Sinful Hands (Chained Hearts Duet 3)

“Hello.”

No one answers.

I walk farther inside and see the tap running in the kitchen. Turning it off, I hear a faint sound.

The apartment has only two bedrooms.

At first, Brody had their room, but now he shares a room with me. It’s safer that way. If they get high during the night, I barricade us in the room.

Passing our room, I go straight to theirs and push open the door slightly.

I pause.

Well fuck! I didn’t expect to see this.

I mean, I had a feeling one day it would happen, but I was hoping it would be after I was eighteen. Not before.

Stepping in, I find my father—the piece of shit that he is—eyes wide open and froth at his mouth. Clearly, he’s overdosed. I lean down and check his pulse. When I feel nothing, I kick him. Asshole. The fucking asshole. “I hate you,” I scream, kicking him again.

“Chanel.” I jump at the sound of my mother’s voice. She’s on the bed, while my father is on the floor. Stepping over him, I go closer to her. She reaches out to touch me, but she’s too weak and gives up. “Help.” The voice she uses rocks me. A part of me wants to go and get help. While the other part…

Smack.

Useless piece of shit you are.

Smack.

I wish you were never born.

Smack.

I hate you.

Smack.

That’s what I remember when I look at her—the way she is when she isn’t asleep.

She’s an evil bitch.

Just like that piece of shit lying dead on the floor.

“No.” The word falls from my mouth, and shock shows in her eyes, but she is too weak to move or do anything. I sit on the edge of the bed next to her. “Brody and I, we are going to have such a better life without you two in it,” I tell her. “You are poison, and I hate you with every fiber of my being.”

“Chanel.” Her voice comes out soft. “What about Brody?” And that’s the card she will always play with me—my little brother.

“No one will know. I’m eighteen soon, then I’ll report you.” I stand and lean down over her. My hand shakes as I reach it out and touch her face, gripping her nose and covering her mouth with my palm. She’s too weak to fight me. “Burn in hell, Mother. I’ll see you real soon.” I hold on tight. She struggles, but not too much as the drugs having taken a toll on her. I watch as she tries to catch her last breath and happiness fills me when she can’t.

What does this make me?

A killer?

When she stops moving, I remove my hand and check her pulse.

Dead.

Good.

Stepping over my father, I turn and walk out of the room, shutting the door and locking it so Brody won’t go in and find them.

Then a smile touches my face.

It’s done.

They are done.

All the pain and suffering…

… it’s over.

31

Chanel

“Chanel.” Hands grab me. I try to move, but Lucas keeps me still. “Chanel,” he says my name again, and when I open my eyes, I’m not stuck in that shitty apartment I called home with my dead parents.

“Sorry, bad dream.” I rub my eyes.

“You have them often?” he asks in a softer voice.

“Who are you?” I ask him. “You aren’t the man you made yourself out to be,” I say without thinking, the strange comfort I feel in his arms making me want to understand him even more. I can’t imagine him killing me now, or that he would actually harm me.

I could be wrong, but I hope I’m not.

“And what type of man is that?” he questions, his hand tightening on my bare hip as he keeps me pinned to him.

“They call you the viper. They say you collect. Have you collected me yet?” I ask.

“Do you think I haven’t?”

I think on that for a second.

Has he? He has, but I think I like the way he did it.

“Maybe you have.”

“I have.” He strokes the hair away from my face.

I go to get up, but he holds me still. “I have work today.”

“Call in sick.” He plays with a piece of my hair, twirling it around his finger.

“I only just got this job. I need it.”

“I’ll call in sick for you. Tell Sailor I need your assistance today.”

“No, don’t.” I shake my head and try to get up again, but he just pulls me right back down.

“Okay, how much longer do we have, then?”

I roll over and check the time. “I have to leave in an hour,” I reply, turning back to him.

“I can deal with an hour.” He pulls the duvet up over us and then scoots down and pushes my legs apart. I go to stop him, because of what we did, but when I look to the side there’s a wash cloth covered in blood and I realize he cleaned me while I slept. His mouth doesn’t waste a second before it lands between my legs. I groan as I slide farther into him and reach under the blanket to grip his hair. His hand snakes up my body, finding my breast before he grips my nipple, squeezing and tugging it.