Five Sinful Saviors: The Lost Boys, #1

By Evie Rae and Poppy Flynn

Ever since my brother vanished, I've built a life designed to shield me from the darker corners of the world. But that all changes when a notorious serial killer re-emerges in the Florida Keys, shattering my carefully constructed bubble.

As danger closes in, I find sanctuary with five protective men, each haunted by their own darkness.

As I try to not become another victim, I'm faced with a daring new challenge:

My protectors offer a tempting promise of romance and adventure, sweeping me into a whirlwind of forbidden desire and intrigue.

There's five of them and one of me. Together, we navigate a labyrinth of wicked passion and buried secrets. But can we truly escape the shadows that linger behind, or will I become another piece of the unsolved mystery?

This suspenseful reverse harem romance is inspired by Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, complete with a heart-fluttering HFN ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whyte House Publications
• Release date: May 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224867493

Book preview

Five Sinful Saviors

A Dark Romance

Evie Rae and Poppy Flynn

Whyte House Publications

Copyright © 2023 by Evie Rae and Poppy Flynn

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Cover Art by ARTSCANDARE Book Cover Design © 2023

Editing and Proofreading by Sherry Fowler-Schafer

Contents

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Acknowledgments

Evie Rae

Poppy Flynn

Also By Evie Rae

Also By Poppy Flynn

To assholes, protectors, nerds, himbos, and caretakers—we could never choose just one.

And most especially, to ginger kitties and their very special brand of love.

PLAYLIST

I Get Off * Halestorm

Addicted to Love * Florence + the Machine

I Know But I Don’t Know * Blondie

Crush * David Archuleta

Taking Chances * Glee Version

Big Bad Wolf * Roses & Revolutions

The Best I Ever Had * Limi

Alpha * Little Destroyer

Fallout * Unsecret, Neoni

Killer * Valerie Broussard

Hostage * Elle Lexxa

Silent Running * Hidden Citizens

Jessie’s Girl * Rick Springfield

Lost Boy * Ruth B.

DARKSIDE * Neoni

Killer In The Mirror * Set It Off

Hit Me Like a Man * The Pretty Reckless

#1 Crush * Garbage, Nellee Hooper

weak when ur around * blackbear

I Like Me Better * Lauv

Lover * Taylor Swift

I Don’t Know How To Tell You This * Faith Ling

La Vie En Rose * Daniela Andrade

Kokomo * The Beach Boys

One

Neve

Mood: craptacular yuckarooni.

Gray morning light slants through the blinds of my office, echoing my overall state of mind as I stare at the computer screen in front of me and scan my email and morning news alerts.

Little Pilots Daycare and Pre-K just won the grant I applied for last year, which is fantastic, but apparently, the media has already picked it up and run with it—which is not fantastic.

The article open before me now was written by someone who wasn’t happy with a simple little piece about a local childcare program making good. The author had dug into my past and thought it would make a great story, as she put it, about rising from the ashes of tragedy.

Puke.

Neve Murray, owner of Little Pilots Daycare and Pre-K, isn’t your ordinary childcare leader, though. Her story is an incredible one of rising from the ashes of tragedy and turning that tragedy to service in a needy sector.

As a child of eight, Murray’s own brother, aged four, fell victim to the infamous Peter Pan abductor, vanishing while in her company. It seems Murray was inspired by her loss to make a career of caring for children.

Since its inception three years ago, Little Pilots Daycare has been a sterling benefit to the community, preparing a number of socio-economically disadvantaged children for public school with strong programming and exceptional help.

It’s easy to see how it was selected for the Florida Childcare Advantage Grant.

The article accompanies a photo of me, taken when I wasn’t looking and was busy helping little Jasmine tie her shoe. Jasmine is fortunately half-cut from the photo and non-identifiable. Her parents would kill me if she showed up on the internet.

