Page 69 of Sinful Ruin

When I get off my shift at Safe Hearts, I’ll call the funeral home to set up the arrangements.

Ending the call, I peer at Julian in the driver’s seat. “I need my car. That way, you won’t have to worry about driving me around.”

He shakes his head, braking at a light. “Your car might have trackers.”

I slip on my sunglasses. “Who’d put a tracker on my car?”

“The Russians,” he states as if it’s a known fact. “You were on Dima’s radar for weeks. To his understanding, you were locked in as his bride.”

I pause, the creeps running through me at the thought of beinganythingto Dima. It takes me a moment to gain my thoughts, and I rest my elbow on the console. “All right then, soon-to-be baby daddy, I need some wheels, sans trackers.”

“You have to earn that.”

“What’s up with you andearning?” I glare at him and imitate his voice. “You have to earn your orgasm, earn a car.” I level my tone to my normal princess self. “How aboutyouearn me?”

For a moment, he stares at me in annoyance.

People don’t speak to him like that.

They definitely don’t mock him.

Here I am, pushing the psycho killer’s buttons.

He tilts his head to the side. “I’ve earned youand more.”

I’ve volunteeredat the Safe Hearts Mission for over a decade.

New York has the highest per capita rate of homelessness in the country.

The first time I really understood homelessness was when my parents took me to seeCatson Broadway for my fourteenth birthday. Seeing the people on the streets hurt my heart, and I cried the entire ride home.

The next morning, I asked Sonja to find me ways to help them.

I don’t do it for the savior complex.

I do it because it’s where my heart led me.

Sonja found Safe Hearts, and every week, we’d volunteer.

Even after growing older, even after losing Sonja, I still volunteer. I will for as long as I can.

I frown, knowing that I’m not only limiting my schedule but also letting them down financially.

Every year, my father donated a substantial amount of money to the mission. He’d also convince clients, friends, and business partners to do the same. Every penny they gave was needed and put to good use.

Now, it’s gone.

They already struggle with funding as it is.

I grip the door handle as Julian parks the Escalade. “I’ll call when I’m done.” Swinging open the door, I jump out of the SUV.

Julian does the same, trailing me as I walk to the entrance.

Troy and Ollie stand guard, blocking the door.

Many of our women are here, escaping domestic violence. Troy and Ollie stayed here with their mother for six months when they were younger, and now, they help keep it safe.

“Hey, guys,” I say, waving to them.

---