Page 39 of Merciless Heir

I give her what I can in a way that’s never insulting. She does well, but I know every bit I give, everything I can do, goes to help her help others. And, out of everyone in this world, I love her.

It shames me in the time I was with Damon I never introduced them because she meant more to me than him. Because I didn’t want to share her.

But there’s only so long you can eat her delicious homemade cakes and drink tea or ouzo if she breaks that out and I set out to work, making my goodbyes.

As I take the subway downtown, I’m caught up in my thoughts, so caught up I almost miss the transfer at Forty-Second Street to the F. But soon enough I emerge at the Second Avenue stop, and as I cross the streets, down to Avenue A and my home, I admit I hate the idea of my father being free.

Yia-Yia is right. He’ll turn up. I should have kept up with it, and I now will. Forewarned is good.

I’m staring down at the pavement as I walk, turning to my building and I run into him before I can stop myself.

Strong hands that heat my skin and flesh grab me and I look up into that darkly, devastatingly handsome face. His evocative scent wrapping about me.

“You never answer your fucking phone,” Kingston says.

I don’t want him to let me go. “No one makes calls. You’re behind the times.”

“Smart ass.”

“Stalker.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile and he releases me. Then he steps back, and pulls a photo from his inner coat pocket and holds it up.

“We need to talk.”

Fuck.

It’s a picture of twelve-year-old me.

And my father.

Chapter Eleven

Kingston

Sadie turns pale and takes a step back.

Not the reaction I expected, but then again what about her is expected?

Certainly not the fact her father’s a fucking hard core con man. Her last name is different. But that doesn’t matter. I never looked that deep into her. At least not delving into parental lineage. There’s nothing linking them.

Nothing, that is, but the photo.

It’s old, and that’s her. Long dark hair, perma-scowl that barely hides fear and vulnerability. Skinny and gangly, and a pretty kid.

I don’t remember this moment in time, as I was fourteen, but I know who he is. The con man, Mr. Sweet, the papers all called him. He preyed on the vulnerable, bilked people out of their money and homes. Sweet? Not at all. He was the worst.

It would be easy to call the man a bottom feeder, a thug, but he wasn’t. Since the photo surfaced in my hands, I looked into him.

He’s ruthless, lacking in morals, savage, and what some might call a sociopath, but I call a soulless criminal.

Trevor Masters. Serving a twenty-year sentence for his crimes.

Sadie’s father.

“Where did you get that?”

“I was going through the information from my previous investigations into criminals who stole jewels.” I flip the photo toward me a moment. “Now I know you, it’s not hard to see who that is.”

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