I sigh and close the lid of my laptop, then rise from the desk and begin moving about to ready the school for the day. There are shades to be drawn up, chairs to be pulled down from the tables, and the heat to turn on and knock the nighttime chill off the air. Even in the Keys, nighttime temperatures in the spring can dip and be uncomfortably cool.

I don’t need or want the extra publicity, and certainly not at the expense of my personal life, but I guess there’s nothing much I can do about it.

I just wish they hadn’t brought up Nicholas.

The thought of my little brother, frozen forever in my memory as a cuddly, energetic four-year-old with bright green eyes just like mine, makes me want to lock my office door and sulk the day away.

I can’t do that, though.

I have children to take care of.

image-placeholder

Mood: I’ve got sunshine.

I hum as I open up several days later. Despite the unwanted media attention, it’s been a good week so far, with parents congratulating the staff and even bringing in donations of items I had listed as things we needed in my grant application.

And tonight, I’m meeting my friend Caroline Kennedy for drinks and apps at our favorite bar. We’ve been friends since we were tiny, and no matter what’s going on in our worlds, we don’t mess with our weekly girls’ night. Caroline is the wild child daughter of filthy rich divorced parents, an emigrant from their Texas ranch to their Key West vacation home, and one of the best things that ever happened to me. I don’t know if I’d be sane without her contagious self brightening my days.

What the…?

I stop as soon I push the door open and cross the threshold, the key forgotten in my suddenly numb fingers. It looks like a raccoon or something got in, paper and litter strewn across the entryway, and the potted Ficus I keep in the corner uprooted and tossed carelessly to the floor.

I take a few further steps inside, my practical brown Doc Martens crunching across the mess. Confusion is uppermost in my head. I can’t fathom how this could happen… I always personally check every window and exterior door before I leave for the day, so unless something was already in the building, there’s simply no way it could have gotten inside.

I continue on to my office, located just off the foyer. I need to call Shelby to come in a bit early if possible and help me clean up and locate the culprit. Three strides in I stop, hand outstretched to unlock the door and enter.

The teal door is open.

A frisson of fear makes me shiver, and I take a step backwards. I know I locked that door last night. I remember doing so, because I forgot initially and had to turn around…

…and there’s no way a raccoon could’ve unlocked it.

With my finger pressed on the emergency call button on my cell phone, I peer around the door and inside. I don’t see anyone and push the door open with my toe.

The room is trashed. The drawers have been pulled from my desk and upturned over the floor; the desk and visitor chairs tossed about. The petty cash envelope lies at my feet. With shaking hands, I pick it up and unzip it, my heart thumping uncomfortably as I count swiftly.

It’s all here.

A frown creases my brow, and I look around, spotting my computer on the floor beneath the desk. Why would someone break in and not take anything of value? And how did they get in? The lock was fine…

I leave my office, this time with the phone pressed to my ear as I call 9-1-1 to report the break-in. I want to walk my school, discover how the intruder got in, but the dispatcher tells me to exit the building immediately to preserve evidence, and reluctantly, I comply.

Instead, I call Shelby and let her know what’s happening and ask her to activate the phone tree that will alert parents of a potential delay in drop-off. They’re bound to be upset at the disruption. Just reassure them that all appears to be fine, except for some mess to clean up. I don’t think anything was stolen, so I’m reporting it more to be cautious than anything else. I’d rather err on the side of caution than leave the door open for anything to happen to their children.

Exactly right. On it. Shelby clicks off, and I wait on the stoop for the officers to arrive.

It doesn’t take them long. A squad car pulls into the parking lot within minutes, and the doors open to reveal two youngish-appearing officers. Something inside of me goes tight at the sight of the uniforms, and I have to force myself to breathe slowly and calmly through my nose. I don’t like cops.

No. That’s not exactly it, if I’m being fair. I don’t dislike the police…it’s just that my experiences with them—every interaction and interview I was required to be present for after my brother went missing—left me with an ugly sense of dissatisfaction. They never found my brother. It’s difficult to forgive the institution as a whole for that.

