Black Hearts (Sins Duet #1)

It keeps the past at bay.

She hasn’t conned anyone in twenty years.

Hasn’t killed anyone in twenty years.

Life has been a set of three parallel paths.

She’s managed to stick to the middle one.

Knee-deep in the grey.

Violet doesn’t stick around for much more conversation and soon gets up to leave. Ellie feels bad. She knows her daughter wants to talk about Vicente. She knows she’s absolutely smitten (she can almost feel it—god, it brings her back), and that she should be happy that her daughter is glowing for once.

She has to make the effort to move past this.

Vicente is not Javier’s son.

He’s far too tall and rugged looking. Javier was on the shorter side and as slick and elegant as a snake. While Vicente’s mannerisms are similar, there’s an impulsiveness to him, a roughness that would probably worry any other mother.

So when Violet pauses before heading up the stairs and asks, “Is it okay if Vicente comes over for dinner tomorrow?” Ellie knows she has to say yes.

She just has to.

Luckily Camden will be there. Camden will see. When he gets home tonight, she’ll explain to him about Vicente and what she thinks, and he’ll dismiss it all with a kiss as he usually does. She can say the craziest things but her husband will always keep her grounded.

But tomorrow he’ll meet Vicente and then he’ll probably agree with her.

That he looks like he could be Javier’s son.

“Of course,” Ellie says to Violet through a forced smile.

And if he tries anything, I’ll kill him.

It stings to know she’s not even joking.





Chapter Thirteen





Vicente




I shouldn’t take a gun to the McQueen’s house. Though my father would be proud, my mother would chide me for being a terrible dinner guest. Expensive alcohol, yes. A gun, no.

But I have a feeling that in that elegant old Victorian, a multitude of guns lie hidden along with a multitude of sins.

Ellie—Mrs. McQueen—knows who I am.

At least, she thinks she does.

And I made no effort to dissuade her.

I want her to think it.

I want her to slip up.

I want her to know I have the upper hand.

And unlike my father, I always will.

The meeting went exactly as I hoped it would. She was on edge, afraid of me, afraid that her daughter might go down the same path that she did.

And what path was that? The path where she chose her husband over my father?

I’m not upset about it. If Ellie hadn’t married Camden, my father would have never married my mother and I wouldn’t be here. My father, in the end, made the right choice just as Ellie did.

The choice that brought Violet into the world.

To be fair, when I try and imagine Ellie with my father, I just see two writhing snakes trying to bite each other, reminding me of the symbol caduceus. The pairing seems like it would have been a mistake from the start.

But for whatever she’s worth, she got under his skin. She knows things about him that I don’t.

Things I want to know.

She beat my father at his own game.

And won.

I wash my face in the bathroom sink and glance up at myself in the mirror. I do have my father’s eyes and his brow, but everything else is all me. I run my hands through my hair, pushing it up and off my face, and quickly trim down my beard, attempting to look more respectable.

I can hear my father’s voice in my head, telling me to be more clean-shaven, to dress better.

Fuck it. For once in my life I’m actually going to follow his advice.

I shave my beard off until my face is smooth, slick my hair back, and then grab a black linen suit jacket and white dress shirt from the closet, pairing it with a pair of dark blue jeans.

Now I can almost see him staring back at me.

I grin at my reflection.

Time to go have some fun.

I grab my .45 and shove it in my ankle holster, grab a bottle of booze, and then I’m out the door.

It’s foggy again, making for a wonderfully dramatic drive up the hills and into the clouds. This city just screams noir from every shadowy crevice. Part of me wonders if I could actually settle down here. I for damn sure wouldn’t be a photographer, but if you know the right people and make the right deals, you could rule this place with ease. It’s too liberal. Its citizens are used to progress and safety. I could burn the city to the ground and no one would see it coming.

I find parking off of Haight and walk the block over until I’m standing in front of their house.

Violet, my blackbird, my mirlo, she has no idea at all.

Kept in the dark all these years.

Locked in her head.

Made to think that her intuition has been lying to her when it hasn’t at all.

One day she will find out the truth.

It might be tonight.

It might be next year.

But when she finds out who her parents really are, that’s the day she’ll find out who I really am and what I’m doing here.

What I’m doing with her.

I hate to say it, but in some ways I hope that day never comes.

And if it does come, I hope to god she won’t hate me.

Not hate you? I counter. She’ll want you dead.

Santa Muerte.

I take a deep breath and head up the stairs.

I don’t even have to knock at the door before it’s flung open.

Violet grins at me, white teeth against bright red lipstick, and then her face falters for a second.

“Your manly stubble is all gone,” she remarks, marveling at me.

I rub my jaw. “Believe me, you’ll thank me later when you don’t have rug burn between your thighs.”

She giggles at that, shutting the door partially so she’s out here with me. “Shhh,” she says, leaning in for a kiss. “Remember, this is meet the parents part two.”

“Horrible movie.”

She giggles again, and now I realize she’s a bit tipsy. I try and look over her shoulder and into the house. “Is everyone here? Your brother? Your father? Are they armed?”

She laughs, smacking my shoulder. “Stop it. But yes. They’re here.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“You know it’s not you I’m worried about.”