Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

No one is around as I limp across the parking lot—only me, the stars, and the full moon casting its light over the deserted surroundings.

I stop my advance for a moment and observe the sky. When I was a kid, I’d often sneak out when everyone in my foster home fell asleep and climb onto the roof to watch the sky. It wasn’t the dark expanse or its apparent endlessness that captivated my attention, but rather, the twinkling dots of those distant stars. They seemed so small, yet, their glow penetrated the darkness as if they were beacons, lighting the path for anyone lost in the dark. I would reach out and imagine capturing one in my fist, as if I could hold that saving light. But opening my hand revealed it to be empty. The light lingered in the sky—gleaming, tempting me to try again, but always remaining out of reach.

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. After that night, I never again tried to catch a star. I guess that cemented my belief that the heavenly shine was not meant for me.

I turn my face toward the shining globe in the dark sky and close my eyes, imagining how good it would be to never open them again.

The traffic light changes to red, so I turn up the music a bit and glance out the open window. Dad doesn’t like me going through this part of town, he thinks it’s dangerous, but it’s a much quicker route. I come this way quite often because the vet clinic is just on the next block, and there’s no one around at this time of night anyway.

I’m humming along to the tune from the radio, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, when a movement in the alley across the street catches my eye. It looks like a man, walking slowly while supporting himself with his hand against the wall. He stops for a moment, then takes two more steps before his legs give out, folding under him.

Shit. Should I go over and see if he needs help? Nope, someone else will come along, give him a hand if he needs it. I look toward the traffic light. Still red. My eyes swing back to the man in the alley. He’s sitting on the ground now, leaning on the side of the building, and his head is tilted up. Probably just a drunk who’s lost his way or is so inebriated he can’t even walk straight.He’ll be okay,I tell myself, but I can’t pull my eyes away from him.

He seems to be looking at the sky, just as I had done earlier. It wasn’t the first time I’d stared into the night and wondered what life had in store for me. Is he doing the same? Is he like me, also asking, “What’s waiting for me out there?”

Maybe this guy doesn’t have a phone. He would have called someone for help already if he did, right?Crap. I step on the gas as soon as the light turns green and crank the steering wheel, making a U-turn, then nudge my car to the desolate sidewalk, stopping at the gap between the two buildings.

Leaving my vehicle and heading into a dark alley to check on some random dude is stupid, but I can’t just ignore him. I reach under my seat to pull out the gun I’ve hidden there. Sticking it into the waistband of my pants at my back, I exit the car.

The street light outside the alley entrance bathes the surroundings in a yellowish glow. I keep my right hand on the handle of my gun, ready to withdraw it at a moment’s notice. Reckless I might be, but stupid I am not. Two years ago, I caught one of my father’s men banging a maid while he should have been on guard duty, so I blackmailed him to teach me and my sister how to shoot. Zara didn’t want to at first, but she ended up being a natural. I might not be the best shot, but I do pretty well at short distances.

I approach the man and come to a stop by his legs. He’s wearing black pants and a black dress shirt, the top two buttons undone. His left pant leg looks wet, and there are smears of blood on the pavement beneath him. My eyes glide to his enormously wide chest, rising and falling slowly with each labored breath, then continue up to his face. The air leaves my lungs.

He must be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Definitely older than me, and not like one of the immature peacocks I left behindat Dad’s party. The lines of his face are sharp as if etched in stone. High cheekbones. 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, the ends reaching nearly to his waist. I’ve never known any man with such long hair.

“Do you need help?” I ask when I come to my senses.

The man doesn’t respond. I throw a look over my shoulder. Still no one around. Great. Keeping a grip on my gun, I crouch and lean closer to him.

“Hey.” I poke his chest with my finger.

I don’t even see him move. One moment he’s slumped against the wall like he’s passed out, and the next, he has a gun pressed to my temple, his eyes boring into mine. My body goes utterly still. Cold sweat breaks across my skin, and a frisson of fear runs down my spine. There’s no time to draw my own weapon, so I just stare into the most unusual eyes I’ve ever seen. Such a light shade of gray they almost look silver.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks in a deep raspy voice.

“An idiot, apparently.”

He furrows his brows and scans my flowery blouse and white pants. His eyes move up until they stop at the top of my head where my dark-blonde hair is gathered into a high ponytail and tied with a red silk scarf. The touch of cold metal at my temple disappears.

“Get the fuck out of here, cub,” he rasps and leans his head back on the wall again, closing his eyes. “Stupid girl.”

I slide my gun from behind my back and press the barrel to his chest, just over his heart. “Stupid, but armed.”

Those magnificent eyes snap open. He holds my gaze as he wraps his fingers around the barrel and shifts the gun, butting it up against the bridge of his nose.

“Do me a favor. Don’t miss.” His voice is flat, lackadaisical, as if his life means nothing.

I stare at the lunatic before me, unable to break eye contact. Some people may say that they don’t care if they live or die, for whatever reason, but when faced with an actual survival situation, they’ll do whatever it takes to save themselves. Self-preservation is a basic instinct, regardless of circumstances.

“Come on, tiger cub. I don’t have all night.” With those words, he lets go of my gun and closes his eyes again.

The wise thing to do would be to get back into my car and leave the hottie with a death wish to die of blood loss, but I can’t do it. And we’ve already established that I’m an idiot. I lower the gun and return it to the back of my pants. Then, I tug on the scarf holding my hair.

The guy’s trouser leg is ripped midway up his thigh, revealing a long gash that’s oozing blood. I wrap my scarf around his trunk-like leg, just over the wound, and tie it off with a tight knot.

“My car is over there. I’ll take you to a hospital.” I stand up and extend my hand toward him.