Ms. Murray? They approach, one with a hand outstretched, and I nod as I stand to take it.

That’s me.

Why don’t you take us through what happened?

I show them the door. When I got here this morning—

At your usual time, I assume? The blond officer breaks in, pen poised over his notepad.

Yes. Six-thirty A.M.

That’s pretty early.

When I don’t reply, he nods for me to continue.

As I was saying, when I arrived, I unlocked the door as usual—

The door was locked?

The officer with darker hair sends his partner an annoyed look. Let’s allow her to tell us what happened before we start asking a bunch of questions, okay? The other one grunts.

I smile briefly at the dark-haired cop. Thank you, Officer. The door was locked, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary until I got the door open and stepped inside. It was a mess, as you’ll see. At first I thought maybe an animal had somehow gotten in the building, but when I walked further in and went to unlock my office, I knew that wasn’t the case.

How so? It’s the dark-haired officer who asks.

My office door was ajar. I always lock it, and before you ask, yes, I remember locking it last night.

He nods. Continue.

I pushed the door fully open with my toe—no hands—and glanced in. No one was there, and so I went all the way in. I almost stepped on my petty cash envelope, and I’m sorry—I did pick that up to check it.

Was the cash missing? He quirks an eyebrow at me.

No. That’s the weird thing… It’s a huge mess in there—furniture tossed about, everything half-destroyed—but I didn’t see that anything had been taken.

Mm. What did you do after that?

I called 9-1-1 and left the building. I have no idea how the person who did this got in, or what the other rooms look like. I need to get it cleared, though, so I can get things cleaned up before the kids start arriving.

Let’s cross one bridge before the next, ma’am. Please come with us while we check things out.

Sure. I follow as they enter the building and stop when the blond one barks an order to stay.

They move further inside, I guess to make sure the intruder is truly gone. My suspicions are confirmed when they return a few moments later.

All clear. It actually looks pretty good back there, but we’ll get you to go with us and check for anything out of place.

I nod and walk with them through the remainder of the building. They were right…everything appears to be untouched, except for the mudroom where the children hang their coats and backpacks up in lockers each morning. Every locker door hangs open.

It’s like they were looking for something, I muse.

I would say money and valuables, but A—you’re a daycare, and B—they didn’t take your petty cash.

How did they get in?

The lock on the back door is busted. Dark Hair shifts his weight. Listen, I’d like to get a team in here to fingerprint a few things and take photos, and we’ll need you to come down to the precinct and provide a statement. Think you can do that today?

I think so, yes. I just need to get my staff in here.

Blond Hair motions to the open door. Looks like one’s here, already.

I see Shelby hovering, and I motion her in. Thank God, you’re here. Everyone notified?

Yes. Good grief, Neve.

I know. Okay, let’s get this cleaned up… I glance up at Dark Hair. I assume we’re okay to open after the fingerprinting?

Yes, but they’ll be a few hours. You’ll need to delay the clean-up until after lunch.

Shi-ooooot. I catch myself and change my wording to something more innocent just before I curse. I’ve had to work on the potty mouth since I opened the daycare. Wouldn’t do for little Johnny to go home copying my lack of impulse control. Shelby—

As usual, she knows what I need before I voice it. On it. I’ll send out an alert that we’re closed for the day. Go on, do what you need to do.

I flash her a grateful smile and follow the officers as they walk slowly outside. Okay, so I guess I’ll head down to the station now.

Probably your best course of action. I think it looks like kids acting out, to be honest. Just take it as a win that they were too stupid to steal anything.

Dam…nesty, I mutter as I watch them leave, and then I head back inside to gather my keys.

What a way to screw up a perfectly okay Thursday.

image-placeholder

Mood: Resigned anticipation.

