted to a lot over the past few months, but sharing a shower with a 16-year-old boy is not going to be on that list.
Once steam is billowing from the small stall, I step into the spray.
Waking up early wasn’t on the plan for today, but the added time means I’m showered, dressed, and have half the kitchen unpacked before Noah trudges out of his room and across the hall, into the bathroom. His bathroom.
Used to his routine by now, I time it so the waffles are popping out of the toaster a moment after he enters the kitchen. The dogs follow him in, noses leading them to their usual spot of begging at Noah’s feet. A 90-pound brindle Boxer, Bam, and Pebbles, a 120-pound white Great Dane, are both basically senior citizens, and motivated by little else than food.
“Good morning!” I force some extra cheer into my tone.
His reply is a grumble that might have been morning. I don’t press him. Instead, I slide the plate of food acro
“Eat up. We’re leaving in 10 minutes.” I tell him.
We eat in silence. Noah with his eyes half shut and me with my mind racing. My new job starts tomorrow, and I hope to have most of the house unpacked by then. Maybe once it’s all put away, we’ll eat at the dining table like a normal family. Maybe.
Exactly ten minutes later, Noah is standing next to the door, backpack in hand.
“Ready?” I ask, even though I can see that he is.
“Yeah.” Noah shrugs.
“Alrighty, let’s go.” I grab my purse and follow him out the door.
I probably should’ve pushed for him to bring a jacket. I’m sure his hoodie is plenty warm, but neither of us is used to November in Minnesota. I should have checked the forecast. That’s one more thing I’ll need to add to my daily routine.
Starting up the car, I hand my phone to Noah. He finds the podcast we’re currently listening to, a docu-series about serial killers, and we settle in for the drive. I’m not sure how we settled on this topic. It’s morbid, and unhealthy on so many levels, but it’s interesting. And since we both like it, it hardly seems worth fighting over.
It’s about a 20-minute drive to Noah’s new high school, which is in the next suburb over. There are closer schools to our new house, but open enrollment allowed me to get Noah into a school with a great hockey program. As far as I’m concerned, the trek is worth it if it makes Noah happy. He’s had so much turmoil, I’ll do whatever I can to put a smile back on his face.
Following the signs, I pull up to the front entrance of the school.
“Okay.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “Here we are.”
Noah’s lips pull back and I can’t tell if it’s a cringe or an attempt at a smile. “Here we are.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” My palms are sweating at the mere memory of starting at a new school.
He shakes his head, causing his shaggy, sandy colored hair to fall over his eyes.
I smile. “Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a haircut real quick?”
He rolls his emerald eyes. The act should make him look younger, but it gives him just the right amount of teenage rebellion. I feel like this damn kid is growing up right in front of me. Lord help the teenaged girls inside that school. His boyish good looks are only increasing with his recent voice change and growth spurt. His broody attitude will only make him that much more alluring to the poor teenaged hearts he encounters. He’s 16 going on 30, and I’m way too young for this shit.
“That’s a hard no," he replies, shaking his hair back out of his face.
“Alright.” I wring my hands in my lap, wanting to reach out and pull him into a hug, but not sure if it’d be welcome. “And don’t forget, according to the schedule your new coach sent over, you have dry land practice in the gym from 2:30 to 3:45. I’ll be waiting here when you’re done.”
Noah and I watch as the first students start to pull into the parking lot. We’re early on purpose since he still needs to find his locker. I had thought moving over Thanksgiving weekend was clever, but I didn’t realize it would keep us locked out of the school.
I lean over and elbow him. “If I find all the right pans today, I’ll make that potato thing you like for dinner.”
“Thanks, Li-... Beth.” Noah pales a little at the slip.
I plaster on a huge smile, ignoring the mistake. “Don’t thank me yet. With my luck, I’ll get stuck under a pile of discarded boxes, helpless until you hitchhike home and rescue me. Now go on, before I do something to embarrass you.”
Noah nods, then climbs out.
Watching him walk away, I see the shift take over his body. Spine straightening. Shoulders pulled back. Mask of calm and confidence firmly in place.
