Page 6 of Devious Truth (Vicious Sinners #3)

“ Y ou sure you’re good?” Caroline pulls her fingers through her hair once more, her thick curls bouncing back like some Charlie’s Angels character.

She has the body for it, too. She’s changed out of the Obsidian uniform dress and into a black slinky number that shows off her sculpted thighs and every one of her perfectly proportioned curves.

“I’m good. Go. Enjoy your night.” I wave her off while I open my locker. “I’m just throwing on my jeans and getting out of here.”

“Okay.” She pulls the door open. “Wish me luck, I’m meeting Jeremy.”

“Good luck for what exactly?” I laugh. “It’s one in the morning, I kinda feel like if he’s waiting up for you, whatever you’re looking for is a done deal.”

She makes a face, like she’s thinking it over. “He’s probably thinking he’s gonna get lucky, huh?”

I make a point of looking her over. “I’d say he’s lucky enough you’re meeting up with him.”

She laughs.

“He is lucky. It’s late, and I could just go home and plop into bed and grab my vibrator.” She cuts herself off, looking like she’s just stepped into something nasty. “No offense.”

“Are you serious? None taken. Go, have fun on your date. Plopping into bed and passing out is my favorite way to spend Friday night.”

“You know I think Ivan is still around,” she teases.

“See you tomorrow.” I wiggle my fingers at her. “You can give me all the juicy details later so I can live vicariously through you.”

My jeans and worn gym shoes are a welcome change to the confining uniform and heels I’ve been wearing all night. I slip a sweatshirt over my head and rework my hair into a ponytail.

I count out my tips, feeling the stress lift off my chest as I approach the amount needed for the next credit card payment. There may actually be enough to put a little extra toward the card with the lowest balance. It has the highest interest rate, so I’m racing to get it paid off first.

Other than Darren’s classic ’68 Chevelle Coupe, my car sits alone in the parking lot. Darren loves his muscle car and if asked about it, will talk about it for a solid twenty-five minutes before coming up for air.

I shove my key into the ignition of my little sky-blue sedan. I’m not even sure these things are made anymore, but I can’t afford a new car anytime soon.

Click. Then nothing.

“No, no, no, no.” I sit back, take a deep breath and crank the key again.

Click.

I check the headlights. Maybe I left them on and killed the battery.

A new battery I can do.

It’s just the battery. It has to be just the battery.

I pull out the battery jumper I keep in the trunk and pop the hood to test the battery, a wry smile touching my lips as I remember how my dad used to say it was a waste of time hanging out with Derek while he worked on cars.

Well, to be fair my dad said a lot of bullshit when it came to Derek. Said Derek wasn’t good enough for me—too rough around the edges, too blue collar, too ordinary. But Derek saw me, loved me. That’s more than my corporate accountant father ever did.

He’d probably be gloating if he was here to see the mess it all turned into.

“Fuck.” I stare at the test reading. The battery is fine.

“Everything okay?” A familiar voice calls from the doorway of the employee entrance.

I sigh.

“It won’t start.” I step back from the car as Ivan jogs down the steps. “Were you watching me on the security cameras or something?”

“No.” The left side of his mouth kicks up in a smile. “But Kirill noticed you having trouble and let me know.”

“Of course he did.” I gesture toward the guts of my car. “Any chance you know anything about cars other than which Italian leather to buy for your interior?”

He feigns insult with raised eyebrows.

“First of all, the only Italian leather to use for any interior is Tuscan.” Moving to stand beside me, he hooks his hands on his hips and looks down at the engine and all the wires and hoses around it. “And secondly, I have no idea what any of this does.”

He says it with such sincerity, it makes me laugh.

It’s the late hour, I tell myself. I’m exhausted, and the added stress of my car being dead has made me slightly delirious. Or it’s the way the soft glow of the lanterns burning along the edges of the lot make him look less severe.

“I’ll have a tow truck come out and get it.” He shuts the hood and wipes his hands on his pants.

“I can do it. Thanks, though.” I grab my purse from the car to dig out my phone, but the by the time I even get the door open he’s already on a call.

“Yes. The light blue…uh…Ford Focus.” His eyes meet mine as he gives the details of my car in the lot. “Bring it to the shop and have it looked over. It’s dead.”

