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Though those are the pages I’ve looked at more than anything, that’s not where I look now. Hands trembling, I turn to the very back of the book where there are tally marks and initials. They fill two pages.
ST. 10/3 150k.
JL. 1/3 500k.
MO. 3/8 1 mil.
Henri said he didn’t think my father was the assassin, yet everything I unearthed when I was younger pointed to my father being the murderer.
My father wasn’t the killer. My mother was.
A cold chill washes over me as I look at the log in her perfect handwriting, slightly slanted right. I’m looking at the log of her murders and the payouts.
I let the feeling consume me for about one full minute. I close my eyes and feel the tingle in my nose, the tightness in my throat, the constricted weighty feeling in my chest, and wrestle with the question that plagued me before, that I can’t eradicate from my mind.
If my mother was an assassin, what does that make me?
There is no question in my mind that I was called to find the person that murdered my parents. I’ve always loved weapons and strength, more than anything really.
And Cain says I’m the best fucking natural he’s ever trained.
Why? Why?
Is it in my blood?
I take the diary with me and put it on the bedside table.
I return Cain’s phone to his charger and go back to bed.
When the bed creaks, he says, “Morning, beautiful,” in that sleepy-sexy drawl that usually makes my heart thump faster. Today, though, I’m in a different world.
“Morning.” My voice sounds distant.
Why would he change his password? Last night, he seemed distracted, but I thought it was only because he often retreats after an intense day at work.
He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet, but lifts his arm to beckon me to come to him. I slide under his arm and nestle my cheek against his chest. He wears a clean, crisp white T-shirt. I close my eyes, the fabric warm under my cheek, as his arm settles heavily on top of me.
“Cain.” I’m not one to let things fester and simmer. I want shit out in the open where I can deal with things.
“Yeah, baby?”
I don’t want to have a hard conversation. I don’t want to sound like I’m accusing him of anything.
I love this man.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that. To profess my love and tell him I want to be his not just now… but forever. But I can’t distract myself from the truth. I can’t ignore the feelings that settle around me like murky water, hiding what lies in the depths.
“I just went to use your phone just now.”
Is it my imagination, or did his body stiffen? He doesn’t stop the slow, gentle brushing of his hand down my back.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I wanted to look something up. And the password was changed. You remember what it was?”
“Of course. Sorry ‘bout that, babe. Henri told me it was safe to change passwords every once in a while, but I forgot to tell you.”
“Oh, okay.” Something feels off, though. It’s unlike Cain to hide anything from me.
Isn’t it?
I haven’t known him that long, the logical side of my brain reasons. He could be hiding… a lot more than I suspected.
“So… what’s the password?”
He opens one eye and gives me his crooked smile. “Violet1.”
My heart warms. My name and his lucky number.
“Tell me again why number one’s your lucky number,” I say, smiling against his chest. I like this story. His hand comes to nestle at the nape of my neck.
“Number one is the alpha. Alpha as a Greek number represents the number one, so as both a symbol and a phrase, it refers to the first, the head.”
I don’t know anyone else whose favorite number is one. For Cain, it makes sense, though.
“Got it. May I use your phone, please?”
“Of course.”
I don’t move.
“Aren’t you going to go get it?”
“Actually, I’m quite comfortable.” It’s warm and cozy here by his side, his huge body enveloping me like a weighted blanket.
“Careful, baby,” he says with a groan, as he reaches for me and yanks me over his chest. My legs straddle either side of his, my body pressed to his.
“Yeah?”
“Morning wood,” he says, only one eye open. I bend down to him, frame his face with my hands, and kiss him. His lips are full and warm, and his hands come to rest on my hips while we kiss. My heart beats faster, my pulse racing, when he licks my tongue and rolls over. In seconds, I’m pinned beneath him and he’s very, very awake.
Without a word, he releases my mouth and drags his lips along my chin, then my neck, and as he kisses his way down my body, my legs part of their own accord. I groan when he glides his hard cock, silk-wrapped steel, against my throbbing clit.