I’m wiping away a tear before I even realize what I’m doing. That poor boy. I can’t imagine starting at a new high school as a Sophomore. A new school in a new state is bad enough, but it’s not just that. It’s the middle of the school year. Or almost the middle, since there’s a month left in the semester. Doctored transcripts or not, the transition won’t be easy. Not to mention the fact that their hockey season started a week ago. Noah’s one true love. We couldn’t have the coach call his previous team, for obvious reasons, so he has to start at the bottom. Although young, Noah should be Varsity. But without references, he’s stuck taking an open position on JV with no promised ice time. I’ve no doubt he’ll blow the coach away with his speed and talent. But like everything else in recent history, he’s starting on the back foot, fighting for a chance, and all with a new last name.
I drop my forehead to the steering wheel. I can do this. I have to do this.
CHAPTER TWO
BETH
“O
kay, okay.” I grumble, kicking boxes out of my way. “If you pigs didn’t chug your water you wouldn’t need to go out all the freaking time.”
I put a hand up, forcing the beasts to wait for me. Pulling open the back door, I make sure to step out of the way before giving them the go-ahead signal. Pebbles nearly knocked me down once already, and I’m nothing if not a quick learner.
Following the dogs out, I stand on the back porch and look at my new yard. It’s hard to judge the true potential with all the plants on the verge of wintery death. But there are a few large trees shading the lot, hanging on to the last of their colorful leaves.
I take a deep breath of the crisp fall air and let my mind flash through old memories.
I was 7 the last time I was here, in Minnesota. Considering that was 22 years ago, I didn’t expect this place to feel like home. I didn’t expect the nostalgia. And yet… And yet there’s something comforting with the familiarity. I was a kid, sure, but being here is bringing it all back. I remember the cold nights. The fall colors. The calm quiet of a snowfall.
I wasn’t addicted to caffeine back then, so it was hot chocolate all the way. My mom would put the drink packets above the fridge, telling me that I needed to watch my calories. Bitch. But Aaron, in his random acts of big-brother-kindness, would steal them for me. Putting the empty box back up high, mom none the wiser.
And just like that, my light memories are soiled with feelings of regret and guilt. And anger. Oh Aaron, it didn’t have to be like this.
Bam startles me with a string of barks. Back in the present, I watch as he chases a squirrel down the fence line. He gives it his all, but he doesn’t even come close to catching the intruder. Pebbles just watches, judging, from her spot sprawled in a patch of dirt.
“You tell him, Bam!” I call out to the panting boy.
I’m glad the house came with a fenced yard. These two still get spurts of energy and I have yet to perfect the two dogs versus one person walks. God knows I’ve lost my temper with them a few times over the past three months, but Aaron did a decent job training them.
Watching the dogs do their dog thing, I can confess that I’m glad they’re here. I never thought I was a dog person, but they bring a great level of comfort that I wasn’t expecting. And they’re something familiar for Noah.
A breeze cuts through my sweater, sending chills skittering up my arms. I may enjoy this weather, but I’m not dressed for it. I step back inside just in time to hear my phone ringing.
“Coming! Coming!” I shout like an idiot, as I hustle down the short hallway to where I left my phone in the kitchen.
Instantly I worry that it’s Noah. Could something have happened to him on his first day? Does he need me to come get him?
I grab the phone and relax as I read U.E. on the screen.
“Hey, Uncle Enzo. How are you?” I say, proud that I don’t sound as out of breath as I feel.
“Darling.” Enzo’s cigar scratched voice rumbles through the phone. “I’m supposed to be the one asking you that.”
I smile at his obvious concern. “I’m good. We’re good.”
“Really?”
“Really. The house is perfect.” I look around at the mostly organized kitchen. “I don’t know how to thank you for this. For all of it.”
“Oh hush. We’ve been over this.” I can imagine him waving my worry away as he grumbles.
I sigh. “I know. But that won’t stop me from thanking you. I don’t know how you managed it all so quickly.”
He stops me. “The house is okay though? I know it’s a little small. And dated. We’ll finish off the basement and give you a movie room or something. Make it a place for Noah and his friends to hide away and make noise without bothering you.”
I think of the cement floor and stud walls below me. “Maybe, eventually. But only once I’ve bought the house from you.”