I slam my car door and frown. “I just said I could take care of it.”

He slides his phone back into his pocket and lifts a shoulder. “Another perk of working for Obsidian. If anything dies on our property we take care of it.”

I don’t miss the phrasing. Ivan doesn’t say things unintentionally.

“Fine. But you’ll give me their contact information so I can follow up?”

“Absolutely not.” He steps around me and opens the car door back up. “Keys.”

A car repair could eat up more than I can spare. And it’s not like I really have a choice here. Ivan’s going to get the car towed with or without my keys. I drop the set into his waiting palm.

He tosses the keys onto the driver’s seat then grabs my purse and shuts the door.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“I can call a ride share.”

The fierceness returns to his expression when he turns back to me. “No.”

“No?”

“Yes.”

I blink. He’s messing with my head because he’s tuned into how tired I am and how at his mercy I sit.

“Yes, no.” I shake my head. “Whatever. I can ask Darren for a ride. He lives in my general direction, I think.”

“Darren went home with Serenity. He’s not here.” He holds out his arm toward the employee entrance door. “We need to go inside to go down to the garage.”

Winning an argument with him is impossible. He’ll just stand here all night out-waiting me. If I do manage to get a cab here, he’ll just send them away with one of his glares. The man doesn’t need a weapon; he just narrows his eyes, and grown men flee.

Another enormous red flag.

“You’ll take me home. To my home, not your home, mine?” I take my purse from him.

“Yes. Your home.” He places his splayed hand on my lower back and leads me back inside and to the garage where he and his brothers park.

It takes thirty minutes before we’re on my street. Aside from having to go through the maze that is Obsidian to get to the garage he and his brothers use, he needed to deal with something before we left.

“It’s just up ahead on the right.” I lean forward in the front seat to point out my building coming up. “You can just pull up.”

He doesn’t drive just any car. We’re cruising in a high gloss black Bentley. Given the lateness, the street is mostly bare of people, but there’s a bar on the corner of my street and we’ve turned every head of the small group standing outside smoking.

“I’m going to walk you up.” He finds a spot between two cars a short distance from the front entrance of my building.

With one hand gripping my headrest and the other palming the wheel, he parallel parks into the spot seamlessly in one try. I can’t help being impressed, it would have taken me three attempts, and my car is smaller.

“You can’t leave your car on the street,” I say, but he’s already out of the car.

As I reach for the handle, a knock on the hood stops me. He glares at me from outside and swishes his finger from side to side.

Okay, he doesn’t want me to open my own door. I don’t even try to hide my eyeroll.

I’ve never met anyone so stuck in old-fashioned ways.

“Ivan, I’m being serious. You can’t leave this here,” I say as soon as I’m out of the car and he shuts it behind me.

“No one will touch it.” He hits the fob and the lights flicker.

I glance at the basic sedan with paint peeling on the hood and the rusted-out minivan he’s parked between and frown.

“You stand out like a broken thumb.”

“It’ll be fine.” He sweeps his arm open again, signaling for me to go first and lead the way.

A pizza delivery guy is coming out of the building at the same time as we’re entering so I don’t have to go through the charade of trying to unlock the door.

The bolt on the entrance door has been busted for months.

Just the hard stare Ivan is giving the crack in the door tells me if he knew about the broken lock he’d pull out his handy dandy cell phone again.

While leading him to my apartment door, I try to conjure up at least three good reasons why he can’t come inside. They have to be compelling reasons, because I’m not sure just slipping inside and shutting the door on him will work.

But it doesn’t matter. When we get to my door, it’s ajar.

“Do you have a roommate?” he asks, stepping around me.

I try to peer through the small gap. “No.”

“Stay here.” He gives me a sharp look.

Keiran wouldn’t have come back so soon. He has my phone number now; he’ll annoy me via text before he just shows up.

At least that’s my hope.

I don’t want to have to worry he’ll be taking up residence in my living room every night until I get him into one of those games.

Ivan pushes open the door, taking a slow step inside. A loud meow cracks through the dark silence of my apartment and a set of golden eyes comes rushing toward the door.

My neighbor’s cat runs through Ivan’s legs and around me before scampering down the hall.

“It was just Marion.” I reach inside and flip the light switch, illuminating the space.

