The Sins Duet

by Abbi Cook

  The Sins Duet

  Abbi Cook

  Contents

  Blurb

  Note to Readers

  Covet

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Corrupt

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  About the Author

  Books by Abbi:

  The Sins Duet: Covet and Corrupt

  A dangerous man obsessed…

  I want to possess Natalie from the moment I lay eyes on her. Trusting and sweet, she has no idea what I can do to her.

  What I will do to her.

  An innocent woman caught in a web of lies…

  He’s beautiful and vicious like nothing I’ve ever seen. Alexei terrifies me and takes my breath away.

  Yet I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame, even as I sense the danger in him.

  Nothing is what it seems…

  A hit man who never fails at his job. A woman afraid she’s losing her mind. The secret that shocks even a cold-blooded killer.

  How perfect a life can look from the outside, and then with just one crack in the façade, everything changes.

  The Sins Duet, Covet, and Corrupt are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  2020 Dark Vine Media LLC

  Copyright © 2020 Dark Vine Media LLC

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Published in the United States

  ISBN: 978-1-7355993–0-4

  Contains themes that may upset some readers

  Note to readers:

  Many books include a playlist of songs that influenced the author’s writing, but for me, I get inspiration from many artistic outlets. Sometimes it’s just a chorus of a song or even merely a few words or notes, while other times it’s an entire book or film. Each story is different. I’ve included a list of some of the inspiration that influenced the writing of the Sins Duet.

  Abbi

  Artistic influences on The Sins Duet

  A Work of Artifice—Marge Piercy (poem)

  All I Want Is You—U2 (song)

  Body Heat (film)

  Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap—AC/DC (song)

  Every Breath You Take—The Police (song)

  My Beloved Spake—Steven Price, Ophelia Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

  Policy of Truth—Depeche Mode (song)

  Pomegranate Seed—Edith Wharton (short story)

  The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (short story)

  Wicked Game—Chris Isaak (song)

  COVET

  Prologue

  Alexei

  I see you when you’re walking down the street, happily enjoying yourself and going about your business. Closing your eyes while you wait to cross the street, you let the sun warm your face on this early spring day. Go ahead. Relish that feeling.

  I see you when you stop at your favorite coffee shop, a place that’s a part of your everyday routine. We humans do love our lives to be regular, don’t we? We rail against predictability, but what would your mid-afternoon break be without that latte from that particular shop with that extra shot of caramel you love?

  I see you when you think nobody’s looking and sneak that candy bar into your purse at the corner store just because stealing it gives you a thrill you find nowhere else in your life. I won’t tell. I understand. I get the same feeling when I finally have a target in my sights.

  I’m the person you don’t notice who’s found out every place you go, every person you speak to, every move you make. The man in the dark suit who looks like any man on the street of any city. Perhaps I’m a businessman. Or maybe I’m a lawyer. Or a stockbroker.

  No, I’m none of these things. But I look like I could be, so you don’t give me a second thought if you see me near you on the sidewalk. Just another nine-to-fiver in a suit and tie climbing the ladder of success and hoping to grab that brass ring, just like you.

  At least that’s what your subconscious thinks.

  You smile as you pass the elderly flower vendor on the corner, giving him a big grin as he waves at you. “No daisies for you today?” he calls out, remembering how you bought that happy yellow flower so many times in the past month.

  “Not today,” you say sweetly, smiling even broader as you think about how the last bunch still brightens up your dining room table. “Maybe next week!”

  He nods, happy to hear he’ll have that sale from such a reliable customer, but it won’t happen. Not next week. Not next month either.

  You see, with every step you take, I’m right behind you. I’ve had eyes on you for days now. I know where you’re going, what to anticipate, and when you’ll be alone.

  And when you are, that’s when it will happen.

  Why, you might ask, if I gave you the chance to speak in those final moments. Why me? Well, that’s easy, at least from my vantage point.

  Someone wants you gone, so they paid me to do just that. Make you disappear from this world.

