Black Hearts (Sins Duet #1)

by Karina Halle

  I pull my head away and look up at her serene, pleasured face, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.

  “Not fucking done with you yet,” I growl at her.

  I grab her by the waist and hoist her up, pressing her back against the tree. She lets out a lazy yelp before hooking her legs around my waist.

  I don’t have a condom. It doesn’t matter.

  I quickly unzip my pants, take my throbbing cock out and push into her with one quick, brutal thrust that wrings all the air from my lungs.

  She gasps, my mouth biting at her neck, my hand yanking at her shirt, trying to get at her skin. After all I’ve devoured of her, I still want more.

  She has no idea the hold she has on me.

  This sweet hell she’s dragged me in.

  “Fuck,” I groan, slamming her back again, my pumps becoming faster and faster, like I’m trying to nail her to the god damn tree. We kiss and it’s messy, teeth clacking against each other, lips and tongues trying in wild desperation to win.

  Everything inside me is swirling, a black pool of turmoil with no end in sight. I want to ravage her, fuck her, screw her, keep doing this to her until all these feelings go away.

  I’m angry. I’m so fucking angry that my heart feels something for her.

  That she’s getting under my skin.

  That she’s making me question who I am.

  “Vicente,” she gasps and I think maybe I’m just fucking her too hard. Her head is starting to slam back against the tree, her nails are digging into my jacket.

  But when I look at her, her eyes are focused over my shoulder in surprise.

  “People can see us.”

  God, I almost blow my load right then.

  “Oh yeah?” I ask, breathless as I fuck.

  “They’re watching us,” she says, her words twisting into a moan.

  I don’t bother turning around. If there are people there, I know what they’ll see. Me, naked from the waist down, my bare ass squeezing as I relentlessly ram my cock into her, her legs clutching around my waist.

  “Let them look,” I say, grunting into her neck as my pace picks up, sweat dripping from my brow and onto her chest. The fact that strangers are watching only heightens the sensations, makes me extra aware of her sexy little gasps as I slide my fingers over her clit, aware of the mist as it chills my bare legs. Everything is magnified.

  This must be what it’s like to be blindfolded.

  Only now I can stare into Violet’s eyes, searching for her release. Her lids are heavy, her gaze is languid. She trusts me. She trusts me so much.

  I can barely handle the thought.

  I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, like she’s candy.

  “I’m coming,” she moans, eyes closing, head rolling to the side.

  For a moment I think she’ll stifle her cries – she knows people are watching and she has a tendency to be loud. But she doesn’t. She lets it all go.

  “Fuck, fuck, Vicente!” she yells hoarsely, her fingers holding tighter and tighter as she pulses and jerks around me. “Oh, god, oh so fucking good.”

  “Si?” I ask but then my words choke as I’m caught in the riptide. My orgasm sneaks up on me, like being hit from behind.

  It’s devastating.

  It stuns me in a way I never saw coming.

  I feel like I’m being fileted and for the first time she might see who I really am.

  My eyes pinch closed, shutting her out. I’m loud when I come, my cries rising into the trees. I can’t control myself, not right now, not anymore.

  Is this what it’s like to dance on a tightrope, one end slowly unravelling?

  And then, like a switch, the dance is over.

  I collapse against her, sweat dripping off my brow and over my nose. I can hardly breathe but I don’t care. I’m shuddering on the inside, completely unraveled.

  Completely frightened.

  And I don’t scare easily.

  She starts to slip so I gently lower her to the ground and pull out, my cum dripping down her legs.

  Got to admit, it’s a deliciously sexy sight.

  “Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “Looks like we need Plan A.”

  She gives me a small smile, nearly falling over on shaky legs. She leans against the tree and after I do up my pants, I help pull hers back on. “It’s called Plan B,” she says. She looks in the distance and my eyes follow her.

  There’s a couple of guys a few yards out, peering between the trees.

  Perverts.

