Page 103 of Goodnight, Sinners

Yes, that day,he signed.I took you because I wanted you. I kept you alive because I felt our connection, and I kept you with me because I could no longer imagine a life without you. Two years later and I still feel that way. Stronger even. You have my heart.

He took her hand and pressed it against his chest, to his beating heart. He signed over top of her hand.We will get through this together.

She smiled even as she sobbed. She leaned forward, falling off the chair into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I only want you.”

He rocked her against his body, feeling every part of her. He ached over the news of her diagnosis. He’d never held a baby in his life, didn’t know what he was missing. But he would always want what Shaun wanted. She was the queen to his servant, the goddess to his slave, the sun to his darkness. She was everything to him.

“Please take me home.”

He lifted her in his arms, picking her purse up from the floor where she’d dropped it.

He walked out of the exam room and out of the clinic with her held securely in his arms. Havel and Cooper walked with them outside the clinic, silently providing backup while Jozef and Shaun mourned something that would never be.

Chapter Forty-Six

“Krystoff…”

He moved closer to the bed.

Dasha squinted against the harsh glaring light, but he still looked like nothing more than a shadow, frustratingly insubstantial. She knew it was him, though. She knew his shape, his scent, his touch…

She’d poisoned him. More than once. She hadn’t regretted it at the time, but she regretted it now. She worshipped him. She shouldn’t have manipulated his love.

Soon she would be with him again, and she would have to explain her actions and hope he could forgive her.

Dasha had poisoned her first victim when she was five years old.

Miss Anya.

She’d hated her nursemaid. The woman was sour, dour, and no fun at all. She insisted Dasha wear dresses and always have her hair brushed. She was never allowed out if the weather was bad, and she was always made to complete her studies. If she didn’t learn her letters, then she would get a sharp smack across the knuckles.

Dasha had overheard her mother talking about poisoning the pests that sometimes got into the horse barn. She’d snuck into the barn that night, found the bag with the skull and crossbones, and scooped some into her nursemaid’s morning coffee.

Miss Anya hit the floor within minutes of drinking her tea, convulsing, vomiting, foaming. She died almost instantly. Too soon. Dasha had wanted the woman to suffer. It was Dasha’s first lesson in poisoning. Too much would bring suspicion.

Her parents had suspected Dasha but had thought it was an accident. They’d quietly gotten rid of the body and watched their daughter more carefully.

Dasha decided that she needed to practice so she could get the reaction she wanted. She practiced on everyone. Her tutors, maids, the house staff, the stable staff. Even her parents.

This time, she was more careful. She used smaller amounts, tried different poisons. As she got older and learned how to read, she researched. She perfected her skills and used them to her advantage. If she didn’t feel like riding, she poisoned the stable master. Just enough that he would be forced to spend the day in bed.

She realized at a young age that she was very smart, but she also suspected something was wrong with her. She had no qualms about maiming or murdering the people closest to her. Her only desire was for more. More of everything. She wanted more shoes, more outfits, purses, horses, money, prestige, attention. And she didn’t care how she got it.

The second person she actively tried to kill was her sister. She’d planned the event, knew exactly how it would go. What she hadn’t realized was that Vasha had watched her over the years. As soon as Vasha started feeling ill, she’d told their father and was rushed to the hospital where she was saved.

Dasha had been removed from the house and forced to go to boarding school. Later, she was married to the powerful mobster who’d courted her. She could still remember her parents’ relief when she was no longer their problem.

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.

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