Sinners and Saints - A Dark MM Erotica

CHAPTER ONE

REID BEAUMONT – POINT OF VIEW

“Come on, boys. Coach will be back soon, and we need to be pumped!” I clap my hands loudly, looking at everyone.

It’s Sunday, and we are on the field, training and sweating buckets, but what’s new?

I walk around, making sure everyone is holding position. The sun is harsh and unforgiving.

“Lunges now, and High Kicks after,” I order, moving before I finish speaking.

My teammates groan in exhaustion, but they don’t argue. Soon, we are all moving with fluidity. On the field, I’m not only their friend but also their Captain. The coach is comfortable taking weekends off because of me. We focus on a common goal: winning. I love to win. I do not back down from anything.

“We have our match with CrownHill High in two weeks. Two weeks to show those vicious bastards who’s boss!” I remind them, panting as I wipe the sweat off my face.

“Who’s boss?” Clark, the linebacker, hollers.

“We are Boss!” Everyone choruses, and I grin, my cheeks burning.

“Looks like we are all having fun.” Coach Tucker walks in, and I get off the ground.

My smile falls when I see he’s not alone. I notice him, the boy, before I process what I am looking at. My gaze locks, and I feel my pulse slow. He is not a boy. He is tall. Broad shoulders, arms folded, a lazy look on his face as he chews gum. He has dark hair and multiple piercings. His arms are decorated with tattoos, and there’s one below his ears as well as a stack of rings on his fingers.

I look away, then I look back.

“This is Saint Larue, and he is the new Wide Receiver. He’ll be replacing Dorian.” Coach Tucker introduces him.

Saint.

My body is wound tight. My jaws are clenched, and my gaze is narrowed. Saint has no place on the team. He looks like a hot mess, spilling all over the place. We are the epitome of orderliness, charisma and brotherhood. He doesn't look as if he belongs here. This is no place for him.

I drag my gaze over his lean but muscular body. He is wearing a torn top with holes all over it, and his pants hang low, with another tattoo peeking out of his trousers.

“Saint, meet the Kingsmaker Football Team.” Coach adds, gesturing to us, a proud look on his face.

We are the fucking Kingmakers. We are not a Charity organization. We don’t take in strays.

“What's up?” Saint nods at us, a smirk on his lips.

His gaze connects with mine for a minute and holds. I look away, heat crawling down my spine, setting me on fire.

Irritation flares deep in my chest.

“Welcome to the team, Saint.” Clark grins, mischief coating his words.

“Why don’t you get on the field and show us what you’ve got, Saint?” Coach urges, tone curt.

“No, I’m good. I’ll watch your boys instead.” Saint dares to say, his eyes twinkling with humour as his voice drips with condescension. What an asshole.

Something bitter curdles in me thickly, and I look away from him. I focus on my team. We go over our moves, but soon, it starts to feel like a show we put on for him. I wrap up quickly, and we head to the restrooms.

As the Captain, I have my shower and locker – one of the perks of being a Beaumont.

The cold water cascades down my back. My thoughts drift to Saint, and I let them linger on his foolish smirk. He does not know who we are or the shoes he has to fill. He does not understand, and soon, he will.

I step out of the shower, dress up, and drive out with my friends. I can’t find Saint anywhere. He probably ran off.

On the drive home, my phone beeps. I stop by the intersection, but ignore it once I see it’s a text from my father. I do not have the time to listen to the new ways I have disappointed him. He is never satisfied with what I do, and I have stopped trying years ago.

Moments later, I drive through my neighbourhood. The streets are wide and immaculately paved. There is no clutter, and the silence is intentional. Lawns are trimmed to perfection, and flowers bloom in coordinated patterns.

I press a code on my phone, and the gates open, allowing me into my home.

My brows furrow when I catch a glimpse of someone in my mother’s garden.

I get out of the car and stop dead when I see the familiar build.

“Saint?” I blink in shock, wondering if I am stuck in a nightmare. Why is he here, in my home?

His back is to me, but I’d recognise his tattoos and torn clothes anywhere.

He is smoking in her garden, the one place I have kept exactly as she left it, the corner Father’s ice hasn’t touched, and this stranger is standing there.

He turns around, a cigar in his mouth. He runs his gaze over me, puffs out smoke, and smiles, revealing grills in his mouth, “Howdy, brother.”

Blood rushes to my ears. I am distracted by his presence. The garden is one of the last things I have from my mother, and he is smoking there, but his rough words sideline that thought.

“What?” I snap, my pulse throbbing loudly.

He does not get to respond because the door opens, and my father steps out.

“Come inside now, both of you.” He orders, his tone made of steel as always.

My brain feels wrapped in fog. I clench my jaw hard and dig my fingers into my palm.

I storm after my father, wanting to demand what this nuisance is doing here, but I halt when I see a woman, a woman who is not my mother.

“Reid, this is June, my long-time girlfriend, and as of yesterday, my fiancée.” Dad goes straight to the point, not bothering with a preamble.

My stomach drops.

“She lives with us now.” He gestures behind me. “That is her son, Saint. I am sure you have met him. Now, go upstairs and get ready. We have dinner, but first, help Saint move in. He’ll be taking the bedroom beside yours. We should have fixed the broken restrooms, but we never got the chance to do that, so you’ll have to share yours in the meantime.”