(PRE-ORDER) The Sin Eater

Waylon Boone is no stranger to danger. As the headmaster of the Watch, an elite school hidden in the desert where the wealthy send their psychopathic children to become the perfect covert operatives, he's trained killers, spies, and manipulators. But none have ever tested his control quite like Payton Skinner—the most dangerous student to walk through the doors, and the one Boone thought he could tame.

Payton’s obsession with the older man is immediate and all-consuming. Boone may be his teacher, but Payton has his own lessons to impart—lessons in seduction, power, and the art of taming a heart long since closed off to the world. But when a twisted video scandal rocks the school, accusing a trusted handler of betrayal, Boone and Payton are thrust into a high-stakes game of lies and espionage. A hacker threatens to reveal dark secrets, both real and fabricated, and no one knows who to trust.

As the investigation deepens, so does the heat between them, and the closer they get to unraveling the mystery, the harder it is to deny their growing connection. In a place where deception is currency and control is everything, Boone and Payton will have to decide how far they’re willing to go for the truth—and for each other.

The Sin Eater is an action-packed, smoking hot, age gap romance with an HEA and no cliffhangers. It features an exhausted, burnt-out assassin turned reluctant headmaster of psychopaths and an infuriating, calculating, psychopathic student who have absolutely no business being together but find themselves unable to resist forbidden fruit. As always, you can expect gratuitous violence, very dark humor, more blood than a slaughterhouse, and enough steamy moments to power a ship. This is book two in The Watch series. Each book follows a different couple.

Waylon Boone had grown so accustomed to people barging into his office that he didn’t even acknowledge whoever had just entered without knocking. Sometimes, he regretted his open door policy. As the silence stretched, Boone sighed. Only one person ever had the audacity to barge into his office, then lean against his closed door, ogling him. 

“Hi, Daddy,” the voice cooed, dragging out the unprompted honorific. 

“Don’t call me that,” he countered, keeping his tone bored, even as pure heat shot through his dick. 

Should he order him to leave? Why bother? It’s not like he would go. When it came to Payton Skinner, resistance was futile and often just led to frustration. And Boone had enough of that for ten men running a graduate school full of hormonal psychopaths. 

The psychopath in question sucked his teeth, pouting. “Don’t be mean.” 

Boone snorted, pretending to review the paperwork before him. He could barely concentrate whenever the boy was in his presence. “How is it mean to ask you to refrain from referring to me as your father?”

Payton scoffed at Boone’s lame attempt to misinterpret his meaning. “I didn’t call you my father. He is an intolerant, pompous windbag. I called you Daddy,” he all but purred. “That’s very different.” 

“I don’t see how,” Boone lied flippantly. 

A shadow fell over his desk, an expensive black boot appearing at the base of his chair. Boone watched warily as it slowly rolled away from his papers, providing just enough space for the boy to slip in front of him. He plopped himself onto Boone’s desk, making himself comfortable on top of the proposal Boome had been working on. The one due to the internal review board in roughly twelve hours. 

Boone leaned back in his chair, dropping his hands into his lap, arching a brow at Payton, once again struck by his androgynous beauty. He was a study in contradictions. Tall and lean with long limbs and slender hands, lithe. He had sharp features and severe angles. But he also had wide honey eyes framed by lashes long enough to cast shadows on his soft, freckled cheeks, pillowy lips that always looked kiss-bitten. He was fascinating. Boone often had to tear his gaze away whenever they were in the same room together. 

Like now. 

Today, Payton wore his school uniform, his tie hanging loose around his neck. But left to his own devices, Payton’s style was as eclectic as the rest of him. He’d been the darling of several fashion houses before coming to the Watch. Boone could see why. 

Much to his shame, he’d not only seen the spread in those magazines, but memorized them. Payton in platform heels, leather pants, and a wide open fur coat, his X-shaped tattoos jarring against his snowy complexion. Payton in a chiffon blouse with a white flouncy bow and tight Capri pants that hugged his perfect ass. Payton in a string of pearls, a sleeveless sweater, denim short shorts, thigh-high black fishnets, and combat boots… An outfit that had made Boone so horny he’d jerked off to it for days. He couldn’t help it, though. Payton’s legs had looked seven miles long in those short shorts and thigh-highs, and the look on his face was the same sultry, salacious look he gave Boone any time they were near each other. 

Like now. 

Boone closed his eyes briefly, trying to erase the memory of that photo from his mind before he popped a very awkward and not at all professional boner at his desk. What would Payton look like in only those fishnets and the pearl necklace while riding him? He shook the thought away, flicking his gaze to the boy briefly, watching as he fluffed his hair.

