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Harm’s eyes narrow. “We’ll find out who wants to see you dead.” He pulls up the collar of his black coat, before clenching his fists in anger. “Then I’ll hand you his head as a trophy. And then...,” his eyes turn sultry with dark promises and it’s like staring into the abyss, “we’ll take it from there.”
I shudder when my tummy flip-flops in response. Does that mean he’s going to put his murderous hands on me? I go weak at the thought. I should protest, be appalled at the brutality but he’s exactly the kind of man I never was allowed to go for. The one who does whatever he wants and obeys no rules. It attracts me to him and I want him to mess up my hair and ruffle my feathers. Punish me for always needing to control everything.
My sex clenches and I braid my legs together. There’s something about him that makes me believe I’ll find immortality in the arms of this man, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment. And then I won’t care what happens to me.
****
Harm
I feel like I’m slowly thawing.
And I think I just found the gold at the end of the rainbow. I thought I wanted her when I watched her from the outside but up close, I don’t just want her. I hunger for her as if I was malnourished until now.
She has wrapped her robe around her and looks slightly lost and speechless as I follow her into the sitting room. Her cheeks heat whenever she glances at me and she drags a hand through her hair every now and then, drawing attention to all that lushness and her manicured fingernails.
She’s dainty, delicate like fine pottery.
We’re mismatched and I feel like a splash of ink on white paper when I’m around her but I don’t care. These deadly hands want her, my dick wants her and fuck, I think that organ in my chest wants her. Little by little, I’m becoming aware of that I’m actually human and dead parts of me are restarting.
They’re heating, turning, swelling...
Sitting down a chair, I request she tells me everything about herself and starts from the beginning. I don’t read up on my targets beforehand. I prefer to see them as objects because it makes the job easier but there has been times when I’ve chugged a bottle of liquor and looked them up afterward. Fortunately, I’ve never killed anyone I didn’t think deserved it and Ava is my rarest case.
Her mouth moves seductively as she speaks, her voice melodic but with a slight rasp. I take pleasure in listening to her and she tells me she used to be a famous child-actress. When she became of age, she left the glitz and claims she never liked it in the first place.
She sprawls across the chaise, pinching the ridge of her brow. “Nobody really understands what it’s like to grow up like that. The pressure, the exposure to people a normal kid never would’ve been exposed to.” Her gaze flickers when she turns to me and now she looks embarrassed. Wrapping her robe tighter around her, she shudders, “I don’t want you to think I sound spoiled.”
There’s caution in her voice as if she fears being judged and she seems to have many fears overall. There are books in her bookshelf on how to reject negative energy and how to protect oneself from bad juju. Around her throat, she has a little locket of the evil eye and I want to yank it off or hold it taut against her throat as I fuck her. Just to let her know a locket is not going to help against evil.
If it did, I wouldn’t be here. Then again, sometime the best weapon against evil is another evil.
“I don’t think you sound spoiled,” I reply and she gives me a pale, grateful smile. She should be the one judging me, rather than the other way around. I’ve done things her innocent, little mind never will be able to comprehend.
Glancing at me, she nervously murmurs, “How does someone exactly become a hitman?”
My eyes narrow. “That’s information you don’t need to know.”
She flinches and I bite the inside of my cheek. Hurrying to nod, she averts her gaze and I realize I’m not playing fair. I want her to trust me but she can’t do that, if I give nothing in return. Dragging a breath I murmur, “I was mainstream once...”
And I tell her the story. How I was recruited by the government to operate behind enemy lines in order to cause confusion. I resigned when I got older and realized I was underpaid and overworked. I shed my skin when I was abroad and when I came back I was a different man, deadlier but above all more coldhearted. This wasn’t the life I had intended for myself but fate took me on this path. Not that I deep down believe in fate.
Unless I’m staring into Ava’s eyes, then I get the slightest hunch that it may be real. A flash of relief spreads in my chest once I’ve told Ava my story because now she knows pretty much everything.
Inhaling, she gives a pensive nod. “I knew you were lethal. Even before you told me who you were I knew you weren’t a common burglar,” she murmurs but I frown.
“That’s what you took from that story?”
I’m dissatisfied now. I wanted to come across as less dangerous but maybe that fucking ship has sailed. Ava winces, dragging a hand through her hair before pulling her legs up and her robe slides along her thigh. It takes her a while to notice but by the time she does, I’m already boiling. And I want to be all up in her day and night. I want to know what she does in the morning, how she takes her coffee or tea and I want to know what gets her excited versus disappointed.
“You’re brutal, you know how to fight, how to kill...,” Ava finally replies and I watch her profile, the elegant slope of her nose and I get the need to trace it with my finger all the way down to her little tip.
“I also know how to protect.”
“Right...,” she says in a flighty voice, fidgeting and I clear my throat, before standing up. I walk over to the window and locate the exact spot where I was stroking my gun, watching her and calculating my next move. Fury fills me when I realize how unaware she was of what lurked out there and now I want to slaughter myself.
Tear my own bones apart, gut myself and then set myself on fire. I never would have been in this room alone with her if I had gone through with it. Never would’ve been in this damn house that smells of strawberries and cream, is freakishly clean, has only white walls and belongs to a woman that twists me bit by bit and I want to take care of her.
There’s just something vulnerable about her in the way she holds herself. She’s brittle and I want to make her strong. I want my strength to seep into her until she’s bulletproof. I’m deep in thought, frowning when I realize Ava is standing behind me.
