Chance Assassin: A Story of Love, Luck, and Murder

by Nicole Castle

  “No, you said I was straight,” he said, and he roughly hitched my knees up around his waist, bringing his mouth back to mine, and reaching between us to slip his fingers inside of me. Now it was my turn to gasp for air. It felt good. It actually felt good!

  I dug my heels into his back, my vertebrae pressing painfully against the wood of the dresser, trying to get him to go deeper. “We need lubrication,” he said. He needed to keep doing what he was doing. I was almost there.

  “Gun oil,” I panted.

  “It’s toxic.”

  For some reason, the rest of the contents of Frank’s duffel bag escaped me, and my next suggestion came as a moan I didn’t think I was capable of. And all over Frank’s shirt.

  “You are brilliant,” he said, and before I could ask for clarification, before I could even register that I wasn’t hearing Mark in my head, calling me stupid for making a mess with bodily fluids, Frank was rubbing my cock, wiping my come off of me, and onto him.

  I raised my mouth to his as he gently pushed his cock inside of me. I trusted him so completely then that I wasn’t scared of it hurting. And it didn’t hurt, except where my spine was rocking back and forth over the hard wood, or where my feet were forced so close to my face that my shoelace kept hitting Frank in the eye. That empty place inside of me was gone. I was whole.

  If I hadn’t been in love with him before, I was now. Each thrust was like waking up, everything beautiful and bright.

  Frank came in me just as I was starting to get hard again. I felt like a new man, seeing his face, the release of tension he’d been carrying for years. And I didn’t feel vulnerable like I had with Mark, fragile and weak and broken. I felt strong, my fingers in his hair while he panted, his cheek against mine, his weight on top of me, making me warm and safe.

  He said something in French, and I could feel him smile, then he turned to me, and there it was, his adoration for me unimagined, that brief look I’d seen before losing consciousness. Love at first sight.

  “Was that all right?” he asked, and all the helplessness I’d ever seen in him, that distant expression when he was making us disappear, or when I’d called him sick in the head, none of it compared to how exposed he was to me now. It wouldn’t have taken a month of assassin training to kill him. I could’ve done it with one word.

  I lightly touched his face. It was rough under my hand, a five o’clock shadow at noon. “That was perfect.”

  Frank laughed nervously, tension on its way back. And not the good kind of tension, either. I gripped the back of his neck and forced him to kiss me again. “What did you say? In French?”

  He caressed my hair, focusing on my eyes like I was all he saw. It made me shudder, raising goosebumps across my entire body. “Today I am truly alive.”

  “You’re alive every day,” I said, and for just a second he was gone, far away from me where I could never follow. “Frank, what I said, I didn’t mean it. I swear. You just, sometimes it’s like you’re in this dark place, and it scares me. Because I care about you.” Fuck it. “Because I…love you.”

  He smiled again, then winced. “You broke my fucking nose.”

  “Do you want me to get you some ice?”

  “No,” he said, delicately wiping some blood off my mouth. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “There was something between us from the very beginning, wasn’t there?”

  Frank sighed contentedly. “I didn’t think you remembered.” Then he laughed. “You were so adorable, holding your hand up like that. I’ve never seen anyone strategically faint.”

  “I did not strategically faint,” I scoffed, but I had to laugh too. He’d been mine the whole time, and I didn’t even know it. “You looked so fucking sexy when you opened that door, all pissed off and disheveled. Did you drop me?”

  “No, I didn’t drop you,” he said. “I hadn’t even realized you were hurt. I just…I saw your eyes and I was gone. I thought you must be the angel of death, come to take me home.”

  “Do you want to die?” I asked, terrified that he’d say yes.

  “For you? With you? Willingly. Otherwise, no. Not anymore.”

  “But you did once?”

  “That dark place that scares you, it’s just a place, V. But yes, there was a time.”

  “After your mom died?”

