Page 1 of Sin for You

Chapter One

Quinn

Rocktown, Montana

My Honda Civic sputtered as I pulled up behind the bar for work. Hopefully it was just a cry for help and not a final death scream, because there was no way I could afford a new car right now. I needed my little rust bucket to hang in there for just a tiny while longer.

As it was, the central locking no longer worked, the back wiper didn’t wipe, and the heater had given up a week ago.

I shut off Old Blue and looked up at the night sky through the window as the light rain turned to fat icy splats. “Shit.”

It was going to snow.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, not that I could do anything about it. But it meant I had a lot of driving ahead of me where I’d have to either dress like I was on an expedition to Everest or freeze my ass off.

Despite the impending frostbite, this kind of weather, the snow, always made me feel nostalgic and kind of melancholy at the same time.

Nights like this used to be spent with my dad and big brother, Mason, drinking hot chocolate and watching movies together. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

I hadn’t spent a winter in Rocktown in four years. They were bitterly cold and insanely beautiful. The mountain range that surrounded the town would soon be totally covered in snow, the forest edging it blanketed by mist in the mornings then glistening with icy droplets in the afternoon sun.

I’d come home around three months ago, taking leave without pay from my bar job in Portland. Thankfully, the owner was an old friend who understood my situation and promised to have a job waiting when I went back, because I couldn’t hide forever in my safety bubble, right? I’d have to go back to the real world eventually. Not quite yet, though. The memories were still too fresh, still painful, and not something I was in a hurry to face.

I tugged my woolen hat down tight and shoved open the door. Wind that felt like it was blowing directly from the mountain soaked through my jacket, and I bit back a curse, hustling toward the back door of The Thirsty Mule.

The bar was rustic, all recycled timber and warm lighting, and it had a big open fire that was always burning in winter. The thing was calling my name since my feet and hands felt like blocks of ice.

Yanking the door open, I rushed inside. Back here was a break room, a staff-only bathroom, and an office. The basement door was open, and the sound of heavy boots clomping up the stairs announced my brother’s best friend before the top of his head appeared. Logan “Bull” Calero owned the place and had also recently become my boss—even if he’d needed some serious convincing to hire me.

I didn’t know what his problem was with me, but I’d worn him down in the end. I liked working here. I liked being around Bull, even if those feelings were not reciprocated. Thanks to my brother and his insistence that Bull “look out for me,” I’d become the annoying little sister he’d never wanted.

Bull’s broad shoulders appeared next. One of his massive colorfully tattooed arms, biceps bulging, supported a box on one of those monster shoulders. He didn’t even look like he was straining.

Bull was big. Tall and thick. Neck, chest, thighs, waist, arms…everywhere. His chestnut brown hair was a little too long and his beard could do with a trim. He also had warm brown eyes that broadcast exactly the kind of man he was. Down to his core, Bull was a good man, there was no missing it. Honestly, he was one of the best men I knew.

He could be kind and gentle, incredibly patient.

He could also be grumpy and stubborn as hell.

I liked it all.

Bull was strong, solid—not just physically—and being around him was comforting, safe. I’d needed that more than anything when I first moved back to Rocktown, which was why I’d annoyed him for a job until he’d finally relented. I’d needed to be near him. I’d needed what only Bull could give me.

His muscles flexed as he adjusted the box on his shoulder, the ink along his forearms and biceps dancing. Bull was covered in ink, not just his arms—not that I’d seen the rest under his shirt up close and personal, but I’d gotten glimpses. Like the time he’d tugged off a sweater and it dragged the T-shirt underneath halfway up his chest, or when he’d bend down and sometimes his shirt would ride up at the back. Honestly, it worked for him in a big way.

His head turned on his thick neck, and he spotted me standing there and grunted. Which I could have interpreted in a couple of different ways. “Hey, Quinn, nice to see you. It sure is going to be busy tonight” or “You’re ten minutes late. Shut the basement door after me and get your ass out there and get to work.”

I was pretty sure it was the latter, but I answered like he’d “said” the former.

“Nice to see you, too, big guy. Yep, it’s going to be insane tonight.” We had a live band playing and that always drew a good crowd. Even people from the more affluent Springhaven made the thirty-minute trip to party at The Mule.

Bull frowned at me.

I ignored his turned-down lips and lowered brows and grinned broadly at him.

“Why the are you dressed like that?” he said, going for some actual words.

I looked down at myself. “Like what?”