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I didn’t even hear her and I’m not surprised. She seems elusive, as if she’s already disappearing into another realm. Wringing her hands, she murmurs, “May I ask you something personal?”
“Fire away, angel.”
Her face flushes and she lowers her chin before looking up at me again with glassy eyes. “How do you do it? How do you kill without collapsing in agony every single time?”
My ribcage shrinks the moment my heart sinks. I never thought I’d get that question one day and it hits harder when it comes from the woman I desire. It would’ve been easier if I had been someone else. A bodyguard, a journalist...fuck, even a gardener would’ve been preferable right now. “I turn it off,” I rasp, “my emotions die the moment I set my eyes on the target and wrap my finger around the trigger.”
“And afterward...?” she whispers, “do you feel any regret then?”
“None.”
Her eyes meet mine and I expect her to clasp a hand over her mouth, stumble away in horror but instead she nods as if she finds the answer...convenient? I narrow my eyes in surprise and she swiftly turns around, giving me an excellent view of her heart shaped butt. My palms clench, itching from the need to put them on the two halves and squeeze the hell out of them until she squeals like a little piglet.
I don’t know if she ever allows herself to moan, while totally helpless to her circumstances. Even when she screamed earlier while running away from me, she sounded like she was trying to stay in check and suddenly I’m desperate to hear her grunt, whine and pip. I want that girl unhinged.
Out of control.
If I manage to get her to that state is another question. There’s not a speck of dust on her Italian marble floors and she only carries white lilies in her vases. They’re perfectly arranged and there’s not a single surface in her house that’s cluttered.
Crossing my arms, I rasp, “Do you secretly have one of those drawers?”
Her eyes jerk to mine and she turns bright red in the face. “How do you know about that?” she gasps, before swallowing. “And I swear I don’t use all those toys...most of them were gifted to me by my friends as a joke...” She trails off, gulping. “What secret drawer were you referring to?”
What drawer was she referring to? Hm...think I’ll have to have a look around later.
“The one in which you throw all your junk because you don’t feel like organizing it.” My mom said everyone has one, even if their home is spotless there’s always that little corner that’s a pure mess. Ava’s cheeks remain tinted but she shakes her head,
“No, I don’t have one of those.” She rubs her hands down her arms. “Just the thought makes me want to do a deep clean.” Letting out a nervous laugh, she walks over to the record player and puts on some music to soothe her nerves. She glances at me over her shoulder and her eyes flutter a little.
It makes me think of when she was pinned against me and how fast her heart punched. She felt so alive underneath me and her skin was nothing like mine. How the hell does she get it that soft anyway? Magic, probably.
“I’m going to need a list,” I rasp, putting my hands into my pockets. “Of people in your life. We’ll work our way up from your childhood to now.”
“That’s a long list,” she breathes, “and I’ve had and still have a ton of people in my life.”
“Men,” I growl and she flinches, “I’ll especially be interested in the men in your life. Which one would you say you spend the most time with?”
“My old manager, Nicky,” she murmurs.
Then he’s probably the one to blame for all of this...I curse when I realize I made that statement out of pure jealousy. It doesn’t have to be him, it could be someone else, a zealous fan, someone who doesn’t know when to stop and doesn’t care, not until he gets my fist in the face.
“But I get nervous talking about this,” Ava blurts, whirling around, “makes it feel all too real.” She digs around in a glittery silver box and pulls out a cigarette to my surprise.
This isn’t good.
“What do you think you’re doing with that poison in your mouth?” I walk over to her but she has already put it between her lips. “Bad girl, Ava. That shit shortens the life span.”
When has a hitman ever cared about someone’s life span before...?
“I don’t mind living a little on the edge,” she proceeds to remind me. She has told me about all the times she has taken unnecessary risks, skydiving, swimming with sharks and all that fucking nonsense.
Nonsense that could get her killed.
“I don’t want you near the edge, unless I’m there with you.” I take the cigarette from her, putting my lips where her pink lips left a mark.
I could push her toward that brink and then she’d seek the safety of me. If she falters, she’ll cling harder to me. “Ava, do you want to live on the edge with me?” I rasp and she bites her lip. I can feel the warmth coming off of her body but she doesn’t give me an answer. I want to know why she’s not giving me one and I get the urge to coax it out of her, torture her a little so that she learns it doesn’t pay off to keep her thoughts to herself. I wait and wait but she doesn’t reply.
It doesn’t matter. Sooner or later, I’ll make her mine.
