Sinner: The Deadly Seven, Origins Read online

  Sinner

  The Deadly Seven, Origins

  Lana Pecherczyk

  Prism Press, Perth Australia.

  Copyright © 2019 Lana Pecherczyk

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © Lana Pecherczyk 2019

  Cover design © Lana Pecherczyk 2019

  www.lanapecherczyk.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  I. Envy Preview

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Character Sketches

  Also by Lana Pecherczyk

  About the Author

  When we save our children, we save ourselves.

  – Margaret Mead

  One

  Flint Fydler kept his head down, hat low and bag close to his body as he walked into the lobby of Biolum Industries, late for the second time that week. He swiped his ID at the turnstile and pushed through. It wasn’t as though he was hiding something. He just knew what came next. Every damn time.

  A black uniformed security guard sized him up. The dude must bench twice his weight, and his neck was as thick as Flint’s thigh. A revolver was strapped under his right arm. A Taser hung from his belt. With a wary flicker behind the guard’s eyes, and a twitchy trigger finger, Flint knew if he sneezed the wrong way, the man would take him down. Ex-Marine. Had to be. Just like his buddies upstairs in front of the Project room.

  The guard stopped Flint with a sturdy palm to his chest. Flint glared at the intrusion and bit his lip to halt the scathing comment on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t sure what the big guy had against him. Could be his Dodgers baseball cap, his level five clearance, or maybe the fact that Flint had a beard when the brute couldn’t grow a ‘stache.

  Like every other morning, Flint swallowed his words. He knew when to pick his battles, and this wasn’t one.

  “You,” growled the guard. “Spot bag scan.”

  “Dude, really?” Flint slipped his satchel off his shoulder and put it on the conveyor. “You see me every day.”

  The man grunted, opened Flint’s bag and checked inside.

  Just what he needed after the morning he’d had. First, the flat on the way to work, then the bald spare, and finally the state of his anemic bank account making the purchase of a new tire impossible. He ended up jogging to work when he’d already been on a ten-mile run. His quads were killing him.

  “Fucktard,” Flint mumbled.

  “What did you say?” the guard asked.

  “I said custard. Watch out for the custard.” Flint pointed to the small tub of pudding in his bag.

  “Right.” The guard lifted a dubious eyebrow and then shoved the bag down a conveyor track to the X-ray machine where an attendant watched from a seat on the other side.

  Flint winced as his bag rattled. “Careful. I got priceless tech in there.”

  “Don’t care. Move to the side, and wait for the scan results.”

  Flint shook his head defiantly. “I created that scanner. If I wanted to, I could beat it. You know that, right?”

  The dude narrowed his eyes. “Spot bomb scan. Lift your arms up.”

  “I don’t have time for this. Jesus fucking Christ.”

  He heard a feminine gasp behind him and whirled to face everything wrong with the world. Slick black hair in a ponytail. Luscious lips, a rosy little nose, and, fuck it, big brown eyes that belonged on Miss America Latina. A stunning contradiction because any woman whose hips filled out pants that way had no business being a nun. Her crisp white shirt was supposed to be modest, but her breasts pushed at the woolen vest, drawing it tight. A modern nun and walking sin, Sister Mary Margaret made his heart go bump and his words fail, because every time he saw her, ah jeez… off limits.

  Flint’s neck itched as Sister Mary stared back, big doe-eyes blinking. Caught. She caught him. Heat flamed his cheeks, and that just made him shittier. But the Sister and he went way back. Two years of charged banter, unfulfilled sexual tension, and love-hate bickering. She could take whatever he dished out.

  “The fuck you staring at?” he said with a smile twitching his lip.

  The little minx blinked at Flint, feigning innocence for their spectators. As if she didn’t gasp to play into her stereotype. She fluttered her lashes. “Who, me?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Hey,” the guard snapped at Flint. “Respect.”

  Flint almost snapped back, but was held captive by the Sister’s eyebrow lifting—gearing up.

  Come on, Flint thought. Show me some of that fiery Latino spirit. It was just the thing he needed to brighten his morning.

  She folded her arms under her breasts, pushing them up. A hip cocked and then she gave him a scathing once over. Flint could smell the coconut in her hair. He was about to get a preachy tongue lashing, he knew it. He loved it. He wanted it. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed.

  He heard a shuffle as she stepped closer. She whispered near his ear, hot breath tickling his skin, “I’m not sure what I’m staring at. They haven’t labeled it yet.”

  Flint’s gaze snapped open. Their cheeks were inches apart. She smiled, full lips stretching to light up her face. A husky laugh and a flirty wink escaped her.

  Instant hard-on.

  Fuck he was going to hell, and he wanted more. But pushing her was dancing with danger. He had his demons, and she had her vows.

  “Apologies for the disrespect, ma’am,” the guard said, breaking their moment. “You go on through.”