  “I’ll tell you a story,” he said, and he sat up, his shirt streaked with drying come, his pants unbuttoned but still basically on, revealing only a fraction of the size I’d felt inside of me, and beautiful dark pubic hair, glistening with sweat.

  I kicked off my remaining shoe, bouncing it on our broken TV, and letting my pants fall over the top of it like a funeral shroud. Frank put his arm around me, pulling me close to him. It took everything I had not to fondle him while we were having a serious conversation.

  “The man who killed my mother was our landlord. He’d come downstairs to fix our sink. She had been paying rent the old fashioned way, except that day he got a little overeager.

  “His wife had her suspicions, and rightly so. When he took too long coming back, she came barging in to catch them in the act. What she saw was me chopping up her husband, and she screamed until the cops showed up.

  “For juvenile offenders in England, there isn’t a life sentence. What they do instead is retain you until they feel you’ve been rehabilitated. You don’t get out until they say you do. It’s indefinite. So I was convicted and sent away until they felt like letting me go. Only that was never going to happen. Until Charlie showed up.

  “At the time, I hadn’t understood a word of English. For all I knew, I was in an orphanage like Oliver Twist. Had I realized I was incarcerated, I could’ve picked a better literary example to follow and focused on escape,” Frank laughed, while I was still gaping at him wide-eyed. This was a lot of information to absorb. His mother was a prostitute. He’d been arrested. Someone allowed Charlie to work with children. “I knew The Count of Monte Cristo by heart. It’s still one of my favorites. That would’ve been very useful, except I was nearly catatonic for the first two years I was there.

  “I’d never gone to school, and I had little social interaction with other people. Being in that place, hearing them talk, I learned English. By the time I came to my senses, I could understand what was being spoken around me.

  “As I’ve said, Charlie’s great at reading people. Everyone thought I was mute. He was the one who figured out I could speak, just not in their language. My English was terrible, and his comprehension of French was even worse, but we were able to communicate.

  “When he told me why I was there, how long I’d be staying, and how they’d move me somewhere worse once I was older, I lost it. I was ready to fight everyone in the building for my freedom. He tried to restrain me, but I would’ve killed him for standing in my way.

  “To calm me down, he promised he’d get me out. And he did. Only it was too late. I’d lost two years of my life in that place. I don’t remember a day of it. Two full years I was out of my head. Charlie was the only one who could give that back to me.”

  “Fuck,” I swore. I’d been pretty out of it after my parents died, but two years was unfathomable. No wonder he was so sensitive about being called crazy. And so loyal to such a repulsive man. “Is that why you live here? You’re a fugitive?”

  He smiled. “I’m not a fugitive. Charlie got me a new trial. It was legitimate. But it was complicated. My mother was working in the country illegally, and I had no documentation to say who I was. Charlie’s skilled at influencing people, but even he has his limits. He had to bring my father in. We had no choice.

  “My father was one of the wealthiest men in the country. He knew he had a son. He used to support us financially. But my mother had been afraid he’d take me from her, and after he got too close, we went into hiding. He didn’t know she was dead.

  “Charlie had lied about my age, making me older so my father wouldn’t be seen as an adulterer. It was a gamble. If it didn’t work, they would think I was
seventeen and I’d be transferred out of the boarding school and into a juvenile prison. But the court willingly remanded me to my father’s custody.”

  “You lived with your dad?” I asked.

  “No. He cared about me, he always had. But I wanted nothing to do with him. Charlie was more of a father to me than he’d ever be, and he knew it. So he took Charlie’s suggestion and started paying him to be my guardian.”

  “Your father went for that?” I scoffed. My dad may have forgotten that I existed any time my mom was in the room, but he still would’ve punched someone in the face for even insinuating that they’d do a better job raising me.

  “The two of them were very similar. Swindlers. Charlie was fully aware what I was capable of. And he doesn’t like to see talent go to waste. He had plans for me, and he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.

  “My father did the right thing. He gave Charlie what he wanted, but he kept it on his terms. He paid for my expenses, never his, and he made sure I got an education. I hadn’t even gone to primary school, and he had me enrolled in universities all over Europe because he never got the opportunity.