Neveeeeee! Squealing, Caroline attacks me with a hug just inside Harbor Lizards, the cool little waterside pub we chose for our traditional girls’ night destination a long time ago. It’s been a part of the Key West coastline for decades, a little shack that from the outside looks like it’s about to crumble over into the shallow blue water of the Keys. Inside, it’s all weathered wood and stainless-steel tables, snarky waitresses and hot bartenders.

Caroline hugs me like it’s been a year instead of a week since we last saw each other and pronounces my name nev-ee instead of the correct nev, knowing it exasperates me. That’s Caroline—independent and affectionate and just this side of obnoxious. She is my person, and I adore her.

Hey, babe, I say, squeezing her back. How was work? Caroline works as a masseuse in a Key West spa.

Same ole, same ole. I had to convince an old guy that we were not that kind of salon, so that was fun.

Wanted his happy ending, huh?

Desperate for it, she snickers, and we’re still laughing as the hostess motions us to our usual booth. My giggles fade quickly, though. I’m not in the best of moods, not after what happened earlier.

Between drinks and apps ordering, I manage to relax a little, but I’m jumpy, my mind lingering on the break-in and possible reasons for it.

What’s up with you? Caroline asks. She may look and act as shallow as the low tide waters, but Caro is observant.

Nothing. I’m fine. I pluck a fried pickle from the basket between us and waggle my eyebrows at her as I eat it.

Yeah. I call bullshit.

I sigh and eat another pickle. Nothing, really. Just a long day, I guess.

Caro takes a long pull on the straw in her margarita and watches me over the rim. Would this long day have anything to do with the break-in at Little Pilots?

Shit. I mean, shoot.

You know about that?

She rolls her eyes. Of course, I know about it…small town, babe. It was on the news.

I groan, letting my head drop forward on my neck. Great. That is exactly what I need.

The real question here is why you didn’t call me.

My own margarita has left a circle of moisture on the metal table, and I trace a finger through it. I figured I’d tell you tonight.

And yet I still had to drag it out of you.

Caro… It’s just not something I want to think about. I look down into the bowl of my nearly empty margarita glass. Lifting a finger, I motion to the waitress for another. It brings back memories, you know. All the police cars and stuff...

Caroline nods. Yeah. I get that.

I look at her and know that yes, she does get it. She’s been there since the beginning…knows that any kind of interaction with the police is bound to remind me of my brother. A long look passes between us, and she visibly shakes herself.

Okay, you’re off the hook. So now that’s out of the way…let’s not think about it anymore. I have news.

I resolve to be less fixated on myself and my problems and sit up straighter in the booth. Okay, hit me with it.

Caroline vibrates with excitement. I found the app to end all other apps. At my look of confusion, she shifts closer, leaning over the table on her forearms. A dating app, you goober.

Oh. I wave my hands before me. Nope. No, thank you. I am really not about dating anyone right now.

Shut it. You remember that girl Jude? From Chandler U? With the three boyfriends? You were fascinated by her.

I remember. Caroline was a few years younger than we were, while Jude was in classes with me, a fellow student at Chandler University around a decade ago when Caroline and I were there. Some weird computer error had placed her in a dorm with three of the hottest guys on campus, and instead of telling anyone and getting moved to a girls’ dorm, she ended up falling in love with and getting married to the three of them.

We ended up working together at a local restaurant-bar and becoming good friends, and yes–I was fascinated. Still am, if I’m honest.

Heat suffuses me at the memory of walking in on her having sex with the three of them after their graduation party years ago.

The idea of having not one, but three men to warm her cold feet at night and leave the toilet seat up still boggles my mind a little. We all knew, though, when she hitched her star to those of Galen, Ezra, and Baron in college, that they would be together forever.

It’s unconventional, but to each their own.

Yeah, yeah…I remember. And then you did all that research and found that woman…what was her name?

Violet Gordon-Woodhouse. She had what, four husbands?

Something like that. My hero. I fan my hand across my chest and flutter my eyelashes.

