Black Hearts (Sins Duet #1)

She walks out the door talking to a friend with blonde and blue hair. But other than the color of her hair, I pay her no mind. Violet captures all my attention.

She’s beautiful in a dramatic, romantic way. Her face could inspire gothic novels from long ago. If Helen of Troy’s face could launch a thousand ships, Violet McQueen’s face could launch a thousand stories, all filled with lust, heartache, and death.

Her hair is long and dark, shiny like blackbird wings. Her skin is pale, soft, and free of makeup except on her eyes, where her lashes and lids are dark with mystery. She’s a little on the short side, slim in a black leather jacket and a tight, stretchy grey dress that drops down to her combat boots. Her thighs are superhero strong, and her ass is large, tight, and fucking unbelievable.

She and her friend head across the street and I start to follow, watching as they head into another café.

I want to see her up close.

I cross the street, moving between students, businessmen, and vagrants, until I’m entering the bustling establishment. I immediately head to a table in the corner, grabbing a seat then scanning the room.

Violet is at the counter, ordering a drink. While her friend is chattering loudly to the barista, seeming to command all the attention to her, Violet stays silent, offering a polite nod and a shy smile now and then. But she’s not really listening. She’s staring off into space and I can see the wheels turning in her head. Sometimes such a stark expression comes across her brow that I have to wonder what exactly she’s thinking of.

They end up sitting at a table by the window, which is perfect—I can observe her without blatantly staring. There’s a steady stream of people and traffic on the other side of the glass that’s capturing everyone’s eyes, Violet included.

You can learn almost anything about a person by watching them. It was one of the first things my father taught me. He is uncannily good at predicting people. For all his explosiveness and temper, there’s a feral calm about him, like a giant cat waiting with endless patience for the mouse to appear.

Watching Violet for even ten minutes tells me many things.

For starters, she gets distracted—her attention is everywhere except on her friend, and a few times she has lapsed into some deep thinking that has her brow furrowing like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.

She fidgets. When she’s not picking at the cardboard sleeve of her coffee cup, she’s putting her hair back into a braid, then pulling it out a few minutes later.

She gets uncomfortable easily. The café starts to fill up with more people and a loud group of guys sits down at the table next to them, which in turn causes her posture to become stiff, her lip to snarl, her chair to move further away.

It’s not a lot but it’s enough to go on, enough information to let me adjust how to deal with her.

The thing is, I’m here because I’m curious. Getting closer to Violet was never part of the plan. But now that I’m staring at her, I’m wondering what her skin feels like, if I could be able to hold her wandering attention and calm her agitated heart.

I wonder what my father would say if he knew I was looking at her.

I wonder what he would say if I brought her home and gave her to him.

Would he respect me more?

I push the thoughts out of my head. For now.

When she leaves the café, I should watch her go and let her be. Focus on Ellie, her mother, my father’s once lover, the reason I came here.

But when Violet and her friend get up to leave, I wait a few beats and then I get up too. I watch them part ways outside, giving each other quick hugs before they go in opposite directions.

Violet is heading across the street, back to the school.

Without thinking, I trail her through the crowds like the wake behind a ship, the rapidly moving mist wrapping around her legs like exhaust.

She disappears back inside the photography building.

I stand in the fog and wait.





Chapter Five





Violet




Please, please let it be here, I think to myself as I hurry up the steps to the classroom. Luckily Anderson, my teacher, is still inside and at his desk, staring at his computer.

I quickly knock on the door and gesture through the glass at my seat while he waves me in.

“Sorry, sorry,” I tell him as I make my way over to the desk. “I left my scarf.”

“No problem,” he says. “I was just wrapping stuff up.”

I let out a huge sigh of relief when I spot it and quickly wrap it around my neck. It’s not like I have a shortage of scarves, but I always feel so horrible when I lose something. It seriously haunts me for days.

“Getting cold out?” he says, squinting through his glasses at the windows. “Haven’t seen fog for a few days down here.”

“Try living in Haight,” I tell him.

“I live in Outer Sunset, so I know what you mean.”

I really like my teacher, but this is the first time I’ve been alone with him and for some reason that makes me nervous. I don’t know why—he’s super approachable, friendly, and young too, in his early thirties, maybe. I guess it’s just kind of awkward and all I really want is to get out of here before I get sucked into small talk. Not that I have anywhere in particular to go.

Fortunately, I’m able to get out of there and leave Anderson in peace. I head back out of the building and into the fog, which is thicker than gravy now, sticking to the tops of the houses.

A shiver runs through me and I tuck the scarf in tighter as I zip up the top of my leather jacket.

“Excuse me?”

I jump slightly and whirl around to see a man leaning against the building, staring at me with a hesitant smile.

Normally I don’t give strange men the time of day (maybe another reason why I’m single) but I’d seen this guy before, just earlier when I was in the café with Ginny. I could have sworn he was looking at me then but figured it was in my head.

And what a damn fucking shame that would be, because now that I’m closer to him, he’s the type of guy a girl could have endless wet dreams about.