  “At the end of every term, he made me stay with him in England, and he tried to convince me that Charlie was bad news. Then my father got sick, and he could no longer devote his energy to monitoring their arrangement. I stopped going to school, and started working for Charlie full time.”

  This was the most open he’d ever been with me about his past, and he’d remained composed through all of it. Usually he turned to a block of ice if he was the slightest bit uncomfortable with a conversation. “I hate to say this, Frank, but Charlie is bad news,” I said, taking a chance to voice my opinion while we were on neutral ground. Charlie had acted on my desperation; I could just imagine how quickly he’d pounced on poor Frank, distraught after the death of his whole world. Even though I saw nothing wrong with his profession, our profession, I wanted to butcher Charlie for introducing him to it.

  “Yes, but he has good intentions. And I trust him.”

  “Do you trust me?” I asked fearfully. Telling me secrets and teaching me to kill wasn’t the same as following me freely into the life of crime. And being second to a man like Charlie was worse than being second to his beloved ex-partner.

  Frank rested his cheek on the top of my head, his arm around my shoulders. “I love you, Vincent. That goes beyond trust.”

  I hugged him tight, adding tears to the wetness of his shirt. No one had ever told me they loved me. I couldn’t even remember my parents saying it. They were too busy saying it to each other.

  He stroked my head, magically knowing the exact way to comfort me like he always did, making it better and not worse the way most guys would. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have done that. You’re hard enough on yourself without me joining in.”

  “You were right, though,” I said, calm now, not a weeping melodramatic mess like I would’ve been if he wasn’t holding me. “I do hate them.”

  “Not as much as I fucking do,” he laughed. “I wasn’t completely honest with you about your ex.” I pulled away from him so I could watch his eyes. He looked pleased with himself, like he’d finally seen the person I’d been staring at for months. “I put him in the hospital.”

  I could imagine him standing over Mark while he slept, a killer with stronger morals than an educator. My dick went fully hard. Throbbing. “Tell me details.”

  Frank smiled. “Do you know what he said to me?”

  “They’re all lies,” I said instinctively.

  “He opened his front door, and he said ‘You’re here for Vincent.’”

  “He said that?” I asked. There were so many times that I debated calling him, begging him to come to Chicago and pick me up, to take me back to Branford and his bed, but I always figured he forgot all about me the moment I was gone.

  “Vincent,” he paused, looking down. “You do realize that he despised you.”

  That wasn’t exactly the detail I was expecting. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I still couldn’t comprehend how anyone could hate me. I was just so loveable. “It wasn’t very smart of him to tell you that.”

  “It’s the reason I spared his life.”

  “Because he hated me?”

  He took a deep breath. “I fully intended to kill him. And then he recognized me as being there in your defense. He said that you had a big mouth. You talked so fucking much, and he wanted to knock you down a peg. He wanted to hurt you so badly that you’d never forget it.”

  I was glad I was sitting down. I felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. He really did hate me. How stupid was I? That made a hell of a lot more sense than the impression I’d been under, that he’d leave his wife for me if only I was a girl.

  Frank kissed my head, pulling me into a close embrace. “I’m telling you this so you can fully appreciate how you ruined his life.”

  “Ruined his life?” I asked heatedly. At least I wasn’t crying. Yet.

  “He set out to hurt you, V. I can’t even imagine how much he hurt you. But no matter what, you never gave him the satisfaction. You never asked him to stop. You never told him he was hurting you.”

  “Yeah, and the tears weren’t a dead giveaway,” I said bitterly.

  “If I recall correctly, he said your first words after he’d climaxed were ‘Are you in yet?’”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. I’d forgotten I said that. God, I really did have a big fucking mouth. “Is it in yet, I think is what I said.”

  He shook his head. “Jesus, Vincent.”

  “That was pretty dumb.”