  And if I let you ask that question and I gave you that answer, your mind would quickly race through the catalogue of every single soul you’ve ever met in your life, filling the last seconds of your existence with no clear answers.

  Was it that office enemy you beat out for your promotion last fall, one he or she deserved more than you but you had better connections? Your mother always warned you networking isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

  Or was it the man or woman you treated like shit and then abandoned, thinking they were so fucking weak that you could do what you wanted
to them and they’d never fight back? Strength comes to the beaten long after they’ve been left behind. Trust me on that. In my job, I see that a lot.

  Perhaps it’s someone you’ve never even met. A woman your husband has been sleeping with who’s decided she can’t wait for him to get the balls required to divorce you. The man your wife is in love with who can’t bear the idea of you sleeping next to her for not one more night.

  So they seek out someone who can solve their problem.

  All types come to someone like me. You’d probably be surprised at who my clients have been. Politicians, celebrities, teachers, doctors, anyone who can afford my fee. But they all have one thing in common.

  They want someone taken out of this world.

  I do what they can’t. I do what they don’t want to admit to, and for that, I charge a hefty price. In exchange, they get the one thing they wish they could make happen but can’t bring themselves to do.

  But don’t worry. It won’t hurt, and you won’t suffer. That’s for those sociopaths who love to see people in pain. That’s not me.

  So who am I?

  I’m the man hired to kill you.

  I watch you walk out of your office building as dusk falls over the city. You worked late today, later than usual, but that’s okay. For this day, my schedule is wide open, except for the one task I have to complete.

  Killing you.

  There will be no reprieve. That’s not possible. The judge and jury have already decided your fate. I’m simply the executioner. You’ve already been condemned to death. I merely carry out that sentence.

  But as I promised, you won’t suffer. One shot is all it takes. One shot and it’s all over.

  Then what happens is what always happens when someone leaves this world. People mourn, some only pretending but it’s a necessary show before they move on to the next stage of their lives.

  Others question how this could happen to such a great person. They silently rage at the viciousness of this world where an innocent soul could be unjustly taken while criminals and killers walk the street free.

  And still others quietly question who would want someone like you dead. Most people never figure out it’s often someone close to you. Someone who shares your bed and the breakfast you make in the morning. Someone who promised to love and cherish you that beautiful day of your wedding. Someone who stands at your side in all the family pictures.

  Someone with the same last name as you.

  Love sure is grand.

  If you’re lucky, a single soul will truly miss you when you’re gone. They’ll think of you and smile because you made their life better. For them, the question isn’t why you had to go but why so soon.

  I don’t know the answer to that. Someone else decided the timetable for the two of us, hunter and prey.

  Today is your last day in this world. You have no more chances to make things right. Whatever things are is how they’ll stay.

  You’re in my sights now. In only minutes, this will all be over.

  Who am I?

  Not that names really matter in all of this, but my name is Alexei Volkov, and I’m a killer.

  Your killer.

  I’m one of the best in the world. I always get my man, or woman, as the case may be. Always. Your end was never in doubt once the person who wants you gone from this world hired me.

  My father was a hit man, as was my grandfather, who began his life of violence in the KGB. It’s like a family tradition, I guess.

  Together, we’ve killed more people than you can ever imagine. That labor leader who suddenly turned up dead from a stroke in his summer house last year? That was me. The movie star who was found shot to death in the woods of upstate New York a couple years ago? Again, me. And who hired me to kill him? His loving wife, of course, who’s now married to the man she was rumored to be sleeping with before her husband’s untimely demise.

  My father used to brag about some South American official he took out in the 1990s. That one put him on the map in our world. And my grandfather? Well, he preferred to keep his work closer to home with the Russian mob after he came to this country in the fifties.

  I come from a long line of killers. You might say it’s in the blood. Some of our victims are famous, but many aren’t. Death doesn’t discriminate, and neither do I.

