Page 4 of Devious Truth (Vicious Sinners #3)

T he sun is trying to blind me by burning a hole through my retinas.

Shoving my sunglasses on, I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s short lived, however, since the nagging ache in my head doesn’t seem to want to go away. I’ve already taken more ibuprofen than any medical board would ever suggest is safe.

My only hope now is a strong cup of coffee. And since I haven’t left my apartment in the last two days to do any shopping, I’m completely out at home.

I pull my jacket tighter around me as a gust of wind kicks up.

The coffee shop is just around the corner from my apartment.

It’s run down, and from the outside looks as though it’s been the victim of a few break-ins.

Tape runs along a crack in the front window from where a rock struck it last month.

“Hey.” Carter, the owner’s son, greets me when the bell above the door signals my entrance.

The place is pretty empty at this time of day.

“Hi, Carter.” I push my glasses up onto my head. “Can I get a large latte?”

“Vanilla or caramel?” He grabs a paper cup.

“Tough call, but I’ll go with vanilla today.”

“Sure thing, Vee. Be up in just a minute.”

While Carter makes my coffee, I sink into a booth and check my phone.

I respond to Caroline’s message asking if I’m coming in for my shift today with a thumbs up.

She has a lot of questions for me, and since I’ve been avoiding them on the phone, there’s no doubt she’s going to bombard me with them as soon as I get in this afternoon.

Having the last two days off was pure luck, but it’s run out. If I don’t go in today, I’ll lose out, and it will put me behind in my budget.

I rub my temples, trying to get the ache to back off. Diving into the bottom of two extremely cheap bottles of wine over the course of the last two days has left me feeling like a tractor drove over me a dozen times.

It couldn’t be helped, not really.

Blame it on the fear. Or the low-grade depression I fall into every year around this time. In the end the why doesn’t matter, because those reasons will never go away. All that matters is the need to get my head back on straight and keep moving forward.

“Vee, latte’s up!” Carter calls from the counter and slides my cup toward me as I approach.

“Thanks. Really need it today.” I smile.

He tilts his head a little. “Had a rough night?”

“A few rough nights.” I take a sip of the drink, already feeling better as the vanilla flavor hits my tongue.

Carter’s expression turns to concern. “Work’s been crazy. That’s all,” I say.

I’m not a drinker, which is why a bottle of wine has been able to demolish me in such a way that even the sound of the coffee bean grinder makes me want to scratch my eyes out.

“Take it easy then. You’re too young to burn out already.” He winks and heads back to the register to take an order from a young couple that’s just come in.

I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes as soon as I’m back on the sidewalk and the sun continues its assault. The walk back to my apartment calms me now that I have the needed caffeine in hand.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Assuming it’s Caroline again, I pull it out as I climb the stairs to my floor.

I’d like to speak to you tonight.

Great. Ivan’s message wipes away the calm that I’ve finally achieved and the pain behind my eye resurges viciously.

I’m going to lose my job. After I ran out of my shift the other night, he called, and I sent him to voicemail. He sent a text, and I left it unanswered.

Stopping just short of my apartment, I send him a quick response.

Sorry about the other night. A migraine hit me out of nowhere, and I had to go home.

The three little dots dance right away.

Caroline mentioned you were sick. Is the headache gone now?

The fake migraine, yes, but the self-induced pounding from consuming too much cheap wine lingers.

I’m better, yes. I’ll be in on time tonight.

I’m glad. I have a meeting. When I’m done, I’ll come find you on the floor.

Damn.

All right. See you then.

Pushing my door open with my foot, it takes me until I drop my phone on the little table near the door to realize it had already been open.

Someone shoves me against the door, slamming it shut, and I drop my half-filled coffee to the floor.

“What the hell!”

A hand wraps around my arm, squeezing tight while keeping me pinned against the wall.

“Vivienne Frost.” The man from my past—from my nightmares—sneers as he brings his face to mine.

I go slack.

“Kiernan.” His name hurts to say, like everything from back then.

“Ah, so you do know me. Because the other night you didn’t seem to have such a good memory. You even forgot your own name.” He squeezes a little tighter then releases me, taking a small step back.

“What do you want?”

“You didn’t even change your name.”

“I moved five hundred miles away. I didn’t think I’d have to.”

Keeping my gaze fixed on his, I feel for my phone on the table, but he catches me and snags it up, carrying it with him as he moves deeper into my matchbox apartment.

“You know, Declan still has a bounty on your pretty little head.” He sinks onto my couch.

It’s a two-seater, but he’s slim enough that it seems to swallow him up. He throws his arms over the back, and spreads his knees, like he’s trying to make himself look larger than he is.

“I don’t see why he would. I don’t have anything of his.” I slide toward the door but freeze when he moves his coat enough to expose the handgun holstered at his hip.

“He doesn’t know that, though, does he?” Kieran tilts his head. “As far as he knows, you still have the ring.”

I snap up the paper cup from the floor. “I told you I didn’t have it.”

Grabbing a towel from the laundry basket near the front door, I throw it on the spilled coffee.

“I know you did. You told him that, too, but he doesn’t believe you.”

“It’s been three years, Kieran. Look around this place; does it look like I’m holding onto a ring that’s worth a few hundred thousand dollars?”

“Worth a hellava lot more than that.” The right side of his mouth twitches.

“Okay, well, don’t you think if I had it, I would have sold it?”

He makes a show of looking around the five hundred square feet of my one-bedroom apartment with a disgusted expression.