  I stand back up and wave at them. “Get a good show?”

  At that they start running off. Luckily none of them had a camera or phone aimed at me, otherwise I’d have to hunt them down and kill them.

  And how would I explain that to Violet?

  Then again, I already have a lot of explaining to do.

  “Well,” she says, blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes. “I didn’t see the band Quick Fuck with Vicente on the festival lineup.”

  “No? They’re very underrated.” I smile and I grab her hand. “Come on, let’s go find your brother.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Violet

  “Can I just say you’ve been a really shitty friend?”

  Ginny’s voice is all business but from the way she’s holding out her bright orange cocktail toward me and the pleading look in her eyes, I know she doesn’t mean it.

  Which kind of makes it worse.

  I pick up my lychee martini and clink it gently against hers, looking her dead in the eyes. “I’m sorry. Honestly.”

  She takes a sip as I take mine. “It’s fine. I’m just teasing you. You’re getting the D you’ve always needed. Hey, I get it.”

  I nearly choke on the drink. If only she knew what kind of dick I was actually getting. Sex with Vicente is about as wild, adventurous and dirty as it gets.

  I give her a look. “No, you definitely don’t get it.”

  “You’re right,” she says. “I’m pretending. But I can and will tell you that Vicente is a fine looking man. Even I turned into a heart-eyed emoji when I saw him.”

  I roll my eyes. “You were borderline rude, Ginny.”

  She shrugs. “Whatever. You were keeping me in the dark, after all that talk about getting you laid.” She scans the stage. “Where’s my girl at?”

  We’re at a cabaret turned open mic show in the Castro. Normally I find these shows delightfully colorful yet a little too loud for my ears. But Ginny’s girlfriend Tamara is the MC and so I’m here for support.

  And yeah, I’ve been a shitty friend. Ever since I met Vicente I’ve ignored Ginny and everything else around me, including school. I’m way behind in everything and the terrifying thing is…

  I don’t care.

  It’s been two weeks since I met Vicente and the hold he has on me is only growing stronger. I can’t get enough of him. He occupies my thoughts, my body, my heartbeat.

  The sex, that dirty crazy sex, has been amazing.

  Incredible.

  And constant.

  I’m actually a bit afraid.

  The edge is in sight, clear as day, and I can see myself going over it.

  Maybe just to see what it’s like to fly.

  But like my fears of walking across the Golden Gate Bridge, the fall scares me. Those moments of life flashing past you, knowing it’s all going to end.

  Because that’s what happens in these kinds of relationships, right?

  It has to end.

  Only the lucky keep going.

  As rock god Josh Homme once said, it’s called falling in love because you hit the ground.

  “So, are you in love yet?” Ginny asks, hammering the nail on the head, like I’m so easy to read.

  Love.

  Just the sound of the word is terrifying.

  I try and swallow but my throat feels too thick.

  I can only shake my head.

  No. Not love.

  It’s too soon. Those are the rules.

  But
the truth is, as much it scares me, I’m desperate for it.

  I want to fall in love. Roll around it. Wrap it up and wear it until it’s tattered and torn. I want to be reckless with it and baby it and let it define me.

  I’m mad.

  This is madness.

  Utter chaos of the heart.

  A herd of horses in the soul.

  Ever since he said I should run away with him, leave my family behind and all the lies and nonsense, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. And the crazy thing is, I think going with him might be the right thing to do.

  I mean, it’s the wrong thing to do…my parents paid a lot for my school and as much as I’m not concentrating on it right now and as much as I kind of hate them at the moment, I don’t want to do that to them. It would be the epitome of being ungrateful and I’m truly not.

  But the little voice inside my head, like a chirping bird calling and calling and calling for something, that voice won’t go away. I just want to be with Vicente. I just want to shut ourselves away in a place where we’re the only thing that exists.

