The Sins That Ruin Special Edition - Paperback

To save her father’s life, she will wear my ring.

Scarlett Hanlon is the epitome of temptation, beautiful chaos wrapped in obsession...and my enemy's daughter.



Fate offers me a chance to destroy her father and the beautiful and feisty Scarlett is my only way into his inner circle.
 So when she comes to me for help, I give her an ultimatum.



Marry me…or else.



It’s the perfect plan.



I’ll use my fake fiancé as a pawn, a bright and shiny toy that will sweeten my quest for revenge. I will flaunt her, use her, and then break her when the job is done.



But Scarlett isn’t one to be possessed and discarded. She’s got an appetite for my kind of filthy, depraved, and twisted games, making my blood burn hot and setting off all kinds of fires.



When my plans for revenge implode and dark truths are revealed, I realize Scarlett's the real chaos I crave above all else. But once all sins are revealed, it may be too late for me to save her.

Fans of dark billionaire, secret society, fake fiancé, age gap, and enemies to lovers tropes will devour book three in the OBSIDIAN KNIGHTS SECRET SOCIETY series by USA Today bestselling author Kristen Luciani!

Scarlett Hanlon doesn’t belong. 
That much is obvious. 
Orchid Lane is hard-core BDSM, leather, chains, and latex. Piercings everywhere. Whips and Saint Andrew’s crosses. And she…
Christ, she’s no breath of spring, either. 
No, she’s something else entirely, born of a different part of hell. Temptation wrapped in an air of innocence no doubt carefully curated from the moment she was born, the type where the girl’s been kept under the right kind of shelter where she’s groomed for the right role. 
The kind of girl who’s usually bartered for something by whoever controls her. 
In this case, her fuck of a father. 
Her river of thick black waves stands out, shining and loose, not twisted up or slicked back and made for a man to manipulate her head, to angle it just how he might want it. 
Even the red dress that skims her curves is seductive in the hint at what lies beneath. And it works. It’s a turn-on over all the naked and tightly bound flesh surrounding her. Right now, her back’s to me, but I can imagine her eyes as she takes everything in. Wide, probably more than a little shocked. 
She’s not even in the heart of the place. Where she’s standing is surface-level respectable, at least for this club. The BDSM crosses and whips are part of the décor. The music’s got a deep, hypnotic beat. The steel and wood bar in the center of the space is crowded by those dressed for hard play in the lower levels, along with those who like to dabble, and others… the ones looking for thrills. 
No, she’s not even in the heart of Orchid Lane but—I’ve read her history, seen her pictures—someone like Scarlett, with her pampered upbringing, should be running screaming, horrified, from this place. 
Something electric like excitement spins down my spine. 
Because I don’t think she will. 
And that… fuck, I can use that.
I watch her through the cameras in my office, not bothering to switch angles as I tap a ringed hand on the back of the black velvet low-slung sofa. 
Scarlett fucking Hanlon, daughter of the mark, one half of Hanlon Shipping, whose inner circles I’m looking to infiltrate for a client seedier than most. The pay’s huge and it came to me through the Obsidian Knights. It’s a job I’d have taken on regardless, just to get to her father, but the fat paycheck and white-hot daughter only make my objective more delicious.
“Sir…?”

I vaguely register the sex-soaked tone of the naked whore on the floor at my feet, one whom minutes ago I was looking forward to fucking, but now…

My attention’s on the computer screen on my desk across the room. 
I thought my efforts to get Scarlett’s weak prick of a father to send her out as a sacrificial lamb would take longer. I either underestimated his weakness or her loyalty. I’m leaning toward the latter. 
Ultimately, though, it doesn’t matter. 
As long as she’s here. 
As long as my private plan goes down how I need it to after the job’s done. 
Death, destruction, revenge among the chaos.

“Mr. West?”

This time the voice comes from my earpiece. 
“Bernadette? One minute,” I say as the girl on the floor with the kind of body and face that make most grown men want to come in their fucking pants starts licking her lips and sliding her hands on my thighs. 
She stops the moment my gaze touches hers. I wait for her to back the fuck off before I tune back into Bernadette at the front of house. “You were saying?”

“As instructed, I let her into the public rooms, but she asked about—” 

“Me.” 

The girl on the floor, Ashley, starts to finger fuck herself.
“The owner,” Bernadette says. “Yes.”

That makes me smile. In another life, the ice-blonde would be my perfect mate. But Bernadette prefers pussy to cock, and her long-standing work with the Obsidian Knights and their affiliated sex clubs brings complications I couldn’t be bothered to deal with.

“Make her wait at the VIP table. I’ll get back to you.”
I mute the headset.
Ashley looks at me. She pulls her fingers free and sucks them, one by one.

