Page 18 of The Wages of Sin

It was just past nine in the morning when I finally stepped out of Bonetti’s apartment, locking the door with a spare key behind me. Hiding my blood-stained shirt and bulky pressure bandage underneath my black jacket, I headed for the subway.

It had been a long night, and the moment I stepped into the shelter of my apartment, all I wanted was to patch myself up properly and then get some sleep.

But fate had other plans.

I hadn’t made it halfway to my bedroom or managed to fully peel off my jacket before the doorbell sounded.

Shit.

It had been a long night.

And now it was Tuesday morning.

Chapter Seven

KIERA

Heaven help me, I was actually looking forward to the day.

That hadn’t happened much in the last year and a half. Come to think of it…it hadn’t happened at all.

The thought gave me pause as I waited in the hallway for the door to open. For all its weirdness, I’d actually enjoyed last Tuesday.

Well, at least a little.

Cleaning such a massive apartment on my own should have been a monumental task, but the client was either one hell of a neat freak or barely used the place.

Nearly every room looked like it hadn’t been touched since the week before. Only the kitchen, his bedroom, and his bath showed signs of use—and even in those, the work was light. If I’d wanted to, I could have cut corners and finished the whole job in just a couple of hours.

But as it turned out, I didn’t want to.

Instead, I’d taken my time, enjoyed the music he’d played, and relished a few rare moments of peace. Hell, I even took a break at one point—something I’d never imagined doing on this job.

With any luck, I’d be able to repeat that today.

A few seconds later, the door opened, but just a crack.

“Mary.”

I would have thought that three weeks in, I would have grown used to the effect that deep, gravelly voice had on me, but just like every time before, it left a trail of heat behind as it rumbled through me.

“Good morning, sir.” Even though it went against almost a year and a half of habit, I did my best to keep my head up as I spoke, remembering his instructions. Still, the way he kept himself hidden behind the half-closed door made me wonder if I’d done something wrong. “Did I come at a bad time? I can come back later.”

I was nearly fifteen minutes early, after all. Maybe I should have waited down in the lobby until ten on the dot. What if he still had company in there from the night before, and I’d interrupted their goodbyes?

The thought made my stomach sink for reasons I didn’t fully understand.

Sure, the client might be sexy as hell, but was still just the client. Two weeks’ worth of secret late-night fantasies over the magnificence of his naked body didn’t change that.

He waited a beat before giving his head a single shake. Then he opened the door wider for me to enter. “No. Come in.”

It might have only been my third time in the man’s house, but I would have sworn that he was holding himself stiffer and tenser than usual as I walked past him. It was so noticeable that I was almost tempted to ask if anything was wrong.

But questions like that led to answers. And, when it came to this particular client, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the less I knew, the better.

“I’ll start in the kitchen again,” I said, more out of nerves than politeness.

“Fine,” he said curtly, shutting the door behind me.

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