Sins & Secrets (Sins 1)

Lola frowns at the reminder of where her sister was raised. “Well, then what are we going to do?"

“We are going to hit the road.” I extend my hand to her. “You have your passport on you?”

She nods, eyeing my hand with reluctance before taking it. “I do. It’s in the bag in the trunk.”

“Good.” I lace my fingers through hers and pull her toward the stairway.

She follows after me. “Where are we going exactly?”

“Well, we’re going to stay on the road until we get within a safe distance from Glensdale,” I tell her as we make our way up the stairs. “But then I was thinking Mexico.”

She stops at the top of the stares. “Wait. We’re leaving the country?”

“Yeah, I think it’s safest for now.” I start to walk again, but she doesn’t budge. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugs. “It just seems like a lot, you know.”

I nod, trying not to over-analyze the hesitancy in her eyes. “But you trust me, right?”

I wait for what feels like an eternity and then instead of answering me, she leans forward and kisses me, letting me know that she does.

Chapter 14

Solana

I stand in the darkness, waiting for the house to clear out before I go in. It took me over a day to walk back to Glensdale, hitching hiking when I could. By the time I arrive at The Dusky Inn, it’s nearing the next night.

I don’t feel bad for taking off without saying. Good-bye’s were never my thing and if I stuck around for much longer I would have had to either answer the person who sent me after Lola in the first place or explain to Lola that her own father sent me to kill her. And the withering heart inside me couldn’t bring myself to do it—guess it wasn’t completely dead like I’ve thought for years. Besides, if I told her, then she’d want to know why and I don’t know that, other than there are four mafia families all connect to that damn warehouse where I was raised, who want Lolita dead, just like they wanted her mother dead. Larenze never explained that to—and he wouldn’t—just like I never explained to him that I will never, ever kill for him. He thinks that some training and brainwash will make it easy for me to forget that he was the one who sent me to live at that place...

I shudder on the inside, go cold, as I see images… of what was done to me… things I’ll never forget, but can’t allow myself to remember.

So I leave and focus on my plan, which has just had a slight change to it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Nyjah since Lola told me about the lovely little tattoo we share. Although, it’s more like a brand than anything. A brand of what we are.

After the last woman walks out of the place, I decide it’s time to enter. There’s only one light on in the entire place, coming from the lower office where I know Nyjah is drinking a glass of scotch, something I learned while scoping out Lola. He does it every night, then smokes a cigarette, staring off into empty space. I’d wonder what he was thinking about and now I think I know.

“We’re closed,” he says when my boots make the floor creak. He glances over at me, squinting to see me in the shadows. He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt, torn jeans, boots. His hair is short, eyes crystal blue, and I can see on his neck the tattoo we share. “Whoever the f**k you are, leave. I’m done dealing with people for the day.”

I smile to myself. Whenever he talked to Lola, he was nice, caring. This is the side he covers up, the side connected to his past, which I’m really f**king curious to find out how he escaped. “Nyjah Peirton. Although, I’m guessing that’s not your real name. In fact, if I had to guess, I’m betting that you don’t even know your real last name, nor is Reagan your real father.”

His expression suddenly shifts from worry to coldness as he rises from his chair. He opens his desk drawer and takes out his pistol. “I won’t go down without a fight. You should know that.”

Smiling to myself, I unzip my leather jacket, revealing my neck, then step from the shadows, keeping my weapons in place. “And you should know that if I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.” I dismiss his gun as I wander around his office, studying it, but there’s not much to it, just a bar, some filing cabinets, and a door that goes to a dressing room. I turn to him. “Relax. I’m not here to kill you.”

His gaze darts to the tattoo on my neck immediately then he starts to wind around his desk toward me, the pistol still in his hand, but not aimed at me yet. “Who sent you?”

“No one.”

“Then how did you find me?”

I plop down in one of chairs and cross my legs. “A simple accident, but you should consider yourself lucky I did.”

He presses his lips together, undecided whether he should just kill me or not. After a moment, I guess he decides to at least wait because he sets the gun on the desk then sits on the edge of it himself. “And why would it be lucky that another one of the Sangue Assassins has graced their presents in the life I created to escape that life.”

“Because you know as well as I do that you never really escaped,” I say, thrumming my fingers on top of my knee. “That you’ll always be looking over your shoulder. In fact, I’m betting that the only way you haven’t been discovered yet is because that Reagan guy who you pretend is your father has you doing his dirty work for his business.”

He frowns, his muscles stiffening. “It’s better than the alternative. At least this way, I don’t have to kill all the time.”

“True. But I’m giving you another alternative. One where you will never have to kill again after we’re done. That is if you don’t want to.” I lean back in the chair. “I never know which, Sangue’s need to kill and which one’s just do it because they have to.” I scan him over. “Although, you look like the kind who just do it because you have to.”

He eyes darken. “And which one are you?”

I smile to hide what I really am inside. “Now why would I tell you that? We barely know each other.”

He continues to gaze at me, attempting to see through my shield. But it’s made of metal and locked with a thousand invisible locks. No one has been able to get through that shield and that’s the way I built it. Tough as nails. Empty inside. Blank. Detached. Untouchable. It’s how I survived all those years of torture and training and I will never ever let anyone get through that shield. Can’t.