The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

I don’t know how I knew, but whatever was going down wasn’t good.

“What? What is it?” Calloway asked, his voice tinged with fear.

I didn’t blame him for being freaked out, hell, I was freaked out. Didn’t stop my mouth from falling open. I couldn't help but gawk at the man. Calloway had one setting and one setting only—irritated bastard. I never thought I'd see him on the verge of freaking out. To be honest, I didn't think anything in this world could put that stricken look on Calloway’s face and seeing it ratcheted my anxiety up another notch.

Coach looked tired. He rubbed a hand over his bristly chin and let out a slow breath. Realization hit me like a Shea Weber slap shot to the liver.

Ohgod. The room tilted and went out of focus, and it had nothing to do with the earlier blow to my cranium. A sense of impending doom settled on my shoulders like a blanket made of chainmail and I swallowed back a rush of nausea.

I knew damn well there was one thing in this world that could send Rocco Calloway into this kind of a panic.

His sister.

“Fuck, Coach,” Calloway said. He rose, towering over me as I sat frozen in my chair. I could feel the waves of tension radiating off of him. Not that I was doing much better. Between Calloway, Coach, and me the air grew thick with nervous anticipation, unease, and a healthy dose of fear. “Tell me… tell me what's going on.” Coach V. hesitated, causing Calloway to grimace. “Coach?”

Shit, Calloway was scared shitless.

Cue the loosening of my bowels.

“That was the main switchboard,” Coach finally said. “When no one could reach you or me on our cell phones, they went through the front office.”

Anticipation killing me, I had begun to come completely unhinged, trembling from head to toe. I gripped the armrests, and my fingers dug painfully into the metal. I couldn’t take it anymore and snapped.

“Come on, Coach!” I shouted in desperation. Frantic, I slid effortlessly into Québecois. My hands flew all over the place as I unleashed a tirade. “Arrêter de caler. Je ne peux pas le prendre! Dis-le jus.” Their puzzled stares had me out of my chair and ready to tear Coach a new one. “I said, stop dicking around and just fucking tell us what's going on!”

Calloway let out a low growl, which I promptly ignored. Too fucking bad if he didn't like me butting in. I had no fucks left to give, especially in regard to what he thought.

A wave of dread washed over me and the frigid fingers around my heart tightened. After all the shit I’d been through, dozens of broken bones, protecting my brother, pushed and beaten like a dog until I fucking snapped and bludgeoned my own father to death with my favorite stick… all that and never in my life had I been so close to losing my grip on sanity as I was in that godforsaken office. I was point two seconds from wrapping my hands around Coach’s throat and squeezing the shit out of him when he finally spoke.

“It's your sister, Calloway. I don’t know what happened, but she’s been taken by ambulance to Piedmont Hospital.”

My mouth went dry and the room slanted again. I swayed on my feet and put a hand on the corner of Coach’s desk to stay upright. Thankfully, Calloway was better at keeping his shit together.

“I gotta go,” he said right before he bolted from the room.

Coach turned to say something to me, but fuck it, I was out the door before he got the chance. I snatched my keys and wallet from my cubby and vaguely registered Coach shouting from his office. “Where the fuck are you going, St. Clair?”

I didn't respond. Calloway had already banged through the locker room door and disappeared. Determined not to be left holding my dick, I followed, hot on his heels. So many gruesome images assaulted me as I wondered what happened to Kylie, that I had to switch my brain to autopilot or I’d have a breakdown.

Calloway stopped next to his SUV and I was so out of it, I crashed into him, bounced off the wall of muscle, and landed ass first on the dirty pavement. To my complete and utter shock, Rocco Calloway reached down and offered his hand. I blinked, questioning if maybe the hit to my head did more damage than I thought.

“Come on,” Calloway said, voice laced with impatience. He waved his hand for me to take. “You can’t drive. You probably have a concussion and will end up blacking out behind the wheel.” I put my hand in Calloway’s and allowed my evil arch-nemesis to haul me to my feet. Calloway unlocked the door, climbed into his Range Rover, and explained, “You're a stubborn motherfucker, St. Clair. I know full well you're going to the hospital whether I want you there or not, and if you plow your car into a van full of kids because I gave you a concussion, I'll feel like shit. So get the fuck in.” With that, he slammed the door and cranked the engine.

Alrighty then.

I scrambled around to the other side and closed the door. Calloway put the Rover in reverse and, tires squealing, tore out of his spot.

“Seatbelt,” Calloway barked. A sharp retort sat the tip of my tongue, but I glanced over, saw the state the guy was in, and bit it back. Calloway was losing his shit too. He was just better at hiding it. I wasn't sure how close he was to Kylie, but from what little I gleaned, they were probably as tight as Rémy and me. If Calloway was even half as scared as I was, he needed to concentrate on driving, not listen to me shoot off at the mouth.

In under ten minutes, Calloway steered the Rover down Collier Drive. He banked the wheel and took the corner onto the drive that led to the emergency room hard. The back of the SUV fishtailed and Calloway stomped on the brakes. The wheels locked and we came to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance. I jerked forward. His insistence that I wear the seatbelt was the only thing that kept me from smashing clean through the windshield.

“Câlice!” I yelled as my hands reflexively shot out to brace against the dashboard. Heart pounding, I patted myself down to make sure I was in once piece. Satisfied, I turned to glare at Calloway only to find an empty seat, keys still in the ignition, door open. I tore off the seatbelt, threw open the passenger door, and searched for Calloway. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered when I caught a glimpse of his red T-shirt as the automatic doors closed behind him.

I found Calloway at reception, a dark look on his face. He towered over a wide-eyed woman who sat behind the desk.

“Where the fuck is my sister?”

Oh shit. I never thought of myself as reasonable, but if I didn't get Calloway under some sort of control, they would dispatch security, and if Calloway got arrested, I wouldn't get inn to see Kylie. Family only and all that bullshit. The hospital wouldn't tell me a goddamn thing.