AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Actually… not a woman at all, even though she was tall.
A fuckingteenager.
The youth in her face told the real story as Tristan leaned down to speak into her ear, saying something that made her burst into laughter, showcasing hot pink rubber bands on her braces. I was already out of my seat, my face hot with rage as I gripped my empty mug, thinking about how much force I’d have to use to put it through his temple.
She couldn’t be older thanmaybefourteen.
Maybe.
But then Tristan looked up.
Noticed me.
Smiled.
Said something to the girl who was way too young to be with him, causing her to look up too – she, as opposed to him, shrank away.
“Daddy, she looks like an assassin.”
Tristan scoffed. “See? I told your mama you watch way too much damn Netflix. An assassin, really?”
“Look at her face.”
I could hear their conversation, of course, but my mind was still stuck way back on one word.
Daddy?
“You have a kid?” I finally said out loud, some of the tension leaving my shoulders.
His eyebrows went up. “Yeah. Temp, this is Kiara. Kiara, this is Tempest. I told her about your storm tattoo,” he explained.
“The assassin tattoo,” she muttered, and he nudged her in her side, hissingstopat her.
“Why are you calling meTemp?” I asked.
“You don’t like it?” his forehead wrinkled in…adorableconfusion. “I thought it was cute.”
“Itiscute,” I agreed. “Do I look like acutenickname kinda person?”
A smirk spread over his lips. “Actually, you--”
“Don’t fucking say it!” I hissed, then immediately pressed my lips together, embarrassed, for cursing in front of his kid. I glanced at her, then back at him. “Sorry.”
“She’s not sorry, Daddy. She’s definitely gonna kill you,” Kiara murmured, shaking her head.
“I’m not gonna kill anybody,” I defended, onlyhalfremembering this kid didn’t actually know what I was.
What Iusedto be.
I didn’tthinkI was gonna kill anybody…
“Don’t pay her any mind,” Tristan said. “It’s the tween imagination – overactive and getting the best of her.”
Kiara crossed her arms, lips pursed. “If you’re not an assassin, why are you dressed like one? It’sspring.”
My gaze dropped to my clothes, and Ialmostsmiled, but I held it back before I looked up again, meeting her eyes. “Fair point,” I admitted, since my black crop top, black leggings, heavy black boots and ponytail were pretty much a television super-spy uniform. “I like black. I’m not an assassin. Would an assassin drink out of this cutesy mug?”
“Yes,” she nodded, lookingjustlike a pretty version of her father.
