Page 65 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

Chapter

Forty-Nine

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength,while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

― Lao Tzu

Théo

Blood sprayed across my cheek as my fist cracked into his nose, the sound wet and raw. He let out a choked whimper, lips split and trembling, before spitting a thick stream of red onto the concrete.

“Last time,” I said, voice flat, hand already curling again. “Did Harper tell you to leak those fucking tapes?”

He shook his head quickly, terrified, shoulders jerking.

I exhaled once, then drove another punch into his face. Harder. His head snapped sideways with a grunt.

The lights in the underground garage flickered above us, buzzing like a dying fly. Volkov lit a cigar, shadows dancing over his face. He leaned back against the car, bored, while Lazzio scrolled on his phone.

Volkov didn’t look up. “You think he’s lying?”

I stared at the man on the floor, his chest heaving, face unrecognizable.

“Bastard followed her. Broke into her building. Got into her security system. And now the whole world has footage of one of the most private nights of her life. Without her knowing. Without her consent.”

I stepped closer, fists clenched.

“He’s not just lying. He’s fucking proud of it.”

The second I had looked away from my phone, I’d gone after him.

Travis fucking Kensley .

That bastard had moved fast. Slid through traffic like a fucking ghost. Thought he could make it to the airport, thought he’d vanish to Miami and hop a boat to Cuba like this was some bad spy movie.

I’d told Lazzio to get Scarlett somewhere safe.

And then I’d found him.

I slammed the brakes so hard the tires screamed against the pavement, grinding metal on asphalt. His car swerved. I didn’t wait. I threw my door open, stormed across, and ripped the door handle so hard it cracked in my hand.

He froze, panic already in his eyes.

Inside were stacks. Folders. Trash bags. A fucking shrine. Dozens of pictures.

Scarlett alone. Scarlett on stage. Scarlett in rehab. Scarlett in her bedroom.

Scarlett crying into her fucking pillow. Scarlett with me.

Every city. Every moment. He’d been watching her for years.

And filming her.

Without her fucking consent.

Recording things no one was supposed to see. Things that should’ve died in the dark.

The video wasn’t an accident. It was the beginning. He had more. Labeled. Dated. Organized. He wanted to leak them one by one. Break her down piece by piece. Until her name turned to ash and the world forgot she was human.

He wanted her humiliated. Erased.

I saw red.

He hadn’t even gotten a word out before I’d torn the car door open, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed my fist into his face so hard he dropped unconscious.

I’d dragged his limp body across the pavement, shoved him into my backseat, and drove straight to the Beverly Hills Hotel, tires screaming.

Volkov had already been waiting in the private lot.

With a breath that cleared the static in my head, I reached for the gun tucked into the back of my waistband and pulled it out without a word.

He went pale in an instant.

“Did Lucius Harper tell you to leak the videos?”

He froze, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. Sweat streamed down his face, soaking the tape across his mouth.

He hesitated.

Then he nodded. Just once. Quietly. Cowardly.

After the party, one sentence wouldn’t stop grinding through my skull. Lazzio had said he saw Kensley walking out of Harper’s office, and they’d shaken hands.

That alone made my jaw lock.

Scarlett had once told me, almost offhandedly, that her father used to invite paparazzi to catch her at her worst. Photos she begged him not to allow. He called it strategy. Said any press was good press.

If he was willing to sell her humiliation for a headline, then leaking that video wasn’t a stretch.

It was fucking likely.

And if he had done it, if he’d sold her out for a pile of dirty bills, then he wouldn’t just lose his hands. I’d carve them off slowly, knuckle by fucking knuckle, and shove the bones down his throat so he choked on the deal he’d made.

I took the tape off his mouth roughly.

He winced.

“Talk.”

A wet, broken sob tore from his throat, thick with snot and spit. Blood bubbled on his lip, mixing with the sweat pouring down his face.

He was tied to the chair, ropes cutting deeply into his skin, his body jerking weakly against them.

“I couldn’t fucking grieve,” he coughed, voice cracking. “Not after Luke. He died alone. And everywhere I turned—TV, newspapers, every damn YouTube ad—it was her face. Smiling. Laughing. Fucking living. She was everywhere. It made me sick.”

He choked on the last word, spit flying.

“So, I made it my mission to ruin her. I wanted her to bleed like I did. I paid some homeless man all my savings to hide under her bed and kill her. But the bitch killed him.”

He laughed bitterly.

“I was fucking pissed, but decided to do everything myself. I stalked her. Followed you both into the Diamond Club. I saw you kiss her in the VIP room. Thought I’d caught something big. But it wasn’t enough. So, I followed you again. Different places. Always hiding. Waiting.”

His head lolled back, then forward again with a bitter, guttural laugh.

