Sinful Truth (Mayet Justice #3) Read Online Emilia Finn

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Mayet Justice Series by Emilia Finn

Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)


Paul McGregor is a treasured resident of Copeland City and a beloved friend who provides food and shelter for the city’s at-risk youths.
No one has a bad word to say about him, yet he’s found in his bed on a freezing January night.
Tortured. Dismembered. Dead.
Now he’s on my table inside the morgue, and his file has landed on Detective Malone’s desk.
Before Archer has the chance to begin his investigation, Paul’s killers walk through the front doors of the precinct and hand themselves in.
A confession usually closes a case, but instincts demand there’s more to Paul’s gruesome murder than his killers are letting on.
As my relationship with the homicide cop boils hotter than ever, and the hunt for the vigilante bubbles closer, I fear the wrath of a man unwilling to bend for love.
Is he protecting me? Or merely delaying the end?
Archer knows my secrets now. He knows everything I keep close to my heart.
But is he willing to accept me and all my flaws? Or will his loyalty to justice break us both?

Full Book:


Darkness bathes the extravagantly furnished living room, digging into the corners and peeking around doorways, as the studious Mr. McGregor sleeps in his bed upstairs, oblivious to the fact his end is coming and his permanent slumber awaits.

Sweat trickles along my spine—not from the nerves over what I’m about to do, or from fear at being caught sinking an axe into a man’s skull, but because this middle-aged youth counselor makes buckets of money from his work, meaning he has no trouble keeping the heat on too high in the winter… unlike those he counsels.

My fingertips fizzle with sensation as they wrap around the tool’s handle and flex under the weight of ten pounds of wood and steel.

“Garret?” My friend, my brother from another mother, tiptoes through the doorway with his back bowed and footsteps light. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah.” But before I head up the stairs and do what I’ve come here to do, I turn to my friend and press a hand to his shoulder. “You can turn around,” I whisper in the dimness. “Go out the front door and bolt. No one has to know you were here.”

“But, Garret—”

“It only takes one to finish this. There’s no reason for both of us go down for it.”

“No. I’m here.” His voice grows stronger, and under my hand, his shoulder hardens.

When I look down between us, I spy the tire wrench fisted in his hand, wrapped in his long fingers and held by decades of hatred.

Paul McGregor’s death won’t be gentle or pain-free. It won’t be a sweet slipping into the night or a soft pass-over. It’ll be brutal and bloody, the kind nightmares are made of. And when it’s done, there’ll be no mistaking who was responsible.

“I’m staying with you until it’s done,” Gage continues. “Brothers for life, remember?”

I stare into his eyes, my brown to his blue. He’s older than me by just a couple of years, but for the longest time, I’ve felt like the older brother. The caretaker. The gate, keeping the worst at bay and the monsters away.

Finally, when his gaze remains intent and his hand flexes around his weapon, I nod and turn toward the stairs. “Alright. Let’s go.”


Life is hard, and then you die.

That’s how it goes, isn’t it? It’s how most stories go, in my personal experience. And as Copeland City’s chief medical examiner, I have a front-row seat to a lot of ‘the world sucks, and now my gray matter decorates the walls’ type of endings.

As I do so often in my line of work, I walk onto a crime scene in the middle of a freezing January night, stifling the yawn working its way through my system, and under my too-thin coat, I shiver because the cold gets into my bones, and my hands shake as they tease toward an unhealthy blueish color.

Tonight, my crime scene is inside a fancy home in an upscale neighborhood where the rich can easily afford central heating. But the house on Coral Lane is wide open. Doors and windows sit ajar, drapes flutter in the breeze, and the cold is enough to make my nose and ears ache.

Aubree, my colleague and closest friend in this city, hands me a cup of to-go coffee the moment our eyes meet on-scene, and though I wrap my hands around the warmth, I’m not sure there’s anything she can do to fix the chill that always slides along my spine these days.

Nothing can fix that.

I keep my eyes on my associate, not on the CSIs moving through the house. And I sure as hell don’t glance up and search for the homicide detectives leading the case.

I don’t know who is working tonight, but the longer I can remain oblivious, the happier I’ll be.

On an exhale, I ask, “What have we got?”