Page 17 of Heartless Sinner

I’m praying that doesn’t happen. And that perhaps this job is something these people needed someone like me—or Johnny— to carry out because they couldn’t do it themselves for whatever reason.

I’ll never be sure of anything but I have to believe whatever I need to right now. Just to get through the next two days.

No matter what happens, I can’t screw this up. That includes not getting caught.

I have to visualize the ending I want to this nightmare. So, when I get back to Colorado, all I have to do is hand over the chip to the address I was given, get the money, then pay Anton.

Knowing he’ll be back in the US soon is unnerving enough, but I’m hoping he’ll leave me and Dad alone once the money is paid.

It's wishful thinking, I know, but I’m going to hope anyway. I’m not the girl he left behind. I may be a shadow of the version of myself before I knew him, but at least I’m not an addict anymore.

I still can’t believe I was ever one. But I was.

Me, who was so careful in college when most of my friends were getting stoned every night.

I didn’t even get into drugs on my own accord. That was all Anton’s doing.

The year before we broke up, he got wasted—and high on cocaine—and beat the shit out of me when he thought I’d cheated on him with his best friend.

The bastard broke my arm in two places. When he sobered up and realized the truth, he swore to never hurt me again. I was so blind I believed him.

I got opioids for the pain and benzodiazepines for my anxiety after his attack.

But then I got severely addicted to them because Anton bribed my doctors into prescribing them for me beyond my treatment.

For almost a year, he’d slip those pills and other drugs into my food and drinks to drug me. It was his way of controlling and keeping me with him whenever he got violent.

In the end the violence was nothing compared to being a prisoner, trapped with him and trapped in my mind.

During that time I couldn’t get a job. I was always either off my face or sleeping way beyond normal. I thought I was sick or depressed because of losing the job on All My Years.

Thanks to Lucy, I discovered the truth after I appeared to have overdosed on one bad combo Anton had given me. I ended up in the ER, where they conducted tests and found out what was wrong with me. Lucy also found Anton’s stash of pills and figured out what he’d done to me that whole time.

It was only luck that the fed’s investigation gave me a way out.

Anton had to leave the country, but by then, I was highly addicted and needed professional help.

I spent six months in rehab and an additional two months in therapy. So, no, I don’t ever want to see Anton again.

I lift the glass to my lips and drink, savoring the rum in the cocktail as it warms my throat. Most of the cocktail was sweet, but this part is sharp and searing.

It’s so strange to be drinking by myself in a bar full of people, let alone be here in New York and not see Lucy. I’ll never tell herI was here. She’d never forgive me if she knew I came all the way here and didn’t see her.

Laughter pulls my attention, and I glance toward the cluster of men near the corner booth. They’re deep in conversation, glasses raised in celebration, but my focus locks onto one figure. A handsome Italian man with broad shoulders, a sharp suit, and dark hair slicked back.

Is he Micah Delarosa?

He could be.

What if heishim?

My heart kicks into overdrive, each beat slamming against my ribs like a

warning.

It’s crazy that I have no idea what Micah looks like. I foolishly tried to search for him on Google. While I found the name there were no pictures anywhere. And no social media links. It’s no surprise given who he is. Or what he is.

The only things I know about him are that he’s Italian and part of the Delarosa family who own Delarosa Industriesandthis luxurious five star hotel that looks like something from an elegant movie set. I’ve never been anywhere this fancy before. It’s a shame I can’t enjoy it.

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