Sinless (Deadly Omen Book 1) Read online

  Sinless

  Jenica Saren

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  Sinless Copyright © 2018 Jenica Saren. All Rights Reserved.

  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 permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Cover designed by Daqri Bernado - Covers By Combs

  Contents

  The Seven Deadly Sins — Keith Smith

  1. Ria

  2. Ria

  3. Ria

  4. Ria

  5. Ria

  6. Ria

  7. Gatlin

  8. Ria

  9. Ria

  10. Ria

  11. Ria

  12. Ria

  13. Ria

  14. Ria

  15. Eliam

  16. Ria

  17. Ria

  18. Ria

  19. Ria

  20. Ria

  21. Kellan

  22. Ria

  23. Ria

  24. Ria

  25. Ria

  26. Ria

  27. Ria

  28. Ria

  29. Ria

  30. Ria

  31. Gray

  32. Ria

  Untitled

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Afterword

  33. Happily Never After

  The Seven Deadly Sins — Keith Smith

  Sloth Gluttony

  Lust Envy Greed

  Pride and Wrath

  All start as a seed

  Sins begin small

  Seductive and sweet

  Alluring tempting

  Naughty petite

  Then oh so slow

  They slither they grow

  They entice they please

  They strip they tease

  Off with the gloves

  The shoulder strap slips

  The gown falls down

  To the breast, to the hips

  Wants become needs

  Needs become habits

  They feed the breed

  Like cancer like rabbits

  Habits to addictions

  Addiction to obsession

  Obsession to abuse

  Abuse to aggression

  Who to hurt

  Besides me myself and I

  Who to damage

  Who shall I make cry

  My elevation to evil

  My soul I do sell

  When I lure you

  Into my little hell

  To my favourite authors, for instilling in me a passion for words that can’t be tamed or satisfied, regardless of the hours spent creating or exploring. Thank you.

  1

  Ria

  The lights. The music. The cloying scent of hyper-sweet liquors. The feel of cool metal against the inside of my hand. The pleasing ache in the balls of my feet.

  Work went on as usual tonight, but recent events in my life had me paying so much more attention to the minute details that surrounded me, details that had become so typical that I hardly noticed them anymore. Everything seemed brighter, more intense, and the world around me seemed to emanate a positive glow that I hadn't experienced in a very long time.

  As the last notes of the song faded around me, I heard the MC announce my exit from the stage and make a few lewd jokes to get a reaction from the crowd around us. There a was something about sitting alone in the dark, but his jokes stopped being as entertaining to me after the thirtieth time I heard each of them. I wrapped my silky robe around my shoulders, tying a neat bow at the front, and leisurely glided down the gold-painted staircase at the front of the stage, sashaying past ogling customers with the grace and power of a lioness. Stepping through the intricately emblazoned door that led to the dancer's locker room, I was bombarded with the round of applause that accompanied the end of another spectacular performance from yours truly.

  I was more than aware of the sexuality, confidence, and beauty that oozed from every conceivable orifice of my being. No, really. I swear that I'm not conceited or anything, it's just the truth. I had been told from a very young age how ethereal and remarkable my appearance was, and it wasn't even an exaggeration.

  As I stared into the mirror in my usual corner of the dressing room, I methodically took stock of my appearance, as I often did. My bright, jewel-like green eyes were made even more striking by the vivid streaks of gold that forked out like lightning from my pupil to the viridian ring that edged the iris; my long, strawberry blonde hair hung straight and smooth down my back, barely brushing my backside; my heart-shaped face, accentuated with high cheekbones, soft baby doll lips, and a spattering of delicate, light freckles across a small, upturned nose. There was no denying my stunning appearance, and I knew that my slender, hourglass frame did nothing but augment my looks.

  "Ria!" Called a deep, bass-heavy voice from the stairs leading to the managers' offices.

  I shook myself from my self-examination and rummaged in my clutch for my glittery pink lip gloss. So what? I’m a girl, I’m allowed to like sparkles and pink.

  "Yes, Rory?" I called back, forcing an irritated huff. I loved Rory, but he didn’t need to know that. His ego was big enough without me adding to it. Of all the managers at Mesdames des Etoiles, Rory was the only one who gave a damn about any of the girls and made concerted efforts to ensure we had everything we needed. One time, he even rented a giant boa for a dancer who wanted to put the "exotic" back in exotic dancing. He held onto it for three hours and when the poor girl realized how terrified she was of snakes, he hopped onto the stage to act as a ringmaster, like it was all scripted. He truly went above and beyond for the girls who called this club home.