Ivan looks less than convinced. “Your cat opened the door?”

“No, my neighbor’s cat.” Dropping my purse onto the little table by the door I step all the way inside. “The door must not have shut all the way when I left.”

He looks more incredulous. “How does that happen?”

Grabbing the door, he points at the deadbolt. “You have to have the door shut before you lock this.”

Between sporting a hangover, worrying about Kieran, and running late because of a nap I took trying to get rid of the hangover, I must have forgotten the deadbolt. Stupid of me, but I’m pleading exhaustion as my defense.

“I was running late. I probably just locked the handle and pulled it shut behind me.” Wiggling the handle and finding it still locked confirms my statement. “I almost always lock the deadbolt, I was just…you know what, I don’t need to defend myself to you.”

His frown deepens.

“It was stupid, and I’m not usually that stupid, but it happened, and Marion must have pushed the door and got in.” I spin around with my arms open to the room. “Nothing’s been taken or touched. It was just the cat.”

And then I stand there while he scans the living room, waiting for the look of pity or disgust. The locker rooms at Obsidian are more glamorous than my apartment. His eyebrows pull together, like he’s trying to figure out a problem in his head.

“How much is your rent?” He walks to the set of windows that overlook the street and pushes the thin curtain to the side, peering below.

Probably making sure his car still has wheels.

“It’s affordable.” I slip out of my jacket and hang it on the standing coat rack.

“We pay you better than this.” He drops the curtain and spins on his heel, sweeping his hand out.

“Thanks. That wasn’t at all insulting.”

“You live in a shoebox.”

“I live in an apartment.” I correct. “It’s a little small, but I have everything I need. A living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom.”

My face heats when his attention swings to the bedroom door I just pointed out. There’s no hallway, just two doors off the living room and the kitchen area.

“Your kitchen is in the living room.”

“We can’t all be billionaires, Ivan.” I lean back against the wall and take in a deep breath. “It’s late; I’m sure you have somewhere to be.”

“I don’t.”

A heavy knock on my door cuts in, and he immediately stands straighter.

“I got it.” I put my hand out to stop him from charging to the door.

His jaw tightens, but he stills, giving me a permissive nod.

“Hey, Vee. I’m sorry, but Marion is stuck in the bed again. Can you help me real quick?” Maxine, my neighbor, stands at my door in her pink and gray plaid pajama set.

“Yeah. Of course.” I turn toward Ivan, only to find him standing right behind me.

He eyes Maxine with her shoulder length dark hair pulled up into a messy ponytail and her thick rimmed glasses, assessing her as though she’s a danger. Maxine, to her credit, gives him a deadpan stare in response.

“I need to help her. Feel free to let yourself out.” I follow Maxine to her apartment, where Marion has once again climbed up into the boxspring from a hole she tore beneath the bed.

“I’m so sorry to bug you, it’s so late, but I heard you talking when you got home.

” Maxine gets on the floor, lying flat so she can slide under once I pick up the bed for her.

The bed is too low to the ground for any human to wiggle beneath it, but the perfect height for a black cat with a major attitude problem to make it through.

“It’s okay.” I lift the bed, and she pushes herself beneath, reaching up into the hole in the boxspring.

An irritated meow later, Marion is out, and Maxine sits with her in her lap inspecting her paw. “She’s going to get it broken one of these times. I’m just going to take the boxspring off the frame. Every time I put stuff under there to keep her out, she just wiggles through it anyway. Damn cat.”

Marion seems to understand her, because she narrows her eyes at Maxine and mewls in disagreement.

“So, who’s the guy?” Maxine asks while walking me to the door.

“Just my boss. My car died, and he gave me a lift home.” I step into the hall. “He’s just my boss.”

It doesn’t matter how many times I say it, or how matter of fact I make it sound, she’s still giving me a look like we’re in high school and I’ve somehow scored a date with the captain of the football team.

“Okay.” She clears her throat, like she’s trying not to laugh. “Just your boss that drove you home, parked his car and walked you up two flights of stairs, and is now waiting for you in your apartment.”

“I’m going.” I scratch Marion behind her ear. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I step into the hallway, shutting her door behind me.

As I get to my door a gunshot rings out, followed by a scream.