That was Boone’s real kryptonite. Payton’s hair. It was thick and dark, the texture coarse, more frizzy than curly, and so wild it looked exactly like the character that had inspired the boy’s code name: the Mad Hatter. Only, instead of a wild red, his was a deep chocolate brown. The Mad Hatter. A name that suited Payton for many reasons truthfully. 

As soon as he noticed he had Boone’s attention—or, more to the point, Boone’s blatant lack of attention—the boy spread his legs lewdly in those tight, tailored uniform pants, knowing it left Boone staring directly at his crotch. And he did stare. It was impossible not to when the faint outline of his cock was inches from his face. 

Christ. This kid was going to be the death of him. He forced his gaze upwards, finally meeting Payton’s, hoping his face remained neutral even with alarm bells and sirens screaming in his head. 

Watching a dirty smirk stretch across that pretty face had the blood in Boone’s head racing south at an alarming rate. He did not have time for games that involved him locked in a bathroom jerking off midday. “I have work to do, Payton. Get off my desk.” 

Payton tilted his head, brow hooking upwards in challenge. “Make me,” he taunted in a sing-song voice.

Boone sighed through his nose, jaw clenching. It took every ounce of his willpower not to snatch the boy by his hair and force him to his knees, force him to behave, force him to bend to Boone’s will. But that would require giving Payton what he wanted and giving him an inch would only make him bolder. And he was already far too bold, making Boone crazy. 

It was infuriating. Boone had spent most of his life in dangerous situations; unlike the others, he’d never liked killing, even though he was good at it. To him, it was simply another part of his job. When Park was masquerading as a speech writer for the ambassador, Boone’s cover was teaching—and eventually running—an international school, one attended by the children of very powerful people. 

The trajectory of his life from where he started to where he’d now landed came down to one man. Marshall Kendrick. He’d recruited Boone fresh from the Marines. Boone wasn’t a fool. He’d known his training would get the attention of agencies like the CIA and Homeland Security. He was just a poor kid from Texas. His only shot at not ending up on an oil rig was to allow the military to build his resume. So, he did. 

He graduated from Scout Sniper School, one of the toughest training programs in the military, then went on to complete SERE school and SOTP training. He learned to speak Arabic, Farsi, and Hebrew, gained experience in both rural and urban sniper operations and had multiple deployments in Afghanistan and Iraq. 

On paper, he’d been Kendrick’s wet dream. But Boone quickly learned that killing for Kendrick left him feeling…conflicted. Luckily, the agency learned Boone’s skills didn’t stop at just murder. They’d dubbed him the Sin Eater, not because of his skills with a weapon, but because he was their best interrogator, coaxing information from even the most tight-lipped of enemies—and not with violence, but with patience, charm, and sincerity. 

In all those years of dealing with killers and criminals, never—not once—had any of them had so little disregard for Boone’s authority. Payton enjoyed winding him up. He wanted Boone to snap, to manhandle him and force him to obey. But was that because he liked to be thrown around in bed or because he was hoping to get Boone fired? He suspected the latter, but, unlike all those other killers Boone had charmed, Payton was a psychopath.  

Thomas Mulvaney, the man who initiated the phase one study, had once told him raising psychopaths was a lot like being a lion tamer. You only had power when the lions feared you—lose that fear and you would be the first on the menu. Running a school for psychopaths felt much the same. Most of the students understood Boone was all that stood between them and a tragic accident. 

But Payton feared nothing, not even death. He wanted Boone to think otherwise, though. He wanted him to think he was capable of obedience, that Boone could make him behave. According to Park, it was Payton who’d taught Gift exactly how to use both his innocence and his sexuality to finally make Park crumble. 

But this wasn’t the same. 

Gift wasn’t a psychopath. He had genuine feelings for Park. And Park had pined over Gift for months. It had only been a matter of time. Boone, on the other hand, was a game to Payton. A plaything he batted around in his enclosure when he got bored. If anyone had ever been able to tame Payton, he wouldn’t have racked up a literal body count before his high school graduation. 

But fuck if Boone wasn’t tempted to try. 

Park had suggested a firm hand, a little consensual corporal punishment. But while Boone liked maintaining control, he tended to keep his toys obedient with much different tactics, ones that had little to do with pain. Not that he was above using it when needed, but he suspected Payton would like it a little too much. 

“You’re about two seconds away from being booted out of this program for inappropriate behavior.”