  The parking garage has an eerie silence to it tonight, broken only by the sound of your shoes tapping on the concrete as you leisurely stroll to your car. I make no noise, but with every step, I watch to see if you’ll turn around.

  You don’t, though. You’re too lost in thought about all those things you need to do when you get home to sense I’m right behind you.

  I know exactly how long I have before you start that beautiful luxury car of yours. You see, you, like every other person in this world, are a creature of habit. Remember when I said I’ve been watching you? I noted how every night after work when you get into your car you don’t immediately start it up and put it into gear to drive away.

  That’s a mistake. Those precious few seconds when you’re changing the station to hear your favorite music or checking your makeup in the rearview mirror are moments when you’re at your most vulnerable in this dimly lit parking garage.

  That SUV a few spaces away gives you the impression that you’re safe. That someone else is nearby, someone like you who’s done with work for the day and ready to start the ride home, just as soon as they get settled in.

  But there’s no safety here.

  You take your focus off the rearview mirror, finished with reapplying your lipstick, and I know the time has come. You didn’t lock the doors, of course. You were too busy being lulled into a false sense of security by your routine.

  So I throw the car door open, surprising you. Shocked, you don’t scream. The only noise is the beeping sound your car makes to alert you that your door is open. For a moment, I see fear in your eyes, but then like with everyone else, the last thing I see in them is confusion. The human mind just can’t grasp the idea that a perfect stranger would do this.

  One shot and it’s over. It only takes a few seconds, and that’s it. You slump over the wheel, and I calmly close the car door, silencing the beeping.

  That’s how life is. One minute, you’re alive, and the next you’re dead. But how alive were you really? Every day you went to the same job, drank coffee at the same times, walked the same sidewalks to the same places. You spoke to the same people, saying the same words, and thinking the same thoughts day after day.

  Yet all the while, someone wanted to take that same life from you. So they hired me. Now they’ll pretend to mourn your death while I spend their money.

  Love is a funny thing. The very one who kissed you goodbye this morning is the one behind my job tonight.

  And you never saw it coming.

  Some people would say what I do is wrong. Maybe most would. But I’ve never killed a soul out of anger or because I wanted them dead.

  As I head back to my car, I see a couple walking toward me holding hands. The man smiles down at the woman, clearly in love as she returns the smile, just as happy with him.

  For now.

  Love is an emotion, like hatred and rage. It ebbs and flows, taking with it trust and kindness when it disappears. And when it’s all gone, that’s when the smiles fade away.

  But I’m willing to say it doesn’t have to happen this way. Maybe love is as grand as they claim. Maybe it conquers all. Maybe it even makes the world go round.

  Maybe, just maybe, Lennon and McCartney were right, and all you need is love.

  Or maybe love is all I’ve ever seen it as, a battlefield cluttered with death.

  I don’t know. I’m just the one who comes in when the love is no more. But I will say this. Perhaps none of the people who hire me ever truly loved my victims. True love does seem rare in this world.

  So while I’ve seen little evidence that love is anything but a weapon most use on others, I want to believe it still exists in that way we a
ll secretly wish for—all-consuming, unforgettable, and life-changing love.

  That it can be found around the corner, when you least expect it, and at that moment when you’ve nearly given up on its very existence. That out of the billions of people on the planet, one meant just for you somehow ends up in your life.

  And when that kind of love happens, it turns the world upside down in ways you never imagined.

  Even a killer can dream.

  Chapter One

  Natalie

  Nineteen Years Ago

  I sit at my mother's vanity and stare into the mirror as she brushes my long brown hair in unhurried strokes. Tangle-free because of the conditioner she uses, it allows the expensive European brushes she specially ordered to glide through effortlessly. She sighs as she starts at the top of my head and slowly runs down my back to nearly my waist.

  "Your hair is your crowning glory," she says with a smile as she beams with pride. "Always remember that, Natalie."

  Looking at her in the mirror, I smile back at the woman I want to be when I grow up. My mother's hair is nothing less than perfect at all times. Long and straight, her light brown hair shines when the light hits it.