  “Thank you,” Sister Mary replied and pulled aside from Flint, her smirk still there. “Peace be with you. Both of you.”

  The two men watched her walk away, hips swaying.

  Something whispered at Flint’s feet and he looked down. A white envelope had landed on his boot. Must have fallen from her pocket. He bent to retrieve it, collected his bag from the conveyor and jogged to catch up with her as she entered the elevator bound for his floor.

  Two

  Mary smiled as she entered the elevator and punched level sixteen. The cute tech-genius who worked on her floor always made her smile. She wasn’t sure whether it was his blustering and cursing, his passion for his inventions, or the way his beard and hair was trimmed to perfection as he leaned over a neatly arranged desk of nuts, bolts and computer chips. He also left secret treats labeled with her name in the break room fridge. Last week she got a Baci chocolate. The week before, a Krispy Kreme donut. She wondered if he’d put anything in today.

  The truth was that any chance they had to share the same air lifted her spirits even if they spent most of the time trading insults and witticisms. For the five minutes and twenty-five seconds it took to brew her cappuccino, and him to stir his long black, they were alone.

  For the past two years, Flint Fydler had wiggled his way into her thoughts daily. Her ten a.m. sojourn to the break room was the highlight of her week.

  Ju
st yesterday, they’d spent the entire break trading opinions on the escapades of the country’s new President. Mary had simply mentioned that a female President would never have been caught dead dipping her wick into her intern, and Flint replied that a female can’t because she doesn’t physically have a wick to dip. Mary’s resulting argument for the case of feminist dipping had been both sensually empowering and exhilarating. She loved to shock him with her entirely non-nunlike vocabulary. Of course, she wouldn’t dream of acting like that in front of anyone else.

  But she trusted him.

  The thought slammed into her.

  She trusted a man.

  As absurd as it sounded for a member of the Hildegard Sisterhood to trust a man, she knew that above all else in her life, he’d always keep her secrets safe.

  Pretending to be a nun was stifling. Looking after the children in the Project room was something she hadn’t expected. Rewarding, eye-opening, and a change in perspective. Nobody except the head scientist Gloria knew Mary’s secret identity, but with Flint, she didn’t have to fully pretend. She could let her personality out to play.

  Maybe she wanted to be caught out. Maybe she wanted him to catch her.

  Except, she had a heavy burden to carry.

  It was this burden that urged her to hit the “close” button on the elevator, even when she caught sight of Flint’s lithe body jogging toward her. The doors started closing, and she relaxed enough to feel a pull in her aching back. She rolled her shoulders to ease the pain. Her workout this morning had been brutal, and she had only herself to blame. The rigorous hour-long daily routine was of her own making, but she had no choice. It was almost time. She had to be strong. She had to be ready. The growing sense of dread coating her insides reminded her of that, and the last thing she needed was a distraction in the shape of a tall, sexy man. Not when the Sisterhood’s secret plan was so close to fruition.

  A large hand slotted between the closing elevator doors, and Mary jolted. A boot wedged in at the bottom. Flint’s large body began squeezing through the tiny crack.

  He wasn’t going to make it.

  “Shit. Fuck. Hold the door,” came his deep male voice.

  Mary considered hitting the “open” button. That’s what a nun would do. But it was too much fun watching him squirm. Within seconds, Flint punched through in a burst and knocked her against the wall. His brandy brown eyes looked apologetic until he realized his baseball cap had left his head and was caught in the door. It slowly moved down the join as the elevator moved. He grasped, crouched and tugged.

  The muscles in Flint’s back rolled and bunched through his T-shirt. Mary allowed herself a moment of visual stimulation as he put his weight into one final tug that set his cap free.

  He straightened and quickly smoothed his hair, replacing his hat—backward—then caught her gaze. His light irises were rimmed in dark brown. The same dark brown as his hair and beard. Having spent most of her life under the tuition of feminist nuns, she hadn’t fully appreciated the joy of a well groomed man. Until now. The razor sharp line of his facial hair accentuated his strong jawline, and Mary knew, without a doubt, that he spent countless hours a week dedicated to his presentation. He struck her as the type who set his mind to something with dogged determination.

  His straight brows snapped together.

  “I know you heard me,” he said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I asked you to hold the door.”

  Mary stifled her amusement. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Sister. You act all pious around everyone else, but I’m onto you.”

  Mary’s heart leapt into her throat and, for a split second, she feared their unspoken rule was about to be broken. She should’ve kept her snarky retort to herself, but he’d made it so easy. Her bottom lip dragged between her teeth, and the urge to wipe that smug smile off his face won. “If anyone is getting onto anyone around here, it’d be me.”

  That came out wrong.

  He stepped closer and the walls of the lift closed in. Mary hadn’t realized she’d backed up until her butt hit the wall and he placed a hand on the space beside her head, lips perilously close to hers. Sweet Mother he smelled delectable. Musky, manly and with a touch of mint.