Payton stared at him for a solid minute then burst out laughing, the sound infectious and tinged with a hint of madness, like something you’d hear echoing in a carnival funhouse or the walls of a mental health facility. 

When Payton composed himself, he said, “Tell me, Daddy. What is inappropriate behavior in a school full of psychopaths?” 

Both untamable and disrespectful. 

Boone fixed the pretty boy with a flat look. Even if Payton didn’t fear him, he did respect him. Maybe? Probably. But Boone didn’t dare show even a hint of softness towards him. Payton was a true predator in every way. He’d smell how weak Boone was. More specifically, he’d smell how weak Boone was for him. “Everything you do whenever you barge into my office without permission is inappropriate behavior.” 

Payton harrumphed, crossing his arms over his chest, sulking in a theatrical fashion. “You used to like spending time with me. You never want to play with me anymore.” 

If Payton only knew how false that statement was. Boone did want to play with him. But not in a way that would do either of them any good. “What do you want, Payton?”

Payton raked his eyes over him, lingering on Boone’s zipper, then bit his bottom lip, letting his top teeth drag over it slowly. “You.”

Boone shook his head. “Are you trying to get thrown out?” 

“Of your office or the school?” Payton quipped, tapping a finger on his chin, like he was giving the question serious thought. 

“Either? Both?” Boone barked, irritated. 

“If you were going to kick me out, you would have done it way before now, and we both know how much you’d miss me.” He tilted his head in that way that made Boone feel like he was being stalked. “Why haven’t you kicked me out, Daddy?” 

Boone huffed a breath through his nose, exasperated. “Because your father is, somehow, an even bigger pain in my ass than you are.”

Payton flinched at that but recovered quickly. “Well, unlike my father, I’m far more interested in you being a pain in my ass. But I’m verse, so if that’s not your thing, I’m down. Though, I would hope I’d get to ride your co—”

“Payton!” 

Payton sighed dramatically, then kicked his feet, whining, “I’m bored. Play with me…” 

Boone frowned, gaze flicking to the clock on the far wall. It was barely one o’clock in the afternoon. “Why aren’t you in class?” 

Payton grinned. “Park and Gift’s kinky sex games caused Lucy to blow up the chem lab…again.”

Boone rocketed forward in his seat, hinges screaming in protest. “The lab exploded?” 

Why had nobody called him? How bad was the damage? Were students hurt? Dead? He was so deep in thought that he failed to notice he’d walked right into the lion’s den. Sitting up put him within range of Payton’s wandering hands, the boy humming happily as he combed long, nimble fingers through Boone’s thick hair, now more silver than brown. “You worry too much, Booney. It was just a little explosion. Lucy’s eyebrows were the only casualty. And possibly her dignity. If she even has any. That chick’s a liability.” 

Boone closed his eyes, absently enjoying the impromptu scalp massage that had sharp nails gently scraping along his skin. This school was going to be the death of him. He needed a fucking vacation. 

But Payton was right; Lucy was a liability. Per the girl’s file, as a child, she’d scored dangerously high on her psychopathy test but she’d met the program criteria, so she’d been placed with a family of wealth and power, raised to blend in with society, but she just…didn’t. 

“I know that shrinks everywhere like to break down every little thing about neurodivergents like me, but in my opinion, there are only two kinds of psychos.” Payton’s calves brushed against the outside of Boone’s knees each time he swung his legs. 

“There are your Ted Bundy psychos like me: charming, handsome, cunning, deadly,” he continued, like he was giving a lecture on a subject he was passionate about. “And there are your Charles Manson psychos: charismatic, narcissistic, manipulative, total lunatics. They’re the ones who make your skin crawl in their presence. It’s all in the eyes. And Lucy, she has crazy eyes. She’d make a great cult leader, but she’s going to make a shit assassin. No offense.” 

Boone snorted. No offense. Right. But sadly, Payton’s assessment was, as usual, spot on. 

Before Boone could even think of a response, Payton continued, “I thank all the stars she’s Raven pod and not Peregrine. Not that we’re competing. This isn’t the Jedi Academy or whatever.” Then he shook his head. Boone was having trouble keeping up with the conversation. Payton’s fingers were so nice. He continued his one-sided conversation animatedly. “But if we were competing, you have to admit Peregrine pod would be leading in the intergalactic tournaments.”

Boone made a sound he hoped implied he was following along with the conversation. 

“Oh, you should make the pods compete. A fight to the death Hunger Games style could be fun, but I suppose that defeats the purpose of the program.” He shrugged. “You should still consider making a point system. Psychopaths are hella competitive. You know? …Boone?”

