by Karina Halle
Dirty Souls
Sins Duet #2
Karina Halle
Metal Blonde Books
Contents
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Playlist
About the Author
Also by Karina Halle
First edition published by Metal Blonde Books
March 2017
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright © 2017 by Karina Halle Mackenzie
Kindle edition
All rights reserved
Cover design: Hang Le Designs
Edited by: Kara Malinczak
Proofed by Laura Helseth
Created with Vellum
For the Anti-Heroes…for obvious reasons
I got a master plan to be your man.
Seize the throne, seize the mantle, seize the crown ‘cause I am what I am.
“Loverman” - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
There are violets in your eyes, there are guns that blaze around you.
It’s no wonder every man in town has neither fought nor found you.
“Honeymoon” - Lana Del Rey
ABOUT THIS BOOK
From New York Times bestselling author Karina Halle comes DIRTY SOULS, the much-anticipated, nail-biting conclusion to Black Hearts…
Violet McQueen has always been a sensitive soul. Troubled and misunderstood, she never realized her place in the world, nor her true potential…until she met Vicente Bernal.
From birth, Vicente Bernal has always known his place in the world – he’s been groomed to be a ruthless king. Yet for a man whose soul has become morally bankrupt, it’s only through Violet that he’s realizing the worth of someone’s heart.
But at what cost?
With a deadly game set in motion taking them from the stark deserts of California to the steamy jungles of Mexico, Violet and Vicente’s forbidden relationship will be put to the test. Boundaries will be pushed, lines will be crossed, and souls will get very, very dirty.
Because how do you choose between blood and love when both might get you killed?
Note: Dirty Souls is the conclusion to Black Hearts. You will need to read Black Hearts first before you read Dirty Souls.
Preface
Once upon a time, a sensitive young soul fell in love with a man she shouldn’t have.
Where she was soft edges and feathers and dappled light through green leaves, he was hard lines and knives and dirty smoke rising from the ground.
And yet, they both had what the other needed.
They both fused and grew and became…
One.
But all of that will be broken.
Because love always comes at a price.
And the time to pay is now.
WARNING: Dirty Souls is the continuation of Black Hearts.
This is not a standalone novel.
If you haven’t read Black Hearts, DO NOT PASS GO.
DO NOT COLLECT $200.
YOU GET MY MONOPOLY REFERENCES, RIGHT?
DO NOT READ THIS BOOK IF YOU HAVEN’T READ BLACK HEARTS.
Pick up Black Hearts, read it, love it, and then come back to this one.
I promise it’s waiting for you.
Are you ready?
Chapter One
Violet
Palm Valley, California
Drug lord.
I have to stop myself from saying it out loud. I wonder what it would sound like coming from my lips. If it would hold as much resonance as it does in my head.
Vicente Bernal, my forbidden fruit, the man I’m falling head over heels in love with, is a drug lord.
Or, to be more specific, the son of one.
El Jefe. El patron. A very bad, very infamous man by the name of Javier Bernal.
I wasn’t all that surprised when, a week ago, Vicente told me who he was. I had chided myself for stereotyping him, for thinking that he got his wealth because he had some ties to a drug cartel. I reminded myself that it was totally possible that he really did come from a successful avocado importer/exporter company.
But when the truth came out, I was relieved. It meant my intuition about him was right. And for whatever reason, it didn’t scare me. It didn’t make me think any less of him. Maybe it’s because of what’s going on in my family, the lies and the secrets, the fact that no one is perfect, maybe because I know Vicente and I know who he is.
I think.
Yet, as I lie on the bed of our hotel room, Vicente in the bathroom shaving, I can’t help but take out my phone and do some Google searching. I could just ask him about the cartel and his father, and I’m sure he would be fairly honest with me, but I want to know what other people are saying first. And by people, I mean the whole world.
I’m just glad I’m able to get on the internet without having to deal with anything to do with my parents. About an hour after Vicente and I left San Francisco, I’d been getting text after text, phone call after phone call from them.
They must have discovered I had disappeared from my room and been upset. That was very clear from the glimpses of the texts as they appeared on my phone, one after the other, all in caps. I didn’t actually read any of them and I didn’t answer the calls, but I know that’s what they’re about. At some point my parents knocked on my door and discovered I was gone. But hey, I left a note. It said Going away with Vicente for the weekend, be back Sunday. Eventually I put my phone on do not disturb and that’s the way it’s going to be all weekend.
Okay, maybe until the afternoon. I probably should answer and let them know I’m okay and haven’t been kidnapped or anything like that. They’ll yell at me and give me an earful about how “bad” Vicente is for me and blah blah blah and how dare I just sneak out of the house like that when things are so unsettled, but whatever.
