Page 41 of Vicious Hearts

Across the street from the Ritz-Carlton, I stop dead in my tracks, my jaw hanging open as I stare up at the banner welcoming the gala event.

He’s bat fucking shit crazy.

I mean, obviously he is. Historically, empirically, Cillian Kildare is—above almost all else—known for being a categorical psychopath. I just didn’t think he wasthiscrazy.

For two weeks now, I’ve been trying to track down the target I was supposed to kill at Club Venom. For two weeks, I’ve also been trying to force myself to think of him as just that: a target. A monster. The enemy.

Notthe man who touched me like I’ve secretly craved to be touched for years. Not the man that stirred and wakened a fierce darkness in me that simultaneously scares the shit out of me and turns me to a pillar of fire.

But finally, after two weeks—during which time Cillian apparently disappeared off the face of the freaking earth—I’ve got an opening.

He’s a smart man. It’s not as if everyone in this city is unaware of the Kildare family or is oblivious to their presence, power, and how they make their money. It’s just that if you dangle enough shiny, pretty things over “there”, people don’t pay much attention to the dark, dirty, illegal shit you’re busy doing over “here.”

I knew Cillian was going to a major fundraising gala in the ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton, where he was—unbelievably—presenting what is rumored to be a six-figure donation check.

I keep staring up at the gala banner over the main doors to the Ritz, my head slowly shaking side to side.

I just wouldn’t have in my wildest fucking dreams imagined that the gala event that the head of one of the biggest criminal organizations in the city was speaking at, and was donating a hefty check to, was the goddamnPoliceman’s Ball.

And here I am, planning on waltzing in there to kill him.

Motherfucker.

Nervously, I open my clutch. I gently peel away the lining and glance at the plastic but still razor-sharp blade hidden within—something left on my doorstep by Apostle this morning, no doubt plastic to get by any metal detectors.

But getting through the front door seems like it’s going to be the least of my fucking problems tonight.

I swallow, sucking on my teeth as I stare across the street at thehordesof police officers mulling around outside and filing into the hotel.

No. This is insane. It’s impossible.

It’s what you have to do.

I dodge taxis crossing the street, and then smile pleasantly at the three young police officers who rush over to offer their arm to help me up the stairs in my towering heels into the main lobby.

“Notice you didn’t arrive with anyone,” the sergeant who helps me gingerly up the steps says with a hopeful grin.

“Oh, you’re just thesweetest,” I smile right back. “But I’m meeting someone inside.”

At the top of the stairs, he leaves my side with an appreciative sigh. “Well, he’s a lucky man.”

Not exactly.

My outfit for the evening isn’t x-rated like it was at Club Venom. But I’m still dressed to kill.

Pun totally intended.

Left to my own devices, there’s no way I would have been able to get my hands on the black cocktail-length de la Renta I’m currently wearing. Not with my negative income. And I’m good with sleight of hand when it comes to shoplifting, but notthatgood. Luckily, the dress was an Apostle drop-off at my front door this morning, along with the purse and the heavy pendant and chain around my neck.

Inside the hotel, I sling my small clutch over my shoulder on its little strap, feeling the slight weight from the plastic blade hidden within. Nope, the metal detector didn’t pick it up. I step into the soaring, gilded ballroom of the Ritz, trying to keep my nerves together as I survey the literallyhundredsof smiling police officers milling around the room.

How the fuck am I going to do this.

One, because I’m in a fuckingseaof law enforcement. And two, because even if I tell myself I was wearing a mask before, even if I’m not wearing a blonde wig tonight, my naturally dark hair pinned up…

There’s just no way he’s not going to know it’s me. We were rather close when I stabbed him.

My face burns.

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