  “No, huh? Mmmm, you just wait,” Ginny says, her eyes glued to the stage as Tamara, in a sparkling blue jumpsuit that sets off her black skin, introduces the next performer. “You’ll be unable to stop thinking the word. Then you’ll make excuses for it. Either way, you’re doomed. Once love starts, it’s impossible to stop. You’ll make them your whole world.” Her voice drifts off, nearly disappearing in the raucous cries of the crowd. “Your whole fucking world.”

  I wish I didn’t relate. My heart is so much more sensitive than it should be. How can I trust that what I feel is real? How do I know it’s not just me pulling a Violet, being hyper-sensitive? For crying out loud, my heart fucking cries and bleeds when I accidently kill a bee.

  There are no answers. I have no past to navigate by. The boyfriends I had I thought I loved at the time, but in comparison to Vicente, I realize that they were just comfort and crushes. There was none of that tear your hair out, tear your clothes off, I have to be with you now and all the time and always. That just didn’t exist before him.

  It was a whole other life before him.

  One where I was drowning and didn’t even know it.

  Vicente’s mouth against mine is a lungful of oxygen, his body a life raft. He might be the only thing saving me lately.

  Ben still hasn’t confronted our parents. To be fair, it’s been a week since he found out about Sophia Madano and he’s been at school in Santa Cruz. I haven’t seen him or talked to him since – my texts have gone unanswered, which isn’t unusual when I know he has exams.

  I’ve just been trying to get by, trying to ignore it. Without talking to Ben, there’s only so much I can do, so much I can think. I don’t want my imagination to run away on me without knowing all the facts, the facts that either he or my parents should provide. Until then though, there’s that perturbed feeling of knowing nothing at all.

  And then there’s Vicente himself.

  I want to chalk it up to paranoia, but I swear he’s pulling away, just a bit.

  It’s nothing he’s done or said to me. Just what I’m observing when he thinks I’m not looking. The way his eyes drift off into space, the flashes of pain in them, some inner torment that he has to face. How in the middle of the night he’ll wake up from nightmares he won’t tell me about. Nightmares that have him saying “Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento” over and over again.

  He’s sorry about something. Whatever it is, I want to know about it so I can take it away from him. Set him free.

  Maybe it will set us both free.

  “Hey,” Ginny says, nudging me. “Snap out of it. Join me in the now.”

  I give her an embarrassed smile. It’s one thing to be a crappy friend from afar, it’s another thing to be a crappy friend up close and personal.

  I do what I can to push Vicente from my brain. The drinks help. And I talk with Ginny and enjoy the rest of the mayhem that is tonight’s “entertainment.”

  I actually have fun, once I learn to let go a bit and start living outside of my head. The best act of the evening was the drag queen with the monkey who would braid her hair. That monkey could have a nice little gig doing hairstyles outside of Powell Street station.

  But when the crowd gets too loud and boisterous, I’ve had enough. I’m drunk and horny and Ginny and Tamara are making out and Vicente isn’t anywhere nearby.

  I decide to walk home but once I get a few blocks up the hill and away from the hustle and bustle, I chicken out and try and get a Lyft through the app on my phone.

  Shit.

  Phone’s dead.

  At least there’s no fog for once. Foggiest October on record, I swear.

  As I walk down the street, the moon is nowhere to be seen. It’s pitch black and the clear air brings a chill as I hug my jacket and scarf close to me, peering in the windows of the Victorians as I pass them by. For some reason the sight of people inside, watching TV or reading by the windows, lights on, brings small moments of comfort. It’s like they let you know that the world is chugging along as normal and nothing is as bad as it –

  I can’t finish the thought.

  A hand goes over my mouth. Cold pressure to my temple.

  Oh my god!

  I’m grabbed from behind and before I can do or say anything I’m twisted off the street and into an area beside a dumpster, shoved into the shadows.

