Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect, #9)

by Neva Altaj

“Long time no see, tiger cub.” The deep, raspy voice washes over me. Hearing it is like being swaddled by a thick fluffy blanket. I’m safe and secure, in a place where no one can do me harm.

“I missed you, too, cub,” he whispers, raising a big black gun, fitted with a suppressor. “Do not move.” My breathing stops. The muffled gunshot wheezes through the air.

I was so eager to be a part of their world. Until that night fourteen years ago. It was New Year’s Eve, and the whole house was decorated in beautiful gold ribbons with little red details at the fringes that I helped Mom pick out.

Another boom rang out as Massimo fired at the man who shot Elmo. I heard the echo of those gunshots for hours. Not even the piercing siren of the ambulance that rushed to our house or the rumble of the coroner’s engine that later carried Elmo away could drown out that sound. And it still thundered in my head, over the deafening slam of the police car’s door splitting the stillness of the night, as the cops took Massimo away.

“Can I help you?” asks a man in overalls from the top of the stairs. A bucket with cleaning supplies is next to him. A janitor. The whole block is still under construction and the tenants haven’t moved in yet, so there shouldn’t be any custodial staff around at this hour. Obviously, the intel I got was wrong. I lift my weapon, aiming at the janitor’s head. “Please,” the man chokes out. “I have a family. Two kids and—” I squeeze the trigger before he can finish the sentence.

One of my former colleagues had a saying: “Never presume someone is dead until he’s sporting a hole in his head.” It’s a solid mantra.

Killing is the only thing I know how to do.

The last time I tried catching a star, I was eight years old. My foster father found me on the roof and dragged me down by my hair. He took me to the basement where he beat the shit out of me. I couldn’t even stand afterward. He called me an imbecile and left me lying in a puddle of my own blood while he went upstairs to get the razor. I was too far gone to fight him when he grabbed me by the hair again and shaved it all off. Two days later, when I was finally able to walk, I found the same razor, went into his room, and cut his throat.

A strong jaw with neat short stubble, and a slightly crooked nose. His closed eyes are framed by thick black eyebrows, and several strands of jet-black hair have fallen over his face,

There’s a light touch on my right wrist as his fingers circle it, just as they had done a few minutes ago. He raises my hand and presses his lips to the tips of my fingers. And I suddenly forget how to breathe. “You did good.” His husky voice washes over me, almost like a caress, while he releases my hand.

“No ‘thank you for saving my life’?” I mumble. My mysterious stranger stops, but he doesn’t turn to look at me. “You’re alive, aren’t you?” “Yes. So?” “That’s the biggest ‘thank you’ anyone ever got from me, cub.”

“Which day is it? I’ll have to check my schedule at the clinic.” “I don’t care about your hobby schedule, Nera. You’re going to be there,” he snaps, then points his fork at Zara. “You, too. In an outfit that’s appropriate for the venue and the weather. I’ll get back to you with a date.” Keeping her eyes downcast, Zara sets her utensils on her plate and slowly rises. She doesn’t say a word as she steps away and leaves the dining room. “That was mean!” I hiss as soon as my sister is out of earshot. “She’s not a kid anymore. Your sister is almost eighteen, and she needs to start paying attention to how she presents herself. She can’t go around covered from head to toe in a hundred-degree heat, for God’s sake. People will talk.” “Then let them fucking talk!” I throw the napkin onto my plate, then rush after Zara.

She is absolutely gorgeous, and I tried to make her see that. There isn’t a single thing that isn’t beautiful about my sister. I wanted her to realize that about herself, to recognize that she is pretty and perfect, just as she is. She didn’t believe me, but at least she stopped using the foundation.

Her red scarf is still in my pocket. I told myself I took it with me because I didn’t want to leave my DNA at her workplace, but that’s all a load of shit, of course. There was so much of my blood in that clinic when I left, that the amount soaked into her hair accessory was pitiful in comparison, and wouldn’t have registered. I wanted to have something of hers—a memento—so I stole it. Until then, I’ve never stolen a single thing in my whole life. I should check up on her. The need to make sure she’s safe rises within me like a tidal wave. It’s an unexplainable, ridiculous pull messing with my head, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake it. It’s been haunting me every minute of every day for the past week, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t care about people. In fact, most of the time, I barely care about myself, so this concern for someone else’s well-being is completely foreign to me. I’m going to look in on her today. The moment I make that decision, it gets easier to draw a breath.