Boone jerked his head up, blinking, yanking himself from his stupor, realizing only then that not only was Payton still petting him, but Boone’s hands had somehow migrated to sit high up on the boy’s slender thighs. 

He jumped back like he’d been burned. 

Payton’s face fell. “Aww, I thought we were bonding.”

“We were not bon—” Boone cut himself off, an early part of the conversation resurfacing. “Wait, what do you mean Park and Gift were playing kinky sex games in the classroom?” 

Payton smiled coyly. “A little birdy told me that Gift mouthed off to Park and ended up having to spend the day with a bullet vibrator in his ass with the remote control in Park’s pocket. He didn’t even survive until lunch.” 

“A little birdy?” Boone echoed, leaning forward once more, pushing Payton’s knees wider. Payton sucked in a sharp breath, then whined when Boone opened the desk drawer he’d been blocking. He pulled out a bottle of tums, dumping them directly into his mouth like candy. Payton’s brows shot up as he watched Boone chew, the crunch loud in the silence until Payton explained. 

“Yes, a little birdy named Gift. He told me he almost died from embarrassment but the orgasm had been worth it. Then he said Park railed him into the mattress and was feeding him ramen.” Payton sighed. “That could be us if you’d just loosen up.” 

A throbbing started behind Boone’s left eye. He flicked his gaze up to meet Payton’s. “Are you trying to drive me insane? I’m genuinely asking. Is—Is this fun for you?” 

Boone suddenly had a lap full of the boy. He sat on Boone’s knees, feet still planted on the floor. He set his palms on Boone’s wide shoulders. “Don’t be mad, Daddy. I just…like being with you.” 

“Why? Surely, there’s someone your own age to torment?” Boone asked, genuinely confused. “I’m old enough to be your—”

“Daddy?” Payton finished, cutting him off with another dirty grin. When Boone nodded, Payton shrugged. “I like older men. Boys my own age are too…malleable. I need someone who can outsmart me, who can make me want to behave…someone to break my spirit.” 

With each statement, Payton moved deeper and deeper into Boone’s space until their mouths were inches apart and Boone could feel his breath on his lips. Payton was reciting Boone’s exact words to Mac and Archer all those months ago. He’d thought he could break Payton. He’d been wrong. So wrong. And the boy seemed hellbent on rubbing it in his face. 

“Payton…” 

Payton’s features softened, a look of genuine disappointment leaching into his voice. “I know you like me. I know you do.” 

Disappointment tugged at Boone’s insides. “It doesn’t matter if I like you or not. I’m…” 

“My principal? My headmaster?” Payton rubbed his cheek against Boone’s. “That just makes it so much hotter. We’re not just age-gap, we’re student/teacher romance and even forced proximity. If you would just stop fighting me, we could be a little BDSM and Daddy kink, too.” 

Boone stared at him, genuinely baffled. “I have no idea what you’re saying. Not that I ever do.” 

Payton rolled his eyes. “They’re tropes. You know, like from romance novels? Right now, we’re definitely grumpy/sunshine and, hopefully, even enemies-to-lovers, but you have to play along.” 

“You read romance novels?” Boone asked, brow arching upwards, deliberately ignoring everything else.

Payton nodded, making himself more comfortable in Boone’s lap. “Only the really smutty gay ones. Sometimes, Gift and I cuddle in bed and read the dirty parts out loud. He doesn’t read romance novels, though. He prefers fanfic, usually about his anime characters.” 

“Fanfic?” Boone parroted.

“Yeah, you know, like when you ship two people who may or may not be a couple in a show or in real life and you make up stories about them for the enjoyment of yourself and others? Like…” He pondered briefly, then snapped his fingers. “The angel, Castiel, and Dean from Supernatural. They’re a ship. You know? As in relation ‘ship.’ Of course, Sam and Dean are also a ship, so…” 

Boone frowned. “Wait. Aren’t they brothers?” 

Boone only knew that because both main actors hailed from Texas like him. 

Payton nodded. “Yeah, Wincest shippers. Incest is irrelevant in the world of fanfic. Pretty much any moral compass you have gets smashed after a few months of reading it. It’s like the wild west. There are no laws at all. You can write literally anything. I once read a fic where Sam was a sentient cinnamon roll being eaten and fucked by Dean in a cafe full of people. And it was told from the point of view of the sentient pastry.” 

Boone could feel his face contorting into a look that screamed ‘what the fuck.’ “And…that’s your thing? The cinnamon roll story?”

Payton scoffed. “God no. I’m allergic to cinnamon.”

