Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

The need to rush to her, to drop to my knees and beg her forgiveness, is eating me alive. But how can I ask her to forgive me? Forgive the most horrible thing I’ve ever done? Just confessing my actions would bring her more heartache. All because of a man she let into her home. A man she allowed to touch her, kiss her, and make love to her. A man who assassinated her father without a thought. If she knew, she would hurt so, so much more than she’s hurting now. Because now, now I’m just the man who left her.

And that man now needs to leave, for good.

My chest feels like it’s being crushed, squeezed as if a great weight is bearing on it. I tilt my head up, staring at the nearly obscured full moon while massive drops of rain bounce off my face. That treacherous glowing orb, its power over the dark deceived me into believing the starlight could be mine after all. And for a fleeting moment, I held that radiance in the palm of my hand. Heldher, and knew peace.

The pressure in my chest intensifies, and it feels like everything inside of me starts breaking. I take a deep breath and let out a beastly roar, hoping the night will swallow the torment tearing me apart.

It doesn’t go away.

I bang my head on the wall one more time, then take out my phone, blindly punching the number. Kruger answers after a single ring.

“Send me the details for the Mexican job,” I manage to croak out.

* * *

Twenty-two hours later

The small private jet lands on the narrow runway with barely a bump as the wheels touch the paved ground. I, however, feel that thump as if it’s a fucking earthquake, rattling my entire being. More than three thousand miles separate me and my tiger cub now.

Good.

I rise from my seat and grab the bag with my equipment from the custom-modified luggage compartment. The long case with my sniper rifle is lying across the seat in front of mine.

“When do you want me to come get you?” the pilot asks over his shoulder.

“Ten days. Same time.” I open the cabin door and unlatch the airstairs, letting them expand. “Where’s the vehicle?”

“Up ahead and to the left of the runway, hidden in the bushes.” He points through the cockpit windshield. “The key is in the ignition.”

I nod and descend the steps.

The air is thick and heavy, humidity clinging to my skin as I head in the direction indicated to me. Aside from the light marking the runway, there’s no other illumination. Not surprising, considering we’re in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, at a seaside airstrip barely larger than a football field. I don’t even bother checking the surroundings, don’t bother with the recon before approaching a vehicle in a hostile territory. My gun stays secured inside the holster. It makes me a sitting duck to any potential threat, but I don’t really give a shit.

I don’t fucking care about anything anymore. I’ve lost my tiger cub. Everything else is meaningless—my life included.

The beat-up truck is right where the pilot said it would be. As I open the back door on the driver’s side, the cab light remains off. I’m about to place my gear inside when I feel a sharp sting on my nape. The years of training finally kick in. Swinging around, I rip out the dart lodged in my neck.

My hand reaches for the gun, but my fingers seem to have lost the ability to grasp the weapon. It slips from my hand and falls to the ground with a thud. I try to blink out the hazinessthat overcomes my vision. It doesn’t help. I stumble, my back hitting the side of the truck. Blurry shapes of a dozen or so men approach, their flashlights blinding me when they draw near.

“Well, what do we have here?” a heavily accented voice says. “That motherfucker wasn’t lying after all.”

The face of a man materializes in front of me. Even with befogged vision, I still recognize him from the mission documents Kruger sent me yesterday. Alfonso Mendoza. The leader of a Mexican cartel. My target.

“You must have really pissed Kruger off,” he laughs. “He requested we teach you a lesson, then send you back once you remember how to bark on command.” He leans in close. “But, I think we’re gonna keep you instead.”

The Mexican swipes the shotgun off his shoulder, and the cold metal of the barrel connects with my temple.

Chapter 24

The door on the opposite wall opens with a screech, breaking the silence in this bleak room, and Massimo steps inside. I still find it hard to process that this scary-looking man in a prison uniform is actually my stepbrother. When I thought about him over the years, wondering how he’s doing here, I’ve always imagined him in a suit, for some reason.

The chains around his ankles rattle as he walks toward the chair on the other side of the table. The guard who brought him in lifts Massimo’s wrists and connects the handcuffs to the iron loop affixed to the tabletop. Massimo glances up, his eyes zeroing in on the camera mounted in the corner. The guard nods and leaves the room. The red light indicating that the camera is live turns off a minute later.

“Nera.” Massimo leans forward and places his elbows on the metal surface, the action making the muscles of his inked arms bulge.

“You said we needed to talk.” I meet his gaze.

“I hoped it would have happened sooner, but something came up, messing up my plan, unfortunately.”