Goodnight, Sinners (Sinner's Empire Book 3)

by Nikita Slater

  Her proclivities continued.

  She started perfecting the chemistry of her poisonings. She knew exactly what dose to give her husband when she didn’t want him to leave for business meetings. She poisoned her daughters when she wanted them to stay home with her and cuddle in bed. She poisoned her lovers when she was finished with them, killing them.

  Dasha lay curled on her side in her prison cell, her arms wrapped around a stomach that heaved with wave after wave of nausea and pain.

  “I’m dying,” she whispered to Krystoff.

  He nodded, but didn’t come closer.

  She felt hot all over, but she was shivering too. The pain was unbelievable. Her body ached from head to toe, but especially her stomach and bowels.

  She had all the symptoms she’d seen in others. Of course, her symptoms, especially in the early stages, could have mimicked the flu, but Dasha knew better. The cramping sealed her diagnosis.

  Jozef was serving up a dish of poetic justice, and she had to admire him for the effort.

  For five long days of slow poisoning, she forced herself to go through the motions of living. She got up with the other inmates, forced herself to eat, drink, walk around the yard, and sleep. She wanted to sleep so badly that by the time she was allowed in her cell, she collapsed on her bed, cradling her stomach. Occasionally she would have to rush to the toilet, vomit and diarrhea stinking up her small cell.

  Now, she was too weak to pretend.

  Her thoughts were becoming fragmented. She couldn’t concentrate. Could only lay still until she was forced to rise and join her fellow inmates in their daily ritual.

  Yesterday… maybe… a female guard had stuck her head in and asked Dasha, her voice laced with concern, if she needed medical attention. Dasha had refused and had gone to bed. She couldn’t be sure what Jozef’s endgame was, but she suspected it wouldn’t be poison. This was the first step in a larger plan for her, all designed to torture before death.

  Even her placement in the Czech women’s prison system was unusual. She’d been apprehended by Interpol. She should have been extradited to the country where they would lay charges against her. She wasn’t sure where they’d intended for her to go, but she knew Jozef had pulled strings to keep her close.

  She’d failed in her mission to take out the doctor, but she was at peace with it. Jozef had simply been better, and as his adoptive mother, she was proud of his cunning. She wished better for him than the spineless woman he’d attached himself to, but Dasha couldn’t do anything about that now. She had no doubt she would soon join Krystoff in the family crypt.

  She frowned at the wall opposite of where she was lying on her cot. She hoped Jozef would inter her ashes alongside her husband’s urn. Perhaps she should write him a letter? Beg him to allow her final wishes. She didn’t think he was spiteful enough to deny her a simple death wish.

  She didn’t know for sure, though. Shaun had turned him into a beast. He was as vicious as ever, but his protective instincts had focused on one person, his hostage. The woman who should’ve died but didn’t. So many times, she should’ve died.

  Jozef should’ve put a bullet in her the first day he met her. Then later, Krystoff should have rectified the situation, killed the girl himself. Instead, he’d allowed Jozef to keep her, allowed his attachment to grow. Dasha had paid the members of her hometown mafia, the Kiev boys, to come take care of the situation. Jozef had taken care of them instead, murdering them all in the dark alley where they’d grabbed Shaun. Dasha had paid Giselle to cause a scene at the club, hoping to drive Shaun from the building. Her plan had worked until Jozef caught up with his precious woman. Dasha had been forced to resort to her old fallback of poison. Again, the girl had escaped. She always escaped.

  Maybe it was their fate to end this way. Shaun had replaced Dasha in the mansion and Jozef had replaced Krystoff. The next generation of Koba.

  Dasha let out a scream of pain as her guts twisted, causing her to seize in agony. She clutched her stomach and turned her face into the pillow. It wouldn’t be long now until the prison guards would be forced to do something. Once they transferred her, she would be dead.

  “Stay with me, Krysto…”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Your mother is here, Jozef signed, crouching next to the bed.

  Shaun looked at him, tears bright in her eyes. She hadn’t stopped crying in almost two days. She tried to tell herself to snap out of it, to stop feeling sorry for herself. But she couldn’t. Of everything that had happened to her in the past few years, this felt the worst. It was the final straw. She couldn’t take anymore.

  “I don’t want to see her.”

  Jozef frowned, thunderclouds growing in his eyes.

  You turned her away yesterday, which we allowed since you need time to heal, but you will not turn her away today. You need your mother, and you will see her.

  He was the epitome of patience when it came to Shaun and her feelings, but he wasn’t going to allow Shaun to push her mother away. She could already see it on his face. He thought she needed her mother, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  She pushed herself up on the bed, feeling dizzy and nauseous. She hadn’t left the bed since coming home from the fertility clinic. She’d refused to eat or… she lifted her T-shirt and sniffed… shower.

  Jozef watched her, his deep blue eyes a combination of impatience and concern. She got it. He wanted to make things better for her, but he couldn’t fix this.

  She knew she was being selfish. He was just as involved in her prognosis as she was. He must have feelings about being a father… yet she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Not yet. She didn’t think she could handle his grief as well as her own.