“You know what,” I say softly. “I’ve changed my mind.”

I get up, helping myself to a drink on the other side of the room. 
My gaze shifts back to the screen. 
Scarlett’s now sitting at the VIP table, stiff-backed but not looking like a deer in headlights. More martyr than anything. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Ashley asks. 
I glance back at her. 
She’s pulled on her dress. It’s latex, short, skintight, and black. I bite back a sigh as she wiggles the skirt down over her pierced labia and clit.

“No, baby, I’m just busy,” I say, pouring on the sleaze of an up-and-coming mover and shaker in New York’s underbelly world of dark-edged crime. I motion her closer and she comes.
“Lift the skirt.”

She does and fuck, she’s glistening, wet, and so smooth that yeah, I want to fucking touch, but if I do, I’m not going to stop. 
“Another time,” I mutter. “Tell whoever sent you I’ll want you again.”

“Fox said you—”

“Go. Give your number to Bernadette at the front desk.” I don’t know who the fuck this Fox person is. But she goes. 
That’s what happens when you’re set up as a powerful new silent force. People come out of the woodwork, either to strengthen what they have or to see what you can do or what you know. Power plays. And I’m familiar with every single one. 
If I was after information, I’d have kept Ashley around and fucked her sweet ass and cunt. Mouth, too, if I’m honest. I’d have inflicted the pain a whore like her really wants. Given her the humiliation she clearly craves—it’s there in her eyes right now. 
And if I’d fucked her, I’d have gotten her to talk. 
Girls like her know things. They listen. She didn’t come up from the floors below to try and fuck the newest owner of a filthy sex club, a place that’s less about exclusivity and more about depravity because she purely wanted a hot ride. 
Someone sent her to me. 
As a gift, a test, I really don’t give a shit. But if I needed information, I’d have kept her here to get at what she knows. 
She didn’t, however, come from the Hanlon family. 
No, Dale Hanlon pulled out the big guns when he sent me his daughter. 
A door opens behind me, but I just pour another drink and hold out the glass of whiskey. I know who it is.

“Thanks,” Smith says, taking it. “How’s this side of the campaign?”

I turn. His gaze is on the screen and irritation burns through me. “Slow.”

My fellow Knight sighs and sits. I take a sip of my drink, my gaze wandering back to the waiting Scarlett.

“These things always are,” he says, crossing his legs. He’s quiet for a long time. “The last sweep of the shipping offices got nothing. At all.”

“I’m not surprised.” I take another swallow of the amber liquid and push my hand through my hair as my gaze returns to Scarlett. “Fuckers like Hanlon and his brother don’t keep the real client lists out in the open.” 
She grows more and more uncomfortable sitting there. She hides it well, but it sparks and fizzes at her edges, and I want to see her resolve stretch, get a feel of her grit. There’s a difference between being face-to-face with someone and making that person wait for contact. When they wait, I can see the parts they hide. The little tells. They can never hide that shit from me.
Scarlett’s stillness is a tell. She closes off, almost like she’s blockading herself from what’s to come. 

“West—”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter or a reminder of the job. This is my forte. Undercover, playing a role. I can grift anything.”

“This isn’t a small grift.”

And I laugh. “You’re fucking wrong, Smith. They’re all, at their heart, small grifts.”
I know what’s expected of me with this job. Go in, create the right chaos, get the list, and kill Hanlon. 
Okay, the last one isn’t the job. It’s my reward and no one’s taking it from me. The job isn’t a small one, and for the past few months, I’ve been setting up, paving the way, and now I’ve made my presence known with the depraved Orchid Lane. 
The name’s deliberate. 
The foyer is elegant, almost spa-like, and then the bar’s the gateway to the layers beneath. 
It’s perfect for who I currently am, James Malone. Or JM.
“UR Fantasies provides high-end, custom porn for the rich gentleman,” I say. “And they don’t like their competitors muscling the fuck in.”

The sarcasm from my words hangs heavy.

“Fucking UR Fantasies.” Smith grimaces and downs his drink, a dark expression on his face, and I know he’s thinking of his daughter, what happened to her—well, almost happened. “According to Jones, the full client list is important to us.”

“Of course it is. This list isn’t only going to be sex traffickers.” Hanlon Shipping will cover anything and everything with their legit shipments. Drugs and guns and other contraband. Tracking down that list will ultimately help the Obsidian Knights find and destroy other groups that buy, sell, and abuse innocent young women. “People use smaller operations like Hanlon Shipping because the money they make’s easily hidden since the Hanlon family’s already loaded.” 
Smith cuts his eyes at me. “Really, Malone? You’re fucking giving me a lesson in the lay of the land?”