  “You’re no nun,” he said, voice low and intimate. “Admit it.”

  Her breath hitched. He was so close to the truth.

  She pushed his chest with a flat hand but he didn’t budge. A well-aimed jab to the carotid would drop him, but she couldn’t remove her palm from his chest, or tear her gaze from his.

  Electricity zipped through her as he lifted his free hand to cover hers.

  Stop me if you dare, his dark eyes challenged, eyebrow arching confidently.

  Her own arched back. I dare.

  Slowly, painfully, gloriously, he slid their joined hands down the hard slabs of his chest. Her fingers rippled over his ribs, then his abs. Down. Down. Desire bloomed in her belly, pooling low and, heaven forbid, she wanted to explore further, but… mission first.

  She snatched her hand back, and he released a throaty laugh.

  What cheek! What nerve. For all he knew she was a bona fide nun. It was one thing for her to flirt, but it was another to physically cross the line. “You are… the rudest… most—” She blinked, unable to get the words past the lump in her throat.

  “Lost for words, Sister?” He kissed the air. “Most what? C’mon, tell me what you really think. Let’s stop our secret dance.”

  She flattened her lips.

  “No?” he added with a snort. “You want to be a nun as much as I want to be a ballerina.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “No, I’m perceptive. The other nuns don’t even know I’m alive, but you… you give me those sultry bedroom eyes, and that mouth full of sass, and I go hard. Every damn time.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Admit it, Sister. You like getting me hot and bothered, don’t you? It gives you some sort of sick pleasure to arouse a man who can never have you… unless…” He rubbed his beard, contemplating. “Rethinking your calling? Is it my devastating good looks? My charm? My beard?”

  “Your massive ego? Sure. Sure it is. Ugh. You genius types are all the same.” Her words came out, but her mind was stuck on the fact he’d said he got hard when she looked at him.

  He smirked. “So it’s my mind.”

  “It’s none of your business, that’s what it is. If you think you know the first thing about me, you’re sorely mistaken.” She couldn’t believe it. Things had never gone this far between them. Never escalated to physical, but always stayed verbal. It was just the kind of wake-up call she needed.

  “C’mon, Sister. Give me something. This tension is killing me.” He frowned as he dipped his head, all playfulness gone. “I’m tired of this no-man's-land we live in. I want more.” When she didn’t reply, he pulled away. “Okay. Whatever. Be a nun. Don’t be a nun. Act sexually frustrated around me, act pious around them. I don’t really give a shit. I got my own issues.”

  He adjusted his satchel over his shoulder and turned to face the front.

  “That you do,” she said, and hit the button for her floor again.

  God, she hated her job sometimes. Why couldn’t she have been born normal, without psychic powers? Why couldn’t she meet boys, make love for days at a time, and worry about the world later? Why was this lift so goddamned slow?

  A long shuddering sigh escaped her. Perhaps she should have added something about him doing penance, but she wasn’t quite sure of the rules. Her time as a Sisterhood novitiate was filled with combat training rather than praying for forgiveness.

  The silence stretched as they watched the light climb through the numbers. Mary could almost feel Flint’s urge to speak, and when he opened his mouth and shut it again, she wasn’t surprised. She didn’t need a vision to know he wasn’t finished with her.

  Her prophetic visions had ripped her from an
idyllic childhood in Mexico. She remembered the moment her mother turned on her with a burning clarity. Mary had been at a family gathering to celebrate her grandfather’s birthday. Crowded into the clay brick courtyard for the festivities, she’d felt faint. So much noise. So many smells. The mouth watering spices. The cheerful dancing and music. But the heat she had felt rise in her body that day wasn’t from the sun. The sharp needles that stabbed behind her eyes signaled the onset of a vision. Her first. She’d fainted dead on the floor, and when she had come to, she couldn’t help crying in anguish that her grandfather was about to die. She’d pointed at him, whimpering, “El abuelo morirá.” Grandfather will die.

  Initially, her mother laughed and joked. “Not yet, Mija. Not yet.”

  But within the hour, her grandfather had suffered a heart attack.

  She was infamous overnight. Bruja, they called her. Witch.

  They thought she’d cursed him.

  But her father figured out she could predict the future. They took her from psychic circuit to psychic festival. Round and round the country they went. She had only been ten years old, yet she remembered like yesterday. She had no friends as they were always moving about, and the costumes her parents made her wear did little to make her fit in. All the money she made went to them while she was left to scrounge in the trash for food.

  There was one good thing her gift gave her, it put her in the path of the Hildegard Sisterhood and gave her the resources to be a part of something bigger. The Sisterhood’s secret mission to promote the rise of women to power instead of a corrupt male government couldn’t exactly come to fruition with a bunch of innocent God-fearing women. No. She was the Sisterhood’s dirty little sinner, their necessary evil, and she had a higher calling than raising the Project children.