All Chapters of THIRTY DAYS of sin: Chapter 1 - Chapter 5

My mama raised me a Catholic, and we were taught to leave revenge for the Lord. But how can I leave it, when revenge practically landed right into my laps. ……………………… Raze’s pov “You’re killing me, doll,” I murmured into the brunette’s mouth. Her fingers press hard against me through my jeans, slowly stroking my hardening dick . The blonde on my other side drags her tongue along my naked chest, her nails scraping lightly at it. I’m in my private room at Obsidian, the bass music vibrating through the walls, the colored lights low, the smell of liquor and smoke thick in the air just the way I like it. I pull back just enough to breathe. “Why not take it into your mouth,” I tell the brunette with a crooked grin, “and show daddy what a dirty girl you are.” She slides down without hesitation, her fingers working at my zipper eagerly. The metal parts and warmth replaces air. “Fuck! Just like that.” I brace my hand against the leather couch, my head tipping back slight

Everette’s pov “This better be a joke, Dad,” Regan shouts. Father says nothing as he leads his fiancée towards the couch. “I have worked my fucking ass off for you,” she continues, following him. “You closed on the tip I brought you. I made you billions. And you’re going to give my title to this… this—” She searches for the filthiest word available. “—pussy bitch?” Angela’s lips twitch, not offended but amused, a movement I know will probably make my sister even more mad. I grab her arms before she lunges. “Really, Dad?” I say, tightening my grip on her wrist. “That title belongs to Regan. She worked for it.” “She will remain in International Affairs,” Father replies coolly. “She isn’t there yet.” “She proved herself,” I snap. “You made her jump through hoops for this and she has cleared every one so far .” “I worked fucking hard for this!” My sister shouts as she pulls away from me, shoving a crystal decanter off the desk. It shatters against the marble floor. “And I’m

Raze’s pov The gates of Carrington estate opens after the guard checks my name against whatever list he was holding. The driveway curves like a deliberate show of wealth, lined with ancient oaks and imported stone lanterns that probably cost more than my first apartment. The mansion sits at the end of it like royalty. White limestone walls, Floor to ceiling windows, Black wrought iron balconies. A fountain in front that never stops running. Old money doesn’t shout. I step out of the car, sunglasses on and an overnight bag slung casually over my shoulder. Thirty days……Thirty days inside this house. I smirk. Let the games begin. The front doors open before I reach them and Adam, the butler, stands there, perfectly composed in his dark suit, silver hair immaculate, hands folded in front of him like he has been waiting. “Good morning, Mr. Raze,” he says in that smooth, steady tone that has survived three generations of Carrington arrogance. “Adam,” I reply, genuin