Boone blinked at him stupidly, trying to gauge exactly at what point he’d lost all control of the conversation. “Weird,” he finally muttered, more to himself than to Payton. 

Payton snickered. “You think that’s weird? Did you know that there’s fanfic about Archer and Mac on Ao3?”

“Ao3?” 

“Yeah, it’s a fanfic site. Archive of our Own. They have hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of fanfics about couples, both real and fake, and the Mulvaneys have their very own tag. I grew up around rich people, but never anyone famous enough to be immortalized in fanfic.”

“Me neither. But I grew up dirt poor, so…” 

“Of course, Archer’s hot and all, but he’s too young for me. I could go for Mac, maybe, but redheads don’t really ‘do it’ for me. I like salt and pepper hair…like yours,” Payton said, his fingers trailing over Boone’s face like he had some claim to him. “Of course, Thomas Mulvaney…he could be hot, too. Too bad his husband makes torture devices as a hobby.” 

Boone’s nostrils flared, jealousy lighting up his insides at Payton’s words. “Thomas Mulvaney raises psychopathic children. He doesn’t date them.” 

Payton sulked. “Rude.” 

The door to his office burst open. Archer blinked at Boone and Payton, or, more specifically, Payton cradled in Boone’s arms. 

As soon as he realized what they were doing, Boone shoved Payton, forcing the boy to his feet with a disgruntled noise. Payton feigned hurt. “Rude,” he said again, this time with more emphasis.

Boone rolled his eyes. “Get back to class.” 

Payton looked at Archer, then back to Boone. “Fine…but this isn’t over.” 

As soon as he left, Boone pulled the liquor bottle from his desk, taking a huge swallow, before holding the bottle out to Archer, who shook his head, making a face. “No, thanks. Never liked the taste of the stuff.” 

Archer dropped into the seat. “So, did you hear about…”

“The lab?” Boone sighed. “Yeah.”

“Lucy strikes again. I’m starting to think she’s not an assassin but a pyromancer,” Archer said with a laugh. 

Boone grimaced. “How bad’s the damage?”

“To the student or the lab?”

“Both?” Boone asked. 

Archer shrugged. “Lucy’s fine. The lab has a couple thousand dollars in damage. No big deal.” 

Boone nodded. 

Archer looked at the antacid medicine on the desk next to the bottle of bourbon. “Wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” Boone muttered.

“Why your lunch consists of booze and sodium bicarb or why you had our deadliest student curled up in your lap like a domesticated house cat?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you…”

Archer chuckled. “That boy’s already got you by the balls.”

Boone glowered at him. “Did you know there’s fan fiction written about you and Mac on the internet?” 

Archer snickered. “Of course. When I piss Mac off, he sits on me and forces me to listen while he reads it out loud. Somehow, I’m always cast as a pirate or a sad sack full of trauma, healed by the power of love.” Archer laughed at that. “But upside, the sex is usually hot.”

Boone didn’t say anything, just dropped his head on his desk, welcoming the idea of hitting it hard enough to lose consciousness. 

“Where was Park anyway? Why was Pike watching the baby psychos?” Archer asked.

Boone didn’t even look up. “There was a sex toy incident with Gift,” he said, voice muffled. 

Archer snorted. “Pardon?”

Boone lifted his head. “Please, don’t make me rehash it. If you want to know so bad, go find Park.” 

“Somebody’s grumpy.”

Grumpy/Sunshine. Enemies-to-lovers.

“Can you just go?” 

Archer laughed. “I don’t know if I should. What if you down that whole bottle of Tums and I find your dead, weirdly bloated corpse tomorrow? I’ll feel terrible.” 

Boone gave him a flat stare. “You’re a psychopath.”

“It’s a spectrum,” Archer reminded. “On a scale of 1-10, ten being…”

“Charles Manson?” Boone supplied. 

“Yeah, sure. I’m like a solid five. Maybe even a five and a half on a bad day.”

“Where do you think Payton falls?” Boone heard himself ask.

“Hard to say. You’d know better than me. You were the one snuggling with him.”

“That was…a mistake. I don’t even know how it happened.”

That was a lie. It happened because Payton had somehow just wormed his way past Boone’s defenses like an invasive species. Payton was…infectious, invading Boone’s bloodstream and going straight for his heart. 

Archer laughed, standing. 

“Well, you better figure it out quickly before you wake up married to a deviant little psychopath with a violent streak, a trust fund, and a shopping addiction. It happens to even the most vigilant of us.” 

Boone hated how much he didn’t hate the idea.

Fuck.