  Frank didn’t contradict me. “You got out of Branford. That son of a bitch was born there, and he will die there. And when he looks at his reflection, he’ll remember that he was never able to break you. But it took very little to break him.”

  “Little?” I balked. Just when things were looking like they’d get exciting. “What happened to beating him within an inch of his life? Little wasn’t even worth making the trip to Branford, Frank.”

  He laughed. “I said it took little to break him. I didn’t say I stopped once he was broken.”

  “Did you tell him ‘This is for Vincent’?”

  Frank looked a bit confused. “He knew I was there for you.”

  “It’s a revenge thing, babe. You’re supposed to say things like that.”

  “I castrated him.”

  Someone else might’ve had any number of appropriate thoughts following Frank’s confession, but all I could think of was how unfair it was that Frank touched Mark’s balls before he touched mine.

  “No, that’s not right,” Frank said contemplatively. “Castration is for the testicles. Dismembered? I fed it to him.”

  “And he’s still alive?” I’d die without my cock. I was as sure of that fact as I was sure I’d die without oxygen. Or Frank. Or Snickers bars. Then again, my cock did do most of my thinking for me.

  “I cauterized the wound so he wouldn’t bleed to death.”

  I didn’t ask him to elaborate. Cauterizing meant fire, and not even I thought I’d suffered enough to justify that. “You must really love me.”

  “And that was when you were brunet.”

  My arm was pulled painfully behind my back before I’d even realized that I’d taken a swing at him, his body pressed against mine, my face pressed against the dresser. He was nearly close enough to lean backwards and kiss, but my arm would be in a cast for the next six weeks if I moved. I still considered it. Until his cock was inside of me again. Then I didn’t think of anything else.

  “This cannot interfere with your training,” he said, and he reached around, jerking me off like the action wasn’t one he practiced very often, or maybe I was just a lot more aggressive with my own possessions. Either way, his cock more than made up for a lack of experience.

  “It won’t,” I moaned. “Just think of the possibilities. You could reward me when I’m good, and—”

  “Punish
you when you’re not,” he said, and he really, really got it, speeding up, fucking me harder, pulling my cock in sync with each thrust. This time he lasted longer, but I still didn’t, being possibly the first person to come behind the dresser in this shitty motel room, shouting so loudly that Frank grabbed my mouth once he let go of my cock. He barely made a sound at all when he came in me the second time, running his hand back over my body, pausing to feel my scar. To think I used to hate when Mark took me from behind. This didn’t feel shameful. It felt intimate. It felt like absolute trust.

  “Tomorrow we start surveillance,” he said as he pulled out of me.

  “And tonight?” I asked hopefully.

  “Go get me some ice,” he said, and he lovingly tipped me off the dresser.

  Frank decided to take the next morning off and not go out for a run. That didn’t stop him from waking me at the same ungodly hour, shoving me off the bed since his nose hurt and he hadn’t been able to sleep. His face was badly bruised and swollen and altogether painful looking, but it really brought out his eyes.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” I said from the floor. Despite the previous night’s adventures, I was no sorer than I usually was first thing in the morning. Just sore in new places. And as for new places, this was the worst hotel either of us had ever stayed in.

  In between bouts of ravishment, we’d skipped town to avoid running into Frank’s associate. True, teenagers were notorious for staring murderously at adults, and a lot of them wore all black, but trust was trust, and paranoia was paranoia, and some buildings really should have been condemned.

  The TV here looked like it had been dropped to the floor more often than our previous one, came with a total of three channels and despite the bright neon sign that flashed directly outside our window, was not in color. The remote was nailed to the nightstand, the nightstand nailed to the carpet, and the carpet consisted of thousands of those free swatches you can get at hardware stores, all shoddily glued together so I’d trip over them in the dark.

  Even Frank, king of the shitty motels, was appalled by the condition of the room, but it took a certain quality of establishment to unquestioningly accept a large cash payment from a broken-faced man as intimidating as my new boyfriend, so we were stuck with it.