Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

Rising from the recliner, I approach the man who orchestrated everything that led to me losing the only thing I’ve ever wanted for myself—my cub. Her husband might be a better man than me, but no one will ever love her the way I do.

I wrap my hands around Kruger’s neck, squeezing his trachea until his face turns blue. “Have a nice fucking time in hell, Captain. When I join you there, I’m going to kill you all over again.”

Kruger gasps, struggling for breath. I squeeze harder. His eyes are bulging, staring at me from his aghast face, as sounds of choking leave his lips. I savor his audibles as if they are the most beautiful melody, and keep squeezing, even after his body goes still.

When I leave Kruger’s home, I get into my car and head to the airport. Going back to my tiger cub at last. I couldn’t risk doing so before taking care of Kruger, but now, nothing will keep me away. She might not be mine anymore, but I’m still hers. And I will watch over her and make sure she’s safe until my last breath.

Chapter 29

Two months later

The shiny black sedan cruising down the street ahead of me starts to slow down, stopping at the red light. I ease up on the gas pedal, maintaining a safe distance, and let another vehicle slide in ahead of mine as I pull up to the intersection.

She stayed out late tonight.

I planted a GPS tracker on Nera’s car, just in case, but I’m not reliant on a fucking device as far as her safety is concerned. For the past two months, I’ve been watching over my cub, following her every move whenever she left her home.

Am I back to being a fucking stalker? Yup, but it means I get to continue keeping her safe.

She doesn’t leave the mansion that often, usually only once or twice a week. And she always returns home before the dinner hour. It’s nearly midnight now, so something unexpected must have happened. Does it have anything to do with the death of her husband?

I watched her at the funeral yesterday, hidden behind the shrubs on the elevated part of the cemetery’s terrain. The position presented me with an undisturbed view of everyonewho attended. That damn gathering nearly caused me to lose my shit. More than a hundred people huddled together, and every one of them was a potential threat to my cub.

For over an hour the scope of my MK 13 kept moving from one person to the other while I assessed their body language and searched for any abrupt movement in Nera’s direction. A shitload of mourners, most armed as evident by the bulges beneath the men’s suit jackets. Only after my cub finally slipped inside the car with her sister and left the cemetery grounds was I able to breathe normally again.

I hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her face while she was there. She hid it behind a gauzy black veil. Was she crying over losing her husband? She probably was. Nera has always cared deeply for the people around her. She must be hurting now. That realization makes me want to dig up the asshole’s corpse and kill him myself. Not to cause her more pain, but because he had what I wanted.

I never saw them together, which is a blessing, in a way. If I had, I’m not sure I would have been able to resist sending a bullet through the man’s head. I’m glad the asswipe is dead, and that fact makes me feel sick. Nera married him, so she must have loved him. Regardless, I can’t pretend I’m not glad the fucker is six feet under.

The light changes to green, and Nera’s vehicle makes the left turn, heading north. I follow for half an hour, keeping three cars’ lengths between us until her sedan pulls up in front of the tall iron fence. Her new home. I park down the street and wait for the security guard to open the gate. A moment later, my cub’s car disappears from view.

Leaning back in my seat, I watch the iron barrier roll back into position. It’s well-oiled and it doesn’t make a sound as itcloses, but I still hear the clank of metal in my head. As it does every time she disappears behind that thick iron gate, it feels like a slash of a knife across my chest.

Each night since my arrival, I’ve imagined ramming that damn gate with my car to force my way inside and to claim back what’s mine. A foolish delusion of a desperate man. Tonight, I don’t even have the energy to dream. Yet I can’t make myself turn the car around and leave. This is as close as I can get to her now, and I want to stay a bit longer.

“A bit longer” ends up being over an hour. When I step inside the apartment I’ve rented that’s only a few blocks away, it’s one thirty in the morning. I throw my jacket on the back of the kitchen chair and head to the fridge, grabbing some leftovers to heat up. While the bowl of mac and cheese spins in the microwave, I pull out my phone and navigate to a familiar site hidden on the dark web, entering my login credentials. Normal people browse social media and news apps when they need a distraction; I check out listings for hit jobs. Not that I have the time to take on a job at the moment, considering my sole purpose since getting back stateside is watching over Nera, but old habits die hard, so I still do it from time to time. Maybe I’m just sentimental.

I peruse the listing, checking out the locations and details, when one particular entry attracts my attention. The target is in Boston, and the contract has been claimed earlier today by the Sicilians—a team of ruthless hitmen who strike hard and fast, eliminating their mark in less than twenty-four hours. I click on the entry, and the black-and-white image of a woman starts to load.

My fucking heart stops.

It’s Nera.

The earth falls out from beneath my feet.

Some unknown cocksucker put the hit out on my cub.

I don’t spare even a second to go to my bedroom for extra weapons, just storm out of the apartment. Panic floods the pit of my stomach as I race like a maniac down the few streets that separate my building from the neighborhood where Nera’s home is located. If it was anyone else but the Sicilians, I would have more time to deal with this threat. But fucking Rafael De Santi prides himself on the turnaround time for any contract his organization takes on. They are going for the kill. Tonight.

Well, not on my fucking watch!

My hands are shaking as I hit the brakes in front of the formidable iron gate that bars the entry to the property and fly out of the car. The entryway is still shut, thank fuck, and I take my first full breath since I saw that kill order. That is until I notice the cut wires peaking out of the power box attached to the side of the gatehouse. Security guards are nowhere in sight.

Terror grips me anew as I grab at the metal rod on the rolling gate and push it open. The obstacle moves easily to the right. No doubt the locks and the alarm that are part of the gate’s circuits have been neutralized. Fucking bastards are already inside. I slip through the opening and run along the south side of the fence, straight toward the mansion.

The windows along the east wing of the ground floor are lit. The drapes are drawn open, and I can see the female shape sitting behind the large desk in a spacious room. This must be Nera’s home office. Air leaves my lungs in a great puff while the relief washes over me. She’s alive. I allow myself only a second to soak in the sight of my cub, then resume my mission.

The Sicilians always work in teams of four: two men at exit routes oversee surveillance and direct the movement inside theperimeter, one provides cover fire or backup as needed, and the lead man goes after the mark. Their typical MO for executions is strangulation while the target is asleep, so the appointed assassin could already be hiding in Nera’s bedroom, lying in wait until she turns in.