“Loaded types always have an affinity for paranoia.” I lift an eyebrow at him. “Illegal operations and working with dangerous clients who want to remain anonymous add layers to that paranoia.”

“So people like the Hanlons hide information to protect themselves—information like their client list.” He studies the image of Scarlett on the screen. She’s not touching the drink that was sent to her by management—Bernadette’s very good at her job. “You’re not telling me anything new, West. I know how these things work.”
“Then you know that because of their size and financial standing, Hanlon’s not going to screw a single client over. He knows their clients trust them and he’d never gamble that trust.” I switch the screen so it’s images of all the bar’s angles. Scarlett’s in the top right-hand corner. “Hanlon’s not going to sell anyone out, and the clients aren’t going to shoot them dead in their sleep.”
“Don’t bite the hand…” He frowns. “I fucking know this.”
Smith is angry. I get it. Angry at The Collectors, at fucking Orion who’s now with his daughter. But I don’t care.

“So I’ve been carefully creating an unknown threat. Dale Hanlon has a fucking past, his brother, too,” I say. “Dirty secrets always follow the rich and corrupt. The trick is to make it menacing and ambiguous and let their imaginations take over.”

“And if,” Smith says, “they point a finger at a client?”
“They won’t. Clients like theirs don’t make unclear threats.”

“You play fast and loose.”

“I know,” I say. It’s true and it isn’t. “But it’s got them reaching out for protection from the newest player on the scene.”

“You?”

“Me.”

I know it to be true, and not because of pretty Scarlett, but because of the inquiries already made about me.
“And that fucking client list?”

“They won’t keep the list any place where we can just walk in and snatch it. Or storm in and grab it.” I glance back at the screen. She’s getting edgy. “That list is hidden, and if Hanlon or his brother die and it’s not in the right hands…” I grin. “We need the right in. And that takes trust.”

Or someone like me.
Smith’s gaze goes to the screen this time and he nods. “You think Hanlon’s daughter’s the key?”

“Yes.” I go to my phone and shoot off a text to Bernadette before answering Smith. “She’s here, isn’t she?” 
A few minutes later Bernadette appears in that corner camera image, handing Scarlett a card that holds my instructions. The pretty girl doesn’t look happy, and I don’t give a shit.

Smith sighs. “I’m your right-hand man when you need me. Don’t fuck things up and go rogue. The Knights need that list.”

“I’m aware.” I set my glass down and watch Scarlett’s mouth twist as she gets up and leaves. 
“Are you? You thrive on chaos.”

I give him a long look and lean against the bar in the oversized office. “My thing is chaos. There are intricate patterns beneath the noise. Always are. And this…”
I clench my hand that’s on the far side of me, where Smith can’t see. 
I’d never had a name, not a last name. But I’d seen the man. Once. As a young boy. Seen the man who destroyed my mother, ripped apart my family, and sent us tumbling into the gutter and the fucking grueling system. 
Chaos works with its patterns beneath the noise. Because it’s pure chaos that when the job came up for Hanlon Shipping, I just so happened to see the photo. 
Older. 
Richer. 
But I recognized him. 
Dale. 
Dale fucking Hanlon. 
Destroying him isn’t the goal behind the job, but it’s my endgame goal when the job’s done. 
“That’s the thing, though. This is chaos I understand on a deep and fundamental level,” I say.

He nods. But his gaze is sharp on me, and I never underestimate my fellow Knights. Least of all Smith because he’s not as clear-cut as the others. And I suspect he sees way too much. 
“I’m not going to ask, Malone, what Hanlon did to you.” He smiles a cold little smile. “Or why you’re going to kill him, but promise me you’ll wait until we have what we need.
”
I’m not going to ask how he worked that out even though I’m damn curious. I’m not easy to read. “I promise.”

“And the daughter—”

“I promise I won’t kill him until the job’s done.” I repeat the words because that’s all he’ll get from me.
I check my watch. The piece is old, meticulously restored to its real glory by me, and I figure enough time’s passed for Scarlett to be borderline ready to leave this place. 
If she does, I’ll up my campaign. 
If she doesn’t? Then I’ll be making my first move. 
I grab my coat and pull it on as Smith goes through the list of people on the iPad on the desk who walked through the door tonight. 
Smith doesn’t need to worry about me killing Scarlett—I’m not going to do that. Even if I don’t like her because of who her father is. No, I’m not going to kill her. 
I’m going to use her and make her mine. 
Then I’ll use her to bring her father to his knees, right before I kill him. 
I head to the door when Smith speaks. “Malone?”

I turn back.

“Where the fuck are you going?” he asks.

“To see a girl.”

One I’ll be leaving in jagged pieces who will wish I’d killed her instead of the new reality I’m about to create for her.

I walk out the door and don’t look back.