There isn’t enough energy inside me to muster up annoyance at his disdain for my home.

It’s tiny, and cramped, and the paint is peeling off the trim in places. But it’s clean and it’s mine.

“Oh, I know you couldn’t have sold it.” He leans forward, pressing his elbows into his knees. “I believed you when you said your man didn’t give it to you. But you know Declan, he holds a grudge better than anyone.”

“If you know I don’t have it, what are you doing here?” I fold my arms over my chest.

The screen of my phone lights up beside him, flashing Ivan’s name across the screen as another message comes through. Kieran picks it up and swipes the screen to get to the messaging app.

“No screen lock?” He shakes his head at my stupidity while he opens the message. “Ah, looks like your new man is wanting you to work a private party room?”

“He’s not my man.”

“Oh, but I’m counting on the fact that he is.” Kieran tosses my phone onto the couch cushion beside him.

“Is that what you’re here for? You’re trying to make a meeting with Ivan Volkov?” I laugh. “I have no pull with him or his brothers. You can just cozy up next to him on your own. I want nothing to do with you or him.”

He lets out a purposefully long and loud sigh.

“That’s too bad.” He gives me a fake frown. “I have no business with the Volkov brothers. It’s the gaming rooms I’m after.”

“At Obsidian? If you want to book one, just ask at the club. You don’t need me for that.”

“It is for a high roller game.”

“And you think I can get you invited to one?”

“I know you can.” He nods.

“I can’t. How’d you get into the club anyway? Did you have a sponsor?” It’s an invite-only membership; unless he has a connection…someone who would vouch for him. But as far as I know, while Declan’s reach was short, Kieran’s would be even shorter.

“I have friends all over.”

“Good. Then one of them can get you in a game.” It’s impossible to keep the snark out of my voice when his smugness is stinking up my apartment. “I don’t know the members, Kieran. How would I get you into a game?”

“Well, that’s your problem, not mine. I’m sure your new man can help.”

“Stop calling him that,” I snap, which only makes his grin widen.

“Yeah, I think you’ll be able to get me in one of them games no problem.” He winks and moves to his feet.

“And if I can’t?”

“Well, then I suppose I’ll have to let Declan know I’ve run into you.” He sighs and shakes his head, like it would be a real shame to turn me over to his boss.

Kieran would be rewarded for handing me over to Declan, if Declan is still holding onto the idea that I have something of his.

“If I can get you into a game, you’ll forget you saw me?” It’s a risk, but there aren’t many avenues open at the moment.

He raises his brow. “Saw who?”

“It’s going to take some time.” I haven’t the faintest idea of how to get him on one of those lists.

Obsidian doesn’t host games. Members use the private rooms on their own as far as I know. How the hell am I supposed to get him into a high roller game?

“Not too much time.” He grabs my phone again and starts typing.

“What are you doing?” I try to snatch it form him.

“Just putting my number in and getting yours.” He finishes and offers me the phone. “When you get it set up, you let me know.”

“I’m not sure I can do it, but I’ll try.”

“I have faith in you.” He heads to the door. “I’m sure it goes without saying, but don’t get your new man involved. It will just make things messy, and then Declan’s going to come down here and it will just get even messier. No one wants all that. Not over a little ring, right?”

“Since he’s just my boss and not anything else, I don’t see any reason to involve him.” Especially since telling him any of this would only solidify his insane belief that he’s my protector.

“Good.” He smiles. “You know, it’s too bad about Derek. I know I didn’t say it at the time, having to do all that stuff Declan wanted done, but it was sad…him leaving you like that.”

My stomach rolls, and the heavy hand of grief grips my heart.

“He didn’t go anywhere. He died, Kieran.”

He sighs with another shake of his head. “I meant how he left things for you. All that mess for you to clean up.”

My hands fist, and I wonder if I could get at least one good punch into his smug face before he pulled out the gun from his holster.

“Derek was a better man than you’ll ever be,” I say with a shaky voice.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply anything. I only know how things got hard after. And then the ring business. I’m on your side, kid.” He makes a point of staring at the empty bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table. “Best get some rest before you head into work. You’re looking a little tired.”

“Can you just go now?” I stomp past him and yank the door open.

“You’ll let me know when you’ve made some headway?” He pauses in the open doorway. “I’m due back next week, so we don’t have a lot of time before Declan wonders where I’ve gone off to.”

“I’ll let you know. Now go.”

“Hmph. I’d think you’d be a little nicer to the man who has your future in his hands.” He stops just outside my door. “If I don’t hear from you in three days, I call Declan.”

“It might take longer than that.”

“Your problem. Not mine,” he says.

I slam the door and immediately slide the chain lock in place and lock the deadbolt. Not that the lock did anything to keep him out the first time.

“I look forward to hearing from you,” he calls from the other side of the door.

I lean my ear to the door and listen for his footsteps. Minutes pass, and I don’t hear anything else on the other side, so I slink to the couch.

I pick up the empty bottle of wine that’s sitting on top of a picture frame I placed face down and bring it to the trash can.

My attention wanders back to the coffee table, to the frame.

Like a moth flying headfirst into a flame, I go back to the couch and pick up the photo as I sink onto the worn-out cushions.

Tears blur my vision as I flip it over to see him.

To see us.

“How am I going to get that asshole into one of those games?” I put the question to the photograph of my husband holding me, his hands protectively splayed across my very pregnant belly.

But corpses don’t speak from the grave, so I stare at him until the alarm on my phone blasts.