  Despite that, it was time to get out of bed and start living again.

  “I’ll take a shower and meet her in the breakfast room.” Shaun loved that room. At this time of day, it would be filled with sunlight and would have a clear view of the back of the estate.

  Jozef took her hands and helped her to her feet, holding her steady as a wave of dizziness hit her.

  “I’m okay,” she whispered, then stepped against him, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I’ve been so miserable.”

  He gave her a long, hard hug that made her feel a hundred times better, then took her face in his hands and tipped it up. He shook his head and kissed her before taking her hand and leading her into the washroom.

  He turned the shower on for her, adjusting the temperature the way she liked it, hot enough to burn a few layers of skin off. Turning back to her, he hooked his fingers in the hem of her T-shirt and lifted it.

  She raised her arms as he pulled it over her head. She blushed in embarrassment as her scent hit her. Two days in bed did not a bed of roses make. He slid her sweatpants and underwear down her legs, using a hand on each calf to help her lift her feet.

  He was babying her, and she loved it. She needed it.

  There was no sexual energy coming from him, as there usually was when she got naked in front of him. Neither did his actions feel clinical. They felt natural, like a husband caring for his distraught wife.

  Tears formed in her eyes, but this time they weren’t tears of pain. They were tears of joy. This was all she needed; all she’d ever needed. The type of unconditional love a good man could provide.

  They were raised into completely different families, and had Jozef not marked her that fateful day, they likely would never have met. Their lives would have taken different directions. Now that she saw what life could be with Jozef, she wasn’t willing to give it up. She would do whatever it took to protect him and their life together and knew that he would do the same.

  She took a long shower, shaving her legs and armpits, and washing her hair. She felt a million times better as she stepped out of the streaming water and into the towel Jozef held open for her.

  He patted her dry and then pushed her from the washroom, gently tapping her bare ass as she
went.

  She pulled a summery dress from the closet and wedge sandals. She added a blue leather jacket. She looked in the mirror and used her fingers to fluff her hair so it would dry in a halo instead of flat against her head. She was ready to face her mother.

  Jozef was standing behind her, watching.

  She will make you feel better, he signed in the mirror. I think she brought cookies, although they might be gone now. Some of the guys were sniffing around her, looking for treats. They’re worse than F-I-T-Z-Y.

  She laughed and signed back, I’m ready to feel better now.

  His next sign was slow and deliberate. He lifted his left hand and pointed his thumb and index finger in the shape of an L, then lifted his little finger, leaving middle and ring fingers down. He pointed his hand at her, then released the sign, crossed his arms over his chest and thumped his fist over his heart.

  It was his special sign for her, the one he used at their wedding. His way of telling her he loved her in every way possible, beyond reason, beyond life into eternity.

  She copied his sign, her eyes never leaving his in the mirror, then she turned around and walked into his open arms.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Dasha woke with a start, the clicking of heels on the tiles of the hospital floor reminding her of muffled gunshots. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm her pounding heart. Slowly, painfully, she sat up, reaching for the water on her nightstand.

  The process was made awkward by her other hand being cuffed to the bed. She’d been transferred the day before. She’d waited as long as she could manage before finally giving away her condition. She’d been in so much pain, the poison twisting her guts; the fever raging through her that she’d raved with hallucinations. Screamed obscenities at the prison staff as they strapped her to a gurney and moved her.

  She took long sips of water, pulling it through the paper straw. It felt like heaven against a throat raw from days of vomiting. Her hand shook as she set the water down.

  Collapsing against the pillows, she forced herself to stay awake, to keep alert. She was here for a reason. Someone had poisoned her. Not someone, Jozef. He’d gotten to one of the guards or an inmate and ordered them to slowly poison Dasha over the course of days, to weaken her to where she would need to be transferred.

  He was coming for her.

  Jozef’s justice.

  Dasha’s eyes fluttered shut and she knew it was a matter of minutes and she’d be out again. Fear and satisfaction warred within her. She knew what was coming and she was afraid. She didn’t want to die. But she wouldn’t run from it either. She’d made her bed, now she would lie in it. She was satisfied with the life she’d led, the decisions she’d made.

  Did she have regrets?

  Sure, she had plenty. She regretted never getting another shot at killing her sister. She regretted not finding a way to remove Shaun and keep her family together. She regretted not being able to see her daughters one more time before the end.

  She regretted Jozef.

  She should have done more for him.

  He was the son who should have been hers.

  Perhaps if she’d fully accepted him as hers, this day might not have come. She’d wanted to call him son, but she’d always hesitated. Perhaps it was his lack of voice, not his fault, but still a disfigurement. He was less than perfect. Or perhaps, it was because she hadn’t given birth to him. She loved him, but not as if he was one of hers. She’d pretended, but the feelings were never there.

  Then, maybe she didn’t have what it took to be a mother. She’d never felt maternal toward her own children. Leeza was Vasiliy’s and for that, she would never be perfect. She would always have his weaknesses and none of Krystoff’s strengths. She was beautiful, more beautiful than Dasha, which had also strained their relationship.