Caroline laughs. Anyway, I found a dating app for people who are interested in polyamory. It’s literally called PolyApp. I almost died when I found it, and Nevee… you are going to use it. Gimme your phone.

I'm too busy for dating.

She wags her finger at me. "I don't think so. You are thirty-two-years old, and my biological clock is ticking, for God's sake. Phone."

I have no resistance when Caroline snatches my phone and unlocks it. She downloads the app and immediately starts setting up a profile, beginning with several selfies while we’re sitting there in the booth.

She knows I won’t do it, otherwise.

As we leave the Harbor Lizards later that night, I give Caroline a hug and wave my phone at her. As intriguing as this is, I just want you to know that I have no intentions of using this app. I’m not in the right place for it.

I haven’t dated in a while. Life is too busy with the daycare, and I have impossible ideals of what I want. Last time I used a dating app, it was exhausting trying to weed through the duds. Especially when in the end…they were all duds.

Caroline laughs. Yeah, okay. You’ll have a date by this weekend.

Shaking my head, I stick my tongue out at her and leave.

The hell I will.

That night, though, I find myself scrolling through the images of guys out there searching for a woman to share the love with their friends. They’re weirdly not…weird. Most of them appear normal, anyway.

One in particular catches my attention. Oliver with the leagues-deep blue eyes and a soulful expression that hints at secrets. Oliver, who touts himself as a hopeless romantic and an introvert who loves reading and sitting around watching the sun set.

I swipe right on Oliver before I talk myself out of it, and then put my phone away.

Maybe he’ll respond tomorrow. Maybe he won’t. I can’t decide which possibility I want to become reality.

Maybe this could be a good thing.

But it can’t banish the events of the morning.

Two

Neve

Mood: Supah-Wanting-Another-Hour-of-Sleep

My phone chirps the next morning while I’m standing at the counter of my small apartment, gulping down a mug of coffee that scalds as it goes. I’m late and in a rush this morning, having slept terribly last night. At my feet, Jamie Fraser, my ginger cat, mews, letting me know he’d like his morning catnip treats now, please.

Ignoring the phone for the moment, I squat and sprinkle a few on the floor for him, running my fingers through his fur before rising.

Picking the phone up, I see a notification alerting me that I have a match on PolyApp.

Holding my breath, I open the app. Oliver’s profile fills the screen, with a small chat icon at the bottom. I click on it.

Roses are red, violets are blue. I really suck at online dating, and hope you do, too. I splutter, coffee going everywhere, until his next attempt at flirting appears. That’s so we can cleave to one other and live happily ever after, of course.

Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into?

Good morning, I type out, and then pause, unsure what to say next. I’m really not much better than he is, apparently. At least he made an effort to be creative.

A picture of a delicious-looking breakfast follows with what is presumably Oliver’s hand holding a fork. An expanse of tranquil waterfront is visible beyond the plate.

Intrigued by both the food and the pretty surroundings, I snap a quick pic of my nearly empty cup of coffee and send it to him before I can overthink it. Your breakfast looks much better than mine. I’m off to work but would love to chat later.

Grabbing my keys from the counter, I leave to embrace my normal routine. I wish I had more time to devote to flirting this morning, but duty calls. My fingers are crossed that there will be no issues at the daycare, and when I get there, I’m relieved to see everything looking untouched from when I left yesterday after Shelby and I finished our clean-up.

The good thing about directing a daycare is that it leaves very little room for mooning over cute guys on dating apps. I settle into the everyday tasks that demand my attention, as well as other little things like tying a shoe here or wiping a nose there, and in very little time I’ve forgotten all about PolyApp and Oliver.

Throughout the morning, my phone vibrates with notifications.

B. Staton: Good morning, Ms. Murray. I have some concerns regarding the break-in yesterday and the lack of communication afterwards. Please contact me ASAP.

Yikes. Maybe not everyone received the phone tree message?

Scanning back through the texts,