Heartless Salvation (Wicked Souls #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

JULIETTE

I stare down at the small, circular white pill in my palm—the fuel behind every forged smile that crosses my face. Resentment bubbles up as I toss my antidepressant into my mouth and swallow. According to everyone else in my life, this is the only thing standing between me and absolute insanity. To me, it’s just a daily reminder of my weakness. Of my failure.

“Mom.”

Turning, I see my son. The waning sunlight casts a gentle glow over his red hair. His hazel eyes meet my blue ones, lit with hope and happiness. In this moment, he looks so much like his father. Something in my gut twists, just as it always does when I think of him— a mixture of guilt, anger, shame, and something just short of curiosity.

“Can we play Clue again?”

His little voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Yeah. Did you see if Warren and Arnie wanted to play?”

“I’ll go ask.”

PJ takes off before I can say anything else. Sighing, I place the orange bottle back in my bathroom cabinet. As the door closes, I catch my reflection in the mirror. The brightness of my blue cardigan only makes my pale skin look more tired, and my long red hair—pulled back into a messy ponytail—doesn’t help.

“Got to say, Jules, the bags under your eyes really bring out your freckles,” I murmur to myself.

I can’t help but chuckle. Now, I’m talking to myself. Guess I really am losing my mind. The light in my eyes is nonexistent, once bright blue but now dull. Sometimes I don’t even feel like myself. Like now—I don’t recognize the girl in the mirror. She looks so…defeated. So lifeless. Small tears slip through my eyes.

“Jules?”

“Yeah?” I call out, wiping my face with the sleeve of my cardigan.

It’s barely dry before Arnie appears around the corner from my bedroom.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “What’s up?”

“Uh, I’m going to head out,” my boyfriend replies. “Work called.”

“Okay,” I say. “Thanks for coming to dinner tonight.”

Arnie and I have known each other for nine months; for six of those, we’ve been a couple. He’s cute in a rugged sort of way, I guess—most would call him boring, including me. But that’s exactly what I need: boring. Boring is stable. Boring is safe. Arnie smiles at me. It’s genuine and warm, but the warmth doesn’t reach me. It doesn’t breach the numbing darkness I’m drowning in.

He opens his arms, his heavy boots thumping on the floor as he walks closer, then wraps me in a hug and sighs. I try to appreciate it. Really, I do. But I feel nothing. I should, but I don’t. And I’m not sure what that means.

“Thank you for dinner,” he whispers in my ear. “It was great.”

His hot breath makes my hair tickle my ear. I lean into him to make it stop, and he takes that as a sign to squeeze me harder. I’m surrounded by his peppermint scent. I’ve never been a big fan of peppermints. He steps back before I suffocate. His dark brown, almost black, eyes stare down at me, and he cups my cheeks.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, the words feeling robotic on my tongue. “Promise.”

“Okay,” he says.

Arnie leans down to kiss me. There’s no spark; my world doesn’t stop. Even as he moves his lips against mine, pulling them open and slipping his tongue inside, I feel nothing. Fucking hell, he even tastes like peppermints. Resisting the urge to gag, I slow the kiss and gently pull back.

“You’ve got to go,” I remind him. “Duty calls.”

He smiles. “Yeah, protecting the city is a twenty-four-hour-a-day job.”

I nod, agreeing. Arnie is a detective here in Adare. We met at PJ’s school on career day, but we didn’t really start getting to know each other until we kept running into each other at our therapist’s office. Maybe that’s why I think he’s a safe bet — he’s kind of like me : broken . He doesn’t talk about it, but I see the shadows haunting his eyes.

He lets go of my face and grabs one of my hands. Together, we leave my bathroom and head back to the dining table. My big brother, Warren, and PJ are setting up the game. PJ’s eyes brighten when he sees Arnie—another reason I stay with him. He’s good for my son. PJ idolizes him.

“Hey buddy, I’ve got to leave,” Arnie says.

My son’s shoulders immediately fall, and he looks heartbroken. I hate seeing him so upset, but it can’t be helped.

“But we’re going to play Clue. I’ll let you be Colonel Mustard,” PJ pleads, his voice quivering like a gut punch. But that’s parenting—feeling what your kids feel, even over small things like a game.

Arnie chuckles. “I appreciate that, P, but I’m afraid I have to go to work.”

Somehow, that cheers my kid up instantly. He dreams of being a detective one day, just like Arnie. He’s obsessed with mysteries and solving them.

“Was there a murder?” PJ asks.

Shaking his head, Arnie goes to give PJ a hug. “I can’t tell you that, buddy. You know that.”

I notice Warren watching Arnie through narrowed eyes. The two have never liked each other—you’d think a police detective and a seminarian might get along, but not Arnie and Warren. Or maybe it’s just Warren being Warren.

“Will it be on TV?” PJ presses.

Arnie steps back and shrugs. “Maybe so. You’ll just have to see.”

PJ lets out a dramatic groan. “Fine.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll play Clue with you guys.”

“It’s more fun with four people,” PJ pouts.

Arnie lets out a sigh and looks at me, mouthing an apology.

“It’s fine,” I whisper. “Go.”

PJ hops off his chair and follows Arnie to the door. I trudge behind, walking Arnie out. He stops just as he reaches it and turns to me.

“Hey, I have a question.”

“Okay?”

“Would you and PJ want to come away with me this weekend? My folks invited us all out to their vacation home.”