I’m already in hell, and I haven’t even left the earth, yet.

If I let myself be taken out, I wouldn’t be able to make sure the girl is okay. I need to make sure she’s safe, and that need is stronger than the wish to finally end my existence.

The tinted window on the passenger side won’t allow her to peek into my car, but I can see her clearly. Think more clearly, too. My brain was a bit scrambled due to the blood loss when we met, but I did notice that she was pretty. Moron. She’s more than “pretty.”

See? The girl is fine, I tell myself. Now, turn around, and get the hell out of here. I can’t. I thought that seeing her one more time, making sure with my own eyes that she’s all right, would be enough. But, it’s not.

But I want to give her something. More than a kiss on her hand. I’ve actually never kissed anyone or anything before. I don’t have much to offer, so that night, I gave her what I had. A kiss for the hand that treated my wound with such care. But, I can also give her safety.

and one of them was convicted of attempted rape. I check both of their addresses through the nav app, then take my gun and get out of the car. The whole idea of second chances is one big illusion. People very rarely change, if ever. And I will not allow a potential threat to live anywhere near my tiger cub.

He was bragging about how he finally banged Nuncio Veronese’s daughter, and how he plans on doing it every night until he gets me pregnant.

Whatever was coming out of her mouth sounded more like a banshee’s cry. It was awful, and slightly painful to listen to, but the corners of my lips tilted up regardless.

She’s so bad at singing, that it’s just damn cute. When she messes up the chorus for the second time, I find myself laughing with the rest of the crowd. It feels strange, probably because I can’t remember the last time I laughed.

Just as animals in the wild can sniff out other members of their species from miles away, human predators recognize their kind. And I can see it as clear as day—this man was going to hurt my girl.

For some reason, keeping an eye on my little savior has an unusually calming effect on me. She did save my life on the night we met, but not in the way she probably thinks. It wasn’t the makeshift bandage, which I keep in my pocket wherever I go.

And it wasn’t her inexperienced extraction of the bullet from my side. But, had I not met her, the next mission likely would have been my last. There is a limit to how much shit someone can take before calling it quits and checking out of this world. That night, just moments before the girl found me, I realized that I had my fill. As I sat on the ground in that alley and watched the dark sky above, I decided to make my next job the final act of my life. So, I closed my eyes and imagined the bliss of just . . . not existing.

Previously, I didn’t much care if I completed my assignments and came out alive or in a body bag. But I do now. How could I watch over my girl if I’m dead? The night she tied her scarf around my thigh and then offered me her hand, my life became hers.

It has now become part of my routine. Check everything out around her building to make sure nothing is suspicious. Climb to this roof across the narrow street from her place. Spend hours watching her. Just watching, because learning anything more about her may mean I’ll never escape her gravitational pull.

I still can’t get her out of my head. The need to know she’s safe consumes me. It’s more than an obsession—it’s a primal urge. One that must be obeyed or I’m going to lose my shit. Something that started as quick checkups every couple of weeks, has now turned into hours-long sessions of just watching her. Keeping my eyes on her, because nothing can touch her on my watch. Nothing can harm her when I’m near.

The other woman approaches my girl and nudges her with an elbow, saying something in the process. I snap to attention immediately, ready to head over and wring the shrew’s neck for hurting my tiger cub, but my girl just giggles. Why is she allowing it? Why is she not fighting back, defending herself? Even if it was just a little shove, she should be returning the hit, or others will start mistreating her. She definitely shouldn’t be hugging the woman as she’s doing now. My eyes narrow into slits while I try to analyze this strange behavior, but come up with nothing. Did I misunderstand the woman’s intent?

Purposefully, knowing exactly what it takes not to sever the muscle tissue, I slowly drag the tip of a knife from my elbow toward my wrist. Blood runs down to my hand once I’m finished with the grisly deed, big red drops fall onto the sidewalk and land at my feet. The cut is shallow, but long enough to require several stitches. Enough of a reason for me to seek her out again. Returning the knife to its leather holder, I head across the street.