You do crazy things for love, don’t you?
I’m definitely falling in love with this man.
And this—running off late at night with a drug lord’s son to the deserts of California—is definitely proof of the crazy.
Still, the guilt is starting to sink in. The things I said to my mother. Goes to show it does no good to keep things bottled inside over the years. I may be sensitive to internal pain but it doesn’t mean I treat others the same way. Hypersensitivity doesn’t at all mean you’re a “good” and “sweet” person—it just means you feel things one hundred times more than the rest of the population. And the more intense the feelings, the more destructive the result.
With a heavy sigh I glance over at the closed bathroom door, listening to the muffled sound of the sink running, and continue my Google searching. I ignore the Wikipedia article on Javier Bernal (I had already read that after I found out about Vicente), and start pulling up the news a
rticles.
There isn’t much recent stuff. Most of the articles deal with the ongoing war on drugs and the resurgence of heroin and poppy fields in the Sinaloa region after decades of being dormant. They mention that Javier Bernal’s Sinaloa cartel controls the area and that they battle with the Zetas who have control of most of the drugs in the country, though it used to be reversed. Now Bernal’s cartel pays a tax to the Zetas in order to pass drugs through certain areas, even though both cartels are still at war with each other. And a nasty war, at that.
What I know from history is that the Zetas have always been the crazy ones—they’re the ones who used to behead people long before foreign terrorists made that a thing. The Sinaloa cartel went through many fractures, growing in size until they lost their hold when the Zetas reportedly made a deal with the DEA.
It’s all speculative—the writer of the article obviously doesn’t want to be hit with slander from a government agency—but it still makes me wonder what the truth is.
“Are you coming in, mirlo?” The door to the bathroom opens and Vicente pokes his head out. I can hear the shower running behind him, steam wafting out and into the room. His face is freshly shaven with a hint of white shaving cream on one cheekbone.
Honestly, a shower is the last thing on my mind, even if it’s one with this naked bronzed god just beyond the door. My sleep was fitful since we were driving all night, and the moment we got early check-in all I wanted to do was pass out on the bed for a few hours.
But I know that it all comes at a playful cost. Since we checked into this place so early, I made a deal with Vicente that he could do whatever dirty thing he wants to me as long as he got us a room for early check-in. The man is persuasive, so naturally he made it happen.
Now it’s time to pay.
I stare at him for a moment, just reeling in the absolute thrill of being with him, of this whole situation. Even if it’s just for the weekend, even if I left things with my parents at a bad spot (and I’m beating myself up with guilt over it), even if it was completely spontaneous, I finally have Vicente all to myself.
All I want to do these next few days is just writhe around naked with him. Talk to him. Go out for coffee with him. Fuck him. Laugh with him. Revel in every waking moment, that he’s here with me and he’s mine and this is the way it should always be.
Then there’s the truth about why we’re in my parents’ hometown of Palm Valley to begin with. I want to know more about my grandfather, George McQueen, and why my parents said he had died when my father was young, not like a few weeks ago. I want to know about Sophia Madano. I want to know if the lies my parents told were lies worth telling.
“Violet.” Vicente’s deep, patient voice rings out across the room. “Get out of your head. Then get out of your clothes. Now.”
I give him a sheepish grin as another thrill jolts through me, fizzing right down to my toes. I get off the bed. His amber eyes never leave me as I remove my leggings, underwear, then my sweater dress and bra.
I’m standing naked before him, one hundred percent on display. As someone who’s never been skinny, never been self-assured by her body, the fact that Vicente has me baring all says a lot. And I’m baring more than just my skin to him.
The heat from his eyes is palpable. I can feel it burning all over, smoldering flames that coat me from head to toe as they rake over me.
“Come here,” he murmurs, slowly opening the door so I see him in all his naked glory. Too bad he’s backlit from behind. I can barely make out the hard lines of his erection. Maybe that’s a good thing. Even now, the sight of him makes me swallow hard, my chest squeezing as much as my legs squeeze together. He’s intimidating, all rough and muscled dark bronze skin compared to my soft, pale curves.
I take a shaky step toward him.
“Bring your phone,” he says.
I pause, raising a brow. “My phone? Why?”
“Because…” he says. “You owe me a favor.”
Oh god. What does he have planned?
I pick up my phone from the bed and walk slowly across the carpet to the bathroom. He steps back into the room, holding the door open for me.
The hotel we’re staying at isn’t much fancier than a Best Western—there really weren’t many options in Palm Valley. But we probably got the nicest room, with a bathroom that has a large waterfall shower and Jacuzzi.
Vicente takes the phone from my hand as I brush past him, a wave of goosebumps coasting over me as my skin meets with his.