Hesitation flares in my chest. Meeting his family is a big deal—something I’ve never done. Not even with PJ’s dad. At least, not while we were together. That came afterward, out of guilt or maybe obligation, so PJ could have a piece of his father.

“Yes!” PJ squeals before I can utter a sound.

“Whoa,” I say. “That’s a big deal.”

Arnie’s eyebrows furrow. “I didn’t realize you felt that way. If you think it’s too soon, you don’t have to come. We can do it another time.”

I feel PJ’s disappointment long before he turns to me with tears in his eyes.

“But Mom, I want to go.”

“Don’t argue with your mom, PJ,” Warren and Arnie both say.

“No,” I say quickly, disliking the way they both chastise him. “It’s okay. If you want to go, kiddo, we’ll go.”

Funny how quickly his tears dry up. He jumps into my arms and squeezes me tight. Despite my hesitation, I hope this will be good for us. Maybe this is just what we need.

“You sure?” Arnie asks.

I nod. “Yep.”

He gives me one last smile. “Good. I’ll see you two this weekend, then.” He ruffles PJ’s hair before kissing my forehead. “Bye, guys. Be safe.”

The hinges squeak as he pulls the door open and steps out. I suck in a big breath as it closes behind him—and regret it instantly, because the smell of peppermints lingers in my nostrils.

“Do you still want to play Clue?” Warren asks.

“It’s not fun without Arnie.”

“Ouch,” my brother and I say at the same time.

PJ doesn’t acknowledge us as he stomps his way to the couch.

“Typical Walsh,” Warren mutters. “Throws a tantrum about everything.”

“Shut up.”

“You know I’m right. Dean was the same way—never could handle any big emotions.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re one to talk? How did you handle your big emotions?”

His crystal-blue eyes harden. “Surprised to see you defending him.”

“I’m defending my kid.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, little red.”

“Fuck off.”

“Watch your language around the kid.”

I clench my fists; nothing pisses me off more than someone telling me what to do. Warren smirks, knowing he’s struck a nerve. It’s what he does best.

“Put a dollar in the swear jar, Mom.”

I glance over at PJ, who’s leaning backward on the couch to stare at us. “So you can hear. Interesting ,” I mutter.

My attempt at a disappointed face must be poor, because PJ just giggles. Even crossing my arms doesn’t help, and I can’t hold a straight face. His laugh is too cute.

“Fine,” I relent, rolling my eyes as I grab my purse from the hook by the door.

I pull out my wallet, fish out a dollar, and drop it into the swear jar on the foyer table. Between Warren and me, that jar stays pretty full. PJ loves it—he gets to spend the money , which makes him look positively gleeful.

I’m about to ask him what he plans to buy when I notice the screen of one of my burner phones lit with messages. It’s the one I use for my Colombian client. Checking the time, I calculate that evening here is early dawn there. What does Mr. Ortiz want now? I’m not supposed to work after hours, but when I look back, PJ is glued to the TV, and Warren is next to him, equally distracted.

“Hey, I need to take a work call,” I tell them. “It’ll hopefully just take a second.”

“Okay,” they both say, eyes not leaving the screen.

I wait until I’m tucked away in my bedroom before answering the phone.

“Hello.”

“Finally,” Diego Ortiz sighs. “We have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“There’s a fucking break in the firewall or something,” his panicked voice transitions to Spanish as he shouts to his men. “I’m being spammed with cat videos.”

I can’t help but laugh. “What?”

Pulling out my desk chair, I put him on speaker and set the phone on the desk. The only person who should be able to access this server is me, because I built it. My computer takes a few seconds to boot up, and once I’m in the system, I see what he means—nothing but cats. Cats in birthday hats, fat cats, all kinds of cats. I love cat videos as much as anyone else, but this is a bit much.

“Okay, give me a minute. I’ll get it sorted out.”

Diego hangs up without another word. That’s what I like about him—he’s all business. Some of the other guys I work with are pigs. I’m a single mom, so I take any job I can get; for me, that means hacking for criminals. There have been times I found evidence of their transgressions—things I couldn’t forgive. So, while I took their money happily, I was also quietly destroying their empires. But whatever is happening with the Ortiz organization, I’m not responsible for it.

It only takes a few minutes to get into the system and find the leak. Somehow one of his guards linked onto a public server, which is odd at best, almost impossible at worst—unless someone in that guard shack plugged something in they shouldn’t have. I fix the breach and clear the cat spam as best I can. Then my phone trills with Diego’s ringtone, so I pick it up.

“I fixed the leak. It was coming from a guard shack.”

“How could this happen? I don’t understand.”

“Well, there are a few ways. It could be a glitch or some machine malfunction. Or one of your men put a bug in the system.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. It’s always something.”

“I’ll scrub the system and see if I find anything.”

“Keep me updated.”

“Of course.”

Before I can say anything else, there’s a small boom on his end, followed by Spanish curses. I only catch a few words, enough to know there’s an intruder on his property.

“We may have found the culprit already, Chimera. I’ll let you know.”

The line goes dead, and I release a breath, logging out of everything. Crisis averted, but the whole situation leaves a bad taste in my mouth—like I’m swallowing the ashes of trouble. My mama always said I had a keen intuition for sensing storms before they come. Right now, Diego has storm written all over him. The only question is whether I’ll get dragged down along with him.