  The person holding onto me doesn’t say anything, my mind goes wild trying to figure out who it is. They smell like bad cologne, so strong it makes my eyes water. Their breath is loud and raspy, like they have breathing problems. From the way their belly pokes into my back, I’m guessing they’re out of shape.

  But they have a gun to my head.

  A gun.

  And that’s when all instinct inside me, the one that tells me to fight back, that knows how to fight back, takes a moment to breathe. To think.

  But I can’t think.

  I can only moan against the person’s gloved hand and stare at the street. This street that only a few seconds ago brought me comfort and security.

  I’m so fucking close to home.

  I didn’t even pick up on someone following me.

  I didn’t pick up on anything.

  “Violet McQueen,” the man says in my ear. A strange voice, hoarse and echoing. No accent, no interesting dialect. A voice I’ve never heard before.

  I can’t say yes or no to his question.

  I can’t do anything at all.

  I’m useless.

  “I don’t want to hurt you but I will,” the man says. “I’ll need you to come with me. Be a good girl now.”

  He starts moving, taking me out of the shadows and to the black van parked nearby.

  Once I’m in that van, I’m as good as dead.

  I know that.

  The fear is unreal.

  It’s a bear inside me, growling with fangs, hovering above my heart, ready to tear in. Terror is sweating out of my pores, perfuming the air with something metallic.

  My tongue tastes like nickels.

  I think of Ben. I think of my mom, my dad. I think it’s something to do with them.

  I think of Vicente.

  I think it’s something to do with him.

  But I know if I get in that van, I’ll never be able to tell them.

  I’ll never be able to tell anyone anything.

  He drags me foot by foot and each inch I move across the rough sidewalk I pray for someone to walk past, maybe with their dog on a nightly stroll, maybe drive by dropping off a friend or returning home from a late shift. I pray for someone, anyone, to tear their eyes away from the TV and look out the window.

  I know prayers still need a boost.

  He seems to be alone. He has to open the door of the van and he’s either going to do it with the hand that’s over my mouth or the hand that has the gun. I’m betting it’s the latter. It’s too much of a risk if I scream, too many houses around, too ma
ny eyes.

  He reaches out with the hand with the gun.

  I don’t even have to think.

  My body moves on instinct, forged in training, an automatic reaction.

  I bite into his hand over my mouth and while his head whips toward me in shock, just a flash of his eyes boring into mine, I raise my elbow and clock him right in the face.

  I’ve never hit hard like that before, with the intent to maim, not even when I was attacked outside Buena Vista park.

  I like it.

  I like the sound of his bones crunching from the hit.

  I like the feel of my body as it spins, stepping back as my hand jabs up, getting him on the nose and breaking it, blood spilling on the street, moonlight reflected in the splatter.

  I like the violence of my results.

  I like it to the point it distracts me.

  He flies at me, butt of the gun crashing into my cheek bone and temple.

  I cry out, shrill. The pain is like stars and gunpowder inside my skull.

  But my body moves like the pain is fuel. It silently thanks my father for making me fight all those years.

  I try to kick at his face, but I’m too short, the ground too uneven, my legs not as flexible as they used to be.

  The tip of my boot catches his chin.

  It’s enough.

  He drops his gun, his body momentarily slumping against the van.

  But he’s not a weak man and he’ll come after me harder than I can come after him.

  So I scream.

  I open my mouth and I scream my heart out.

  Loud.

  So fucking loud, like a million banshees are soaring out.

  You know when you have those dreams where someone is after you and you try and scream and run but you can’t? Your screams die in your throat and your legs move like molasses?

  Well those are just that – dreams.

  In real life, you can scream until the whole city hears you.

  Until every house turns on their lights, opens their doors.

  And you can run.

  Oh, yes.

  I’m running like the wind.

  My legs are pumping up and down as I book it down the street and around the corner. It’s almost effortless. I feel like I can run forever, like I’m Tom Cruise out for a jog.

  But I know it’s adrenaline that’s propelling me forward, all the way to Haight.