Chained Hands (Chained Hearts Duet 1)

Chapter One

Keir

Once, a long time ago, I dreamed I could be a normal man. Like the ones you see holding hands as they walk down the street with their girlfriends, like nothing in the world is a worry to them as they smile, and laugh, and kiss. But then I realized that life is a lie. A big, fat, juicy lie.

Mine? My fucked-up life is as real as one could ever get.

The blood that pools at my feet tells me so.

The fear apparent in this guy’s brown eyes tells me so.

His life is a lie, just like many others living around me are beautiful lies.

Licking my lips, I wonder if he would easily go back to his normal, boring life if I gave him a chance.

Or would he stop living a lie?

I think we both know the answer.

The lie is too juicy to let go of it so effortlessly. It’s much easier to live it. Be surrounded by it.

I don’t like the lie, never lived it, and never intend to. So, when you lie to me, I’ll come along and bleed it from you. I’ll let the blood that seeps from your body tell me your truth.

If you owe me, that is.

My father used to tell me, “Boys are just men in the making. You, my son, are a killer in the making. Remember that you will never be a man. You’ll have the needs of a man, yes, but no woman will love the real you.”

He said those words for as long as I can remember. Reiterating them often.

I’m not a man.

I’m a stone-cold killer.

That’s why this man sitting here pleading for his life doesn’t faze me. Doesn’t stir anything within me.

Because we know by the end of the day, I’ll walk out of this house.

And the man with the brown eyes will die burning inside.

What a beautiful fucking fairy tale ending.

“Boss.”

I pull my gun.

The boys have had their fun.

It’s time to leave.

I have other debts to collect.

“We could stay … play a little longer.”

I once enjoyed the mere satisfaction of watching a man bleed until he passed out. Or listening to his screams as I gouged out his eyes one at a time.

But something has shifted.

Now, I raise my gun, and in an instant, the bullet finds a new home between his eyes, and his head snaps back on impact.

Looking up, I see Joey shaking his head.

He wanted to play, and I know that, but I’ll wait to see if he says anything.

He should know better.

My patience level is becoming smaller and smaller, and my trigger finger is getting happier and happier.

Once I was a man who killed simply for the joy of it. The high that followed was unlike any other.

The hard-on I would get from watching some fuckface die some sort of excruciatingly cruel death would be exhilarating.

Now, it’s different.

Now, I fuck because I’m bored.

And I’m bored a lot.

And bored is not what you want me to be.

Chapter Two

Sailor

His lips taste sour.

That’s my first thought after his eager mouth leaves mine.

His rough hand slides up my skirt, creeping its way up my thigh with intent as we stand outside the club. I didn’t want to come, but he insisted.

He insists on a lot of things, and like a fool, I follow without question.

A fool, I tell you.

I know it, you don’t have to tell me.

Because, hell, I know.

But it’s different from the life I had before. So very different.

“Are you ready?” he asks into the air, not even looking my way as his hand stays where it is, possessively resting on my upper thigh where my leg is covered in ink. I move my stare away from his lips, the ones that have left a bitter taste on my tongue and turn my head to where he’s focusing his attention.

It doesn’t seem like much to me—an alleyway off a quiet street with only a few cars around us. If I didn’t know this man, I would think he was taking me down this dark, dingy alley to rape me, kill me … gosh, anything a woman’s worst fears are comprised of.

But I do know him, and I have for an incredibly long time. The ring on my left hand indicates the reason, and the man whose touch is still lingering on my skin put it there.

I’m not scared of him, though. And he knows it.

“Ready for what?” I ask him, nervousness filling my tone since I have no idea what I’m in for tonight. But again, he doesn’t answer me. Typical. He simply smirks before flashing me his extremely white teeth, the ones he just has to brush three times a day. Internally, I roll my eyes just thinking about it.

Did I mention his habits annoy me?

A lot.

His hand drops from my thigh, the cold night air caressing my bare skin the minute he steps away, and for a second, I wish he were back. Back standing in front of me, holding me like a good husband holds his wife. Instead, he hardly gives me a backward glance as he starts walking ahead, expecting me to follow him like a lost puppy. And I do, because no matter how stupid I am for staying with him, I’m not so stupid to be left alone in a dark alley.