It’s steamy hot in the bathroom as I stop beside the shower, curious as to what he’s going to do next. He glances at the phone and gives me an amused grin.
“You’re checking up on me?”
“I might have had a few questions about your dad. About what you do.”
“Mirlo,” he says, the smile becoming softer. “You can ask me anything, you know that. And I have to say, I’m surprised you haven’t been.”
“Maybe because we’re always naked together and your cock is extremely distracting.”
He glances down, practically beaming. “I have to agree.” He then looks back to me, all business. Jerks his head to the shower. “Get in. Soap yourself up.”
Then he raises the phone at me.
Oh my god.
“Are you recording this?” I ask him.
He gives a half shrug. “No different than when I first took your pictures.”
“Um, it’s kind of different,” I tell him, stepping into the shower. The temperature is perfectly hot, and I immediately relax when it hits my shoulders. Well, as much as I can relax knowing he’s filming me.
“Don’t worry so much,” he says, his voice rich and soothing. God, he could get me to do anything. “Soap up.”
Oh yeah. I grab the bottle of hotel shower gel, squirt it into my hand and start rubbing it all over myself. I feel a bit silly, not sure how to act while he’s filming me. Do I ham it up? Take it seriously?
“Quiet your mind,” he tells me, stepping into the shower.
“What are you doing?” I say, backing up until I feel the tiles against my shoulders. “Don’t get the phone wet!”
“Don’t worry,” he tells me, holding the phone out and away from the stream of water until he’s right up against me, his cock jutting into my skin. His eyes travel from mine, to my lips, to my neck, to the soapy suds at my breasts where his free hand gently cups one.
I suck in a breath, not daring to look away. Watching him watching me is one of the most erotic sights possible. His eyes linger over my skin, like he’s studying a map, committing it to memory, like my body is his way home.
I feel that. I feel so much, but more than anything, I feel that I’m something to him, more than he ever expected. It isn’t just that I feel the same way about him. It’s like I’m his answer to something, a question he never knew existed.
It’s why I’m here with him. Why I trust him, even though I probably shouldn’t.
How can you trust the son of one the world’s biggest drug lords?
“Violet,” he whispers, eyes focused lazily on mine as the soap works its way over my body, over every crevice, his hand gentle with just enough pressure, sliding over my breasts, my stomach, my hips, my thighs. “You’re going to come first.”
My eyes flutter closed as his hand slips between my legs. I won’t argue with him. There’s no point. I’m barely even aware of the camera phone pointed right at me, perhaps getting every single nuance of my expression as I give in to his touch, his fingers slipping along my clit, already slick with want.
“Look at yourself,” he says, voice throaty.
I manage to open my eyes and see he’s flipped to the phone’s front camera. My face stares back at me, and yet I hardly recognize myself. My hair is dark as night and sticking to my shoulders, the water running over my opening mouth. My eyes gleam with a lust I’ve never seen in myself. I resemble some sort of lewd Nephilim, caught on this side of the beast.
“Do you see what I see?” he
murmurs, sliding his fingers inside me until I gasp. “Do you see how beautiful you are? Especially when you let those thoughts slide away, when you succumb?”
I can only groan, lost to his touch. I have to put my hand out to the shower wall to steady myself as his fingers plunge deeper, hitting all the right, sensitive spots.
“It’s the most beautiful sight,” he says so softly I can barely hear him, his mouth going for my neck. “There’s nothing I want more than this. Always. Just this you, so open and bare and real.”
His teeth nibble at my skin, moving from the soft skin of my jawline and down to my shoulder. The water continues to pour over both of us.
I can’t look at myself anymore. The more I stare at the image of me on the phone, the more I’m aware that I’m no longer the girl I used to be. The moment I left the house and decided to run off with Vicente, I ceased to be the Violet McQueen I knew and understood.
“You have no idea how good you feel, mirlo,” he says. His voice grows hoarse as he works me, so intent on my pleasure. I widen my stance to let him in deeper, hoping I don’t slide and fall. Though I know he’d catch me. That I know.
I’m close. I cry out, a half-moan that says his name. My fingers curl against the tiles, my toes curl against the wet floor. The tension inside me tightens into a knot then shatters into a million colorful pieces.
My face contorts, my cries echoing, and I’m both here with Vicente in this hotel shower and somewhere far away. Flying. So fast, so light, beyond everything I know.
“I’ve got you,” he says to me, his hand around my waist now, holding me up. I swear I must have blacked out.
In a heady daze I look up to see the camera still filming. Holy crap, that orgasm took me to somewhere else entirely. I blink a few times, the water running into my eyes, trying to get my head on straight.