“Then the trial. The fucking?…?the bitch walked free. Not guilty. I lost it. Decided if the law wouldn’t touch her, I would. I went to her rehab. Forged records. Said I was visiting another patient. But I was hunting her. And you were there.” His gaze twitched to mine. “Always fucking there.”

I lifted the gun and pressed it to his skull.

“When she got out and started parading around with Nicholas Preston like some glittery whore, I snapped. Followed you to France. Hid in the maid’s quarters at the villa, just past the garage.

Dodged every camera. I was starving, but I didn’t care.

I needed proof, just one second, something vile, something that would burn her entire career to ash. ”

He was shaking now, his laughter turning to a hiss.

“Then that night. You took her to that cliff in èze. I watched from the road. Saw her crawl on top of you. Saw you fuck her. And there it was. Bingo . The golden fucking bullet. International superstar on her knees for her bodyguard. That’s what I needed.”

Fucking bastard .

An angry growl rolled up my chest, dragging through my throat as my finger curled against the trigger.

My vision narrowed to nothing but his sweat-slick face and the hollow of his eyes.

“What about Lucius Harper?” Volkov’s voice snapped through the room.

Travis spat blood onto the broken glass at his feet.

“I went to him tonight,” he said, grinning through busted lips. “Asked for twenty million. Everything I had of the Scarlett Harper. His prodigal daughter. Videos. Pictures. Proof. Told him I was ready to sell it all.”

He coughed, chest jerking, spit and blood clinging to his teeth.

“Figured I’d walk away rich. But I was going to leak it anyway. Burn her down, even if no one paid a fucking cent.”

A sharp, broken laugh tore from his throat, more pain than joy.

“But to my surprise, the bastard told me to go ahead. Said he wouldn’t pay a fucking dime. Even shook my hand. Let me walk right out the door.”

His eyes lifted to mine, head tilted, blood streaked across his cheek.

“And that’s when I realized?…? that was her punishment. A family that doesn’t give a fuck if she lives or dies. That doesn’t protect her. That watches her fall and doesn’t even blink.”

He let out a shaky, bitter breath, half a laugh, half a cough.

“They don’t just leave her behind. They get off on her suffering. Sell her out, feed on her name, and pray she chokes so they can cash in on the corpse.”

He grinned, his teeth pink with blood.

“Tell me that’s not worse than anything I could do.”

I pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, fast and merciless. His head jerked back, eyes still open, that sick grin frozen in place as the bullet ripped through his skull. Blood sprayed the wall behind him, leaking down his neck like ink from a cracked pen.

His body twitched once before going limp, ropes still holding him upright like a fucked-up puppet.

Putain de merde .

“Damn,” Volkov said, half laughing as he lit a cigarette with blood splatter still drying on his hands. “And here I thought I was the impatient psychopath in the room. Guess I just met my match.”

Lazzio stood nearby, arms crossed, the corner of his mouth twitching like he couldn’t decide if he was impressed or about to throw up.

“I don’t believe a fucking word that rat said. Why would Lucius do that? What’s the gain? No blackmail, no leverage. My uncle’s a bastard, yeah, but handing his own daughter’s reputation over like roadkill for free?”

He shook his head, deadpan. “Smells fishy.”

Volkov exhaled smoke, watching the blood trail under the chair.

“Smells exactly like family to me,” Volkov said, rolling his eyes as he stepped over the blood pooling near the chair.

“My mother-in-law kidnapped my wife for twenty fucking years, pretending to be her real mother. And her father? Tried to have her shot in the head the second he found out he wasn’t the one who’d dumped his load into her biological mother. ”

He snorted, dragging on his cigarette.

“Sometimes family isn’t love. It’s just who fucks you over first.”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, the taste of rage still on my tongue, nerves snapping like live wires behind my eyes.

I had been so fucking in love. Trapped in a haze of her skin, her voice, the fantasy of touching a star I’d never believed I deserved. I had let it get to me. Let it poison the part of me that was supposed to keep her safe. My focus had cracked.

One breach. That was all it fucking took.

And now the whole world was dragging her name through the dirt for being with me.

Lazzio stood by the window, face blank, reading some of the tweets out loud.

You can take the girl out of rehab, but you can’t take the whore out of the pop star .

Imagine ruining your whole career for your bodyguard’s dick . Wtf .

Her music sucks and now we know she does too . Talented in only one position .

She came faster than her last album flopped .

From red carpets to backwoods porn, lol .

“Read one more and I swear to you I’ll cut your tongue, Lazzio.”

He sighed, gritting his teeth, the phone still lit in his hand. “Fucking internet trolls.”

My jaw was clenched too tightly, blood pulsing in my throat. Every word they wrote about her played like static in my head.

Tout ca est de ta faute, Théo . Tu as détruit notre vie!

My phone buzzed in my jacket.

I pulled it out with a hand that was already shaking, cursing under my breath when the notification slipped from preview to view.

Fuck.

What did you do, Scarlett?