Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
He is. “I’m the priest over at St. Paul’s.”
I’m astonished he’s talking so openly about his job. “And as a priest do you think you should be visiting a sex club.”
He leans closer to me. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
I laugh lightly. “Okay.”
“You look familiar. Have we met before?”
I shake my head. “No, definitely not.” I can’t let him know he’s definitely met me before. I can’t let anyone know who I really am. I don’t even know how that would look in my court case.
Chapter 6
Benedict
You can’t mistake the color of those eyes. The piercing blue that haunts my dreams and keeps me awake late at night. They’re unforgettable, like the deep, clear waters of an untouched lake, with a gaze that seems to pierce right through to your soul.
For some reason, Lina doesn’t want me to know who she really is, and I’ll keep her secrets. I keep everyone’s secrets. Secrets that, if ever revealed, would probably cause the whole town of Saint Pierce to combust.
My confessional booth holds many tales. I’m the keeper of them all. I sit in the dimly lit booth, the heavy wooden screen separating me from the confessors. The flickering candlelight casts shadows, creating an atmosphere of reverence and mystery. I listen to their whispered confessions, their sins and regrets, the burdens they carry. Each story is a piece of their soul, laid bare in the sacred space of the church.
The weight of these secrets is immense, but it’s a burden I’ve chosen to bear. There’s something both humbling and haunting about being trusted with the innermost thoughts and fears of the people who come to me. Their confessions range from minor transgressions to deeply troubling revelations, and I hold them all with the same solemnity and care.
As I look at Lina, I wonder what her secrets are. What past is she hiding beneath that short black bob wig and the layers of makeup? Her transformation is remarkable; she’s become a different person tonight, a version of herself that’s bold and unrecognizable. But those eyes, those piercing blue eyes, give her away. They are windows to her soul, filled with pain and resilience.
She returns to work, and I watch her like a hawk, stalking its prey.
The music in Club Greed continues to pulse, the bass reverberating through the floor. Here, amidst the opulence and decadence, the lines between sinner and saint blur.
I watch Lina as she works, her movements graceful and confident. She’s good at this, at playing the part she needs to survive. I understand the necessity of wearing masks, of hiding true identities. It’s a survival mechanism in a world that often demands more than it gives.
I take a deep breath, the scents of desire and lust mingling in the air. I’ll keep Lina’s secrets, just as I keep everyone else’s. It’s the least I can do in a world that’s quick to judge and slow to forgive. Secrets are safe with me, locked away in the vault of my soul, never to see the light of day.
As the night progresses, I continue to watch Lina, wondering about her. What brought her to my parish?
Why me?
And how am I supposed to not want a woman like her? I’m a man with needs. Needs that haven’t been met in years. Except by my trusty hand.
My thoughts are consumed by Lina—Evangelina.
“Care for anything else?” she asks me as the hour grows late.
I need to head home, but a small part of me doesn’t want this night to ever end. “I’ll cash out,” I tell her, grabbing my wallet from the inside of my suit jacket.
“No bill tonight. Devereaux Huxley took care of it.” Her smile radiates, and the sight of it goes straight to my cock.
“Is he here?”
She shakes her head no. “He left for the evening.”
“I should do the same.” I stand from the table. “Lina, it was so great to meet you. Maybe next time I come, you and I can get to know each other better?”
She smiles. “I’d like that.”
Should I tell her I know who she really is? No, it’s more fun this way.
I leave the club, but don’t want to head home just yet. Instead I head to another bar across town, making a call to Vin to meet me.
I sit in a corner booth, tucked away near the back of the dimly lit joint. The flickering neon sign outside casts faint shadows through the window, splashing red and blue light onto the worn wooden table. The air smells of stale beer and fried food, and the low murmur of conversations hums in the background, blending with the soft clatter of dishes from the bar. My fingers drum lightly on the edge of the booth as I stare down at my half-empty glass, the condensation dripping lazily down the side.