  An amused chuckle sounded from my right, and I peeked up from my lip gloss hunt at the mirror to find all six feet of his ebony skinned, hard-muscled, flawlessly dressed self nonchalantly leaning up against my locker, arms crossed and smirking that gorgeous smirk. Could smirks be gorgeous? Could that even be called a smirk? What actually defined a smirk? Was it just a lopsided, close-mouthed grin? If so, he was totally doing that. He was the king of smirking. The reigning champion of smirksmenship.

  Close your mouth, you twit! He can see your fucking tonsils!

  I snapped my mouth closed, hardly remembering when it dropped to the floor in the first place. And then remembered I didn’t have tonsils. I mentally glared at my inner self, who was grinning back mischievously. What a bitch. I thought to myself, about myself, because myself was a bitch.

  Rory's chocolatey eyes sparkled knowingly like he knew about the entirety of my inner tirade. "Sixteen. On the floor."

  I groaned loudly. "No VIP? What is with these people? They get cheaper every day, I swear." That wasn't exactly true. Mesdames des Etoiles was a fairly large club, with a huge reputation for being the best in over the past thirty or so years that it had been open. Despite all of this, the club's massive customer base had been dwindling over the past few years, like people just weren't interested in ass and titties anymore. Who the hell didn't love ass and titties? Two years ago, the number of eager beavers on the floor who desired my company would have been well into the thirties, not counting the exuberant handful of high-class clientele that paid for VIP just to get me alone. VIP wasn't really anything fancy, either, everyone just thought it was; it was really just a tad more private than
the long, plush benches that lined the floor downstairs.

  I gave Rory a sidelong glance in the mirror. “It’s my last day. They can wait for me.” I said, fighting back the smile that threatened to take over my face.

  Rory raised one perfect, ebony eyebrow at me, his smirk finally falling into a less heart-melting curve of the lips. “’It’s my last day.’” He mimicked. “Like I haven’t heard that a thousand or so times from you. We both know that no matter how special that man is to you, you’ll never give up what you enjoy doing, and any man that asks you to change yourself to suit his preferences, isn’t a man you want to tether yourself to, if you can even call him a man at that point.” He moved his fingers together in a pinching motion that made me bite my cheek to force down the guffaws that were sure to overtake me.

  Sadly, he wasn’t wrong. I mean, he was wrong about the finger-pinching, and I never lied about a penis. My new-ish boyfriend was amazing. He made the butterflies in my stomach go crazy, made the world lighter and brighter, and made me feel like I was an overall brand-new person. And Lex actually didn’t mind the fact that I was a dancer, but I felt like preserving my body for my soon-to-be husband would create a more trusting, loving relationship than any of my previously failed “loves”. I have always been a bit of a relationship ho, always finding a new “soulmate” like it was something you just picked up at a yard sale, only for the affection, desire, and attraction to fizzle out within two months. I’ve never had particularly good luck with significant others – male, female, I don’t discriminate.

  But Lex… He was different. He practically shone. He was full of life, and we were going on eight months when he took me to my favourite little Italian restaurant and got down on one knee. The word “yes” was shooting from my lips before he had even finished saying my name. Like I said: I’ve always been a bit of a relationship ho – insert childlike giggle here.

  I resumed my search for my lip gloss. How could it disappear in such a tiny bag? “I’ll be out in five. Perfection doesn’t just happen, you know.” I finally replied. After all the effort I put into my performances, it should be expected that I’d be sweaty and tired, but aroused men didn’t think that way.

  Rory rolled his eyes, stepping away from the locker and placing his broad, warm hands on my shoulders. “You could never not be perfect, Miss Omen.” He winked at me and strutted back toward the stairs and out of sight.

  In two days’ time, I would become Mrs. Ria Sterling. It had a certain ring to it (pun totally intended), and it was a definite improvement on my given name: Ria Will Grimm. What kind of name is that? It doesn’t roll off the tongue, and don’t even get me started on the implications of a last name like that! My last name is where I got the inspiration for my stage name. Omen. It was mysterious, just a little dark, and completely unique to me. However, after tonight, I would no longer be called by that name. Tonight was my last night, no matter what, with my bachelorette party tomorrow and my wedding day following.

  A wedding. My wedding. It sounded unreal, even to my own ears. My heart ached for a fraction of a second, and I fumbled with the tube of sparkling pink lip gloss that I had finally found. I wished my parents could be there. My mom smiling from the pews while my dad walked me down the aisle. My dad shaking Lex’s hand as he gave me away, and my mother stealing the father-daughter dance because she was possessive that way.

  But that would never happen, not in my lifetime. My father was a reverend at a tiny church out in my equally tiny hometown near Cottage Grove. My mother was just his little groupie and had been for as long as I’d been alive. I had once found some old photos of her out clubbing, with big hair and bold makeup, a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other, but as soon as my dad found out about my little discovery, he took them all out back and burned them to ash. My mother stood by, staring wistfully, but nodding her approval anyway.