  Saskia… she was the full blood child of Krystoff and Dasha. Yet, of the three children, she was the least perfect. And Dasha loved her best.

  It hurt that she wouldn’t see her youngest before she died. She wondered if Saskia would miss her. Just a little.

  She wasn’t sure how long she slept, but probably only a few hours. This time the tap of shoes was inside her room, rather than the hall.

  She opened her eyes and rolled her head toward the doorway, blinking against the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights in the hallway. Other than the shadow walking steadily toward her bed, the hospital corridor was quiet. Had he paid the guard to look the other way? Or had he killed the woman?

  Not Dasha’s problem anymore.

  “Jozef,” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer.

  He couldn’t answer.

  She’d done that to him.

  “It was me, you know,” she whispered, trying to make out his stark features in the dim light filtering from the hallway. She could make out some of the tattoos on his neck. Her eyes dropped to his hands; he wasn’t holding his gun. He intended to let her talk before he killed her. “I stabbed you in the throat. Took your voice and your parents.”

  He stepped closer until she could see his face.

  He signed, confession?

  “I suppose I just want you to know. Weren’t you ever curious?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “I paid some local guys to break in and kill them. I went too, I needed to see their bodies, make sure the job got done.” His eyes gave nothing away. “It was mafia politics, nothing personal. They were in the way. Your father wanted to rule with your uncle. It was a matter of time before Gregor wanted more, threatened everything we’d built.”

  Everything they built, not you. You’ve been trying to bring the family down from the start. It was you who should have died that night, not them.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Your mother was certainly suspicious. She never really warmed up to me, never took any of the food I offered her unless we were eating from the same dish. She knew. But it didn’t save her.”

  Now she saw a flash of fire in his eyes.

  Satisfaction hit her like a drug. She was a cruel bitch. Even as she was dying, about to be finished, she wanted to hurt those around her. Even the ones she loved. She didn’t know why she was wired this way, and now it didn’t matter.

  “I was going to kill you too,” she admitted. “But I didn’t have the heart. You looked too much like my Kristo. I’d already begun to love him then, and looking at you was like looking at our future. Perhaps, if I’d given birth to a boy, I might have taken you out along the way.”

  She shifted in the bed, uncomfortable.

  “I didn’t have a boy and you were the only son I’ve ever known.”

  You were no mother to me, he signed. You were barely a mother to your own children.

  “You don’t know what it takes to make a parent. Wait until you have children. You’ll see. It’s not always easy to overcome our own nature and love children the way we’re told we should.”

  Whatever makes you feel better, but I would argue a sociopathic serial killer could never make a good parent.

  She laughed, surprising herself. It felt weird to smile in her last few minutes of life.

  “Touché.”

  She pushed herself up in the bed, her arms shaking. Jozef slid his hands under her armpits and helped her, gently laying her back against the pillows before releasing her. It was the cruelest thing he could have done, and tears sprang to her eyes. He hadn’t touched her since Shaun’s poisoning, yet here he was, touching her as though he cared.

  “Do you love me, Jozef?”

  Yes. He answered without hesitation. I believed you loved me, too. You kept me close after my parents died, you protected me. You kept me with your girls. I hate you for what you’ve done to our family, but I still love you.

  “I love you, too,” she admitted. When he shook his head, silently denying her words, she added, “I still have feelings. I may be a… what did you call me… a sociopathic serial killer, but I can still feel love. You were the son I always wanted and never had.
”

  He stared down at her. His face was set in stony lines, but his eyes were brittle. They shone with unshed tears. Tears for her.

  It moved her. She felt responding tears pool in her eyes and trickle down her face.

  “Sit with me.” She patted the bed next to her.

  He sat and she reached for him. He took her hand, holding it up against his chest.

  The ache in Dasha’s throat grew.

  She pictured him as a child. His serious little face, his sharp chin, his dark hair flopping in his eyes. He was a beautiful child and he’d turned into a beautiful man.

  “I’m proud of you,” she whispered. “You’re everything I could have wanted in a son.”

  The words were meant to stab him in the heart, to make his decision to kill her just as painful for him as it was going to be for her. But they stabbed at her as well, cutting deep.

  Perhaps if she’d fully let him into her heart when he was a child in desperate need of love, this moment could have been avoided. Then, perhaps not. He’d have eventually learned of her part in the death of his parents. Secrets had a way of coming into the light eventually.

  Close your eyes, he signed and reached beneath his coat, pulling his gun from its holster.

  He wasn’t wearing gloves. This was personal. His hand, his kill. She looked at the tattoos on the back of his gun hand, the spiderweb. She was the spider, patiently waiting for each victim to come along. Now she would be the victim, caught by another predator.

  He was the same as her, only he was better.

  Her eyes drifted shut and she thought of Krystoff, finding comfort in his image. She imagined him wrapping his arms around her and whispering in her ear that he loved her no matter what, despite everything.

  She felt the press of the gun against her chest, over her heart.

  Then intense fire.

  The pain was incredible, but brief.