“And where is Todd now?” “Back home, hidden in a suitcase under my bed.” She comes to stand in front of me and looks down at my arm. “This is a really bad idea.” She killed the guy and stuffed him in a suitcase? It’s a pain in the ass to fit a body in a suitcase—I know that from experience. You need to break the limbs first, at every joint. Depending on the size of the bag, the neck might need to be broken, too. I narrow my eyes and watch her as she methodically cleans the blood from the cut. And what about the smell? Dead bodies start to stink after twenty-four hours. “How long has . . . Todd been under your bed?” I ask as she puts a numbing spray around the cut. “Um, ten, maybe twelve years. You’re distracting me.” Twelve years? She must have started young. Younger than I was when I made my first kill at just eight years old.

I won’t dare set my dirty hands on something so pure and innocent as her, even if it’s just to feel her hair. For me, she’s like a treasured painting in a museum, open to view, but marked with a brass sign warning “Do Not Touch.”

It takes only twenty-two sutures to close the cut. They’re uneven and messy, but I don’t mind. The whole ordeal lasted barely ten minutes. I should have made a longer cut.

He reaches out and brushes the tip of his finger along the back of my hand. “Will you help me again, if I come?” I bite my lower lip, leaning slightly forward. It might be crazy and stupid, but I would like to see him again. Soon. “Yes.”

“She also told me to turn and run if I ever see you again.” “Wise advice. She must have been the one wearing a long brown dress at the place where you went to sing.”

“I wouldn’t call it stalking. Your safety is important to me, so I drop by from time to time.” “From time to time?” “Once or twice a month. Just to make sure you’re okay.” He shrugs.

“It was the wrong thing to do, and I understand it now. I’m sorry for scaring you. You won’t be seeing me again.” What? No! I don’t want him gone. I clasp my hands in front of me and take a step closer to this mysterious man. “You can come again,” I blurt out. “If you need to have a bullet dug out or to be stitched up again, you know where to find me.”

“Make him disappear, Felix.”

“So, she still doesn’t want to socialize? I have to admit, I was rather surprised she came with us to a karaoke night.” “If my sister doesn’t want to go out, it’s her choice. You have a problem with that?” “Whoa, girl. I didn’t mean . . .” “I know.” I offer her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. The first round is on me, okay?” “You bet.”

“You seem well,” I add. “No bleeding wounds tonight?” “Unfortunately, no.” I raise an eyebrow. “Unfortunately?” “I quite enjoy our little doctor-patient adventures. Maybe next time, when I get shot or stabbed, I’ll seek you out again.”

Just the idea of him getting wounded again makes my chest constrict. Even though it would allow me to see him. Touch him. Maybe, he would even kiss my fingers again, like at our previous two encounters. My guess is it’s his particular way of thanking me. Still, I don’t want him hurt.

“Where’s your key?” “I don’t know. Let me sleep.” Stillness. Silence. Then, a loud bang. “Your door sucks.”

“I’m very sorry, sir, but we don’t have parsley.” I narrow my eyes at the flower shop attendant and take a step closer. The man quickly retreats, his back hitting the wall behind him. This is the fourth flower shop open twenty-four seven that I’ve checked, and none of them had the damn herb. And I’m losing my patience. “I need parsley.” I lean forward until I’m growling into his face. “Now.”

If you come back tomorrow, I will have some for you.” “I have a double hit on the schedule tomorrow.” The man blinks at me in confusion. “A hit?” “Kill job,” I clarify.

Tonight, in that alley, my girl had talked with me as if I wasn’t a monstrous freak, hiding in the shadows. It was strange. The good kind of strange. For a short while, I actually felt like a person. Something I haven’t felt for a long, long time. And then, she let her guard down, falling asleep in my car. With me beside her. Trusting that I wouldn’t do anything to harm her while she was in her most vulnerable state was beyond reckless. It shook me to the core.

I intend to be there while he goes about his business. One, because there’s no way I’d let a man get inside her apartment without me being there. And two, I want to make sure he works quietly as I instructed, so he doesn’t wake her up.

He was afraid of me. I was barely seventeen. But something else was also in his eyes. Pride. I’d never had anyone be proud of me before that day. It felt good. Still, in that moment, I wanted to put a gun to his temple and kill him. At the same time, though, I wanted to see that look of pride in his eyes once more. My feelings about the whole thing confused the fuck out of me.

The establishments she frequents are fairly subdued—more like neighborhood pubs—and not very likely to attract major problems, but I won’t take any chances with her. I want to be sure she’s safe. No. It’s not just a want. Need. I need to know that she’s safe.

“You looked more beautiful than the bride.”