  Once I decided that on the stage, dancing, was where I was meant to be, I thought my parents would be proud, but I was instead castigated for choosing to “show off” my body. I figured that if they thought so little of me and that I was showing off my body, I would do just that, then they would see that a pair of tights wasn’t so bad by comparison.

  Boy, did that backfire. I found myself loving every single moment that my feet were on that stage, the pole in my hands, the burn in my muscles as I folded myself into various shapes in the air. Better yet, the praise, the adoration, the freedom. It was like it was something I was born to do. Which, when I think about it, sounds really… Odd. Oh hey, how’s it going? Yeah, I was born to be a stripper.

  Oh well. Nobody else had to like it.

  I took a deep breath, reapplied my lip gloss, and headed toward the door.

  My fans were waiting.

  * * *

  My breath left me in little puffs of white condensation as I hurried back toward my car. Downside to being paid in cash: always needing to get your change after paying for gas, even when it’s fucking cold as tits outside.

  As I slid behind the wheel and started the car, I crossed my arms and waited for the heat to get to work. Perks of being paid in cash: heated seats. When you can buy a car in straight cash, no one questions your apparent need for heated seats, they just make it happen. But heated seats don’t follow me into the gas station, so there’s that. Someone should probably invent those. It might save a life or something. Granted, carrying your seat with you would be a pain in the ass, but I’d still like to have the option.

  After I was satisfied that my heaters weren’t seconds away from being fired for slacking, I threw the car into drive and made my way down the dark, winding road toward my house. I used to be totally freaked by the idea of driving down such a twisty, unlit, creepy road in the middle of the night – I mean, what if I was so damn tired that I fell asleep at the wheel and ended up headfirst in one of those massive pine trees? – but after I saw the house, I couldn’t pass it up. It was isolated, but not rural, surrounded by all the comforts of nature’s beauty, and the house itself was uh-mazing; two stories, old Victorian mixed with just enough contemporary and modern to not feel haunted, and the couple that was renting out to me had furnished the whole thing, sans mattress. A used mattress would have freaked me out, anyway.

  It was so weird to think about how far I had come in such a short few years. My own place, brand new car, a job I loved, and a boyfriend – sorry, fiancé that I was completely enamoured with. It might have had something to do with the lack of finger-pinching. My friend and co-worker, Mercedes, had helped me pick out the perfect ensemble for our honeymoon, and I was as stoked as stoked could be. He adored me just as much as I adored him. So much so that he would probably faint where he stood if he saw me before the honeymoon in my new getup, but I had already warned him that this was a very real possibility. You know, to give him time to prepare himself.

  I giggled to myself as I pulled into the freshly re-paved driveway, courtesy of the hardworking Lex. He really did so much. No, not just menial labour, but also in our relationship. Nearly every night that I came home from the club, he had a surprise waiting for me. It wasn’t unusual for him to already be asleep by the time that I dragged my ass inside, but he knew that I was prone to feeling a lack of affection when I came home to a quiet house. There’s just something so lonely about having such a big house and feeling all alone in it. Anyway, he knew how lonely I felt, so before he moved in with me, he had taken to dropping by my house in the evenings and leaving a small gift on the doorstep for me; it could have been a slice of cheesecake from the Italian restaurant where he proposed, or just a little note. It was all so perfect. Since he moved in, he still did it, but the gifts started feeling more comforting and homey. It never failed to amaze me how thoughtful he could be.

  As I shut off the car absently, I found myself looking toward my bedroom window which seemed to be dimly lit. A huge, shit-eating grin stole over my face, and I concocted a quick plan. If he was awake, and the lights were dim, then he obviously had a present for m
e. And by present, I mean sex. Best. Present. Ever.

  I was home a little earlier than normal since it was my last night, so I didn’t want to open the garage door and have him hear me coming.

  He. Hehe. Hehehehe.

  I fell into a fit of snickers and giggles at my dirty little pun and had to cover my mouth and mentally kick my own shin to get the laughter to begin subsiding. Coming. I bit the inside of my check a little harder than necessary to quell my juvenile cackling.

  After I was convinced that my inner teenager had finally taken a chill pill, I got out of my car, slowly and quietly bumping the door with my hip while I juggled my purse, makeup case, and little cake from the club that said, “Bye, Ria! See you next week!” in bright crimson icing. Thanks for that, Rory. Joke’s on him, I wouldn’t be back. At least he remembered my favourite colour.

  I sidled up to the front door and quickly punched in the code to unlock it before easing it open and reminding myself to give Lex an extra big… Thank you. For oiling the hinges. Just the hinges. Just a thank you. Maybe a kiss… and…