The Assassin's Wife

by Nikita Slater

  He leaned slightly, allowing his finger to trail across her bare shoulders, catching slightly on the rougher fabric of her leotard. “I think we both know, Natasha. But I want to hear you say the words.” His voice was thick, filled with lust and danger.

  She flinched, jerking her body away from his questing fingers. Her shoulder twitched, lifting a little in defiance. “Stop it, just stop touching me,” she growled, anger and desperation lacing her tones. She jerked her chin away, keeping her face averted from him, still pretending submission when they both knew better.

  He squeezed his hand into a fist to stop himself from grabbing her roughly as he longed to do. He needed answers and if he laid hands upon her, he would kiss her again. And this time he wouldn’t stop. He would do so much more. He took a calming breath through his nose and released it, removing his hand from her shoulder. He circled in front of her and dropped into a crouch, tilting her chin up with his finger. She glared daggers at him, giving lie to her meek little pose.

  “But you like it, my love,” he drawled, reminding her of the first time he’d forced her to enjoy his touch. She flinched and her breaths became shallow as his words hit home.

  “Now,” he said, his face so close to hers that their breaths mingled, “you will tell me why you ran away from me or I will kill all of the people you have befriended in this quaint little city, starting with your friend Regan Taylor who works with you and lives at 910 Attenby Crescent. Then I will continue down the line through your other co-workers. You will notice I do not mention your friend Jordan Kent? This is because his life was forfeit the moment his hand touched what was mine. No amount of pleading on your part will change his outcome.”

  Her mouth opened in a soundless protest, horror etching her lovely features as realization cracked any rebellion she wished to show him. He touched her bottom lip, lightly scraping his thumb along the tender skin that he’d ravaged. The blood was beginning to congeal. He touched the blood between his thumb and his forefinger and rubbed it, right in front of her face, showing her exactly how helpless she was. He listened with pleasure to the way her breath quickened as he outright threatened her friends while subtly threatening her very life. Yeah, he was a sick bastard. He was raised at the knees of cold-hearted murderers, taught emotions by the hands of men with death in their eyes and empty space where a conscience should be.

  “Talk, now,” he said coldly, allowing her to see the flat death in his gaze, “or your friends die.”

  Her eyelids dropped suddenly, shutting him out, as if in protest. But she began speaking, her voice a soft whisper, her words a rush of sweet sound to ears starved for the dancing chords of his woman’s voice. “I left because I was scared. I s-saw you kill someone, David. Oh god! I thought I was next!”

  He watched her face, remembering back to the kill he’d made two years ago.

  “So, you got scared and decided to run away from me?” he asked.

  “Yes!” she said desperately.

  “Where did you run to, dancer?” he asked, using his old nickname for her, absently running his thumb across her jaw as he tried to picture what she must have seen the day that she’d followed him.

  “Vienna at first…” she admitted with no hesitation now. She seemed to understand that he would get the information anyway, probably already knew, and this was the easiest way. “I took the train from Barcelona. Then I went to London. Then Houston. Then Calgary. Some places in between. Always cities. Places where I could get lost easier.”

  He continued to play with her, rubbing his thumb across her jaw, down her neck and back up. It could have been soothing, except they both knew better. His hands played across the pulse point that controlled her very life, like a master assessing her worth. “And how did you get to these places? You left your passport behind and no woman using your name traveled by the usual methods.”

  She seemed to be having some trouble catching her breaths. Each one was a little more labored than the last as she struggled to hang on to the thread of the conversation while not falling apart completely beneath the terrifying, dominating specter of her brutal, deadly husband as he hovered over her, demanding answers. David could almost feel sorry for his tiny wife as she lost her defiance under the shadow of his encroaching darkness. She had somehow, someplace taken care of herself for two years. Built herself up to a level of independence, even learning to defend herself. And in the space of a few minutes, her deadly, masterful Russian husband crushed any illusion of defiance she might have had in her pretty little skull.

  “I knew you would trace me,” she whispered, catching him by surprise.

  He arched an eyebrow and, unable to help himself, ran his thumb once more over her soft cheek. “Did you now?”

  She nodded and gave him everything. There didn’t seem to be any point in holding back now. “I worked off the grid, in hotels, as a maid, other jobs. I made enough money to buy a passport and a ticket to the states. Once there, I did the same thing until I could make my way to Canada. I-I thought I could lose you up here.”

  David brought his face down to hers, his eyes glacial now. “You knew I was following?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed, eyes carefully averted. “I always knew when you were getting closer. I never once saw you, but somehow, I knew you were always one step behind me. I knew I would have to run away again.”

  “Until here, until Canada,” he growled, a frown creasing his brow.

  She nodded quickly, sending the wisps of her hair dancing around her head. Against his will, his eyes followed the movement. “I decided to try and build a life here. I didn’t think you would find me. I was hoping, maybe, you would finally give up.”

  As if compelled to make her understand his possession, his need of her, David bent over and bit her hard on the shoulder, marking her with his teeth. He stopped just short of drawing blood. “Never,” he snarled against her flesh as she cried out and jerked against him. “I will never stop looking for you and I will never stop making you pay for running from me.”

  He saw her eyes flicker to his shoulder holster, the guns glinting in the dim lighting of the gym. He wondered what she thought. Was she planning a rebellion, an escape attempt? It would fail, obviously. But a part of him relished the thought of her trying. Pitting her meagre skills against him. He wanted to subdue his wife. Subjugate her. It was clear the past few years, running from city to city, had taught her new skills. Had taught his Natasha new facets of herself, like how to survive while running for her life. She was still quiet and reserved, but the tiny spark that had always existed within her, buried deep, had flared brighter with each new identity she’d been forced to create. With each hard, new reality, she had learned to rely on herself. She had become tougher, more independent. And an independent woman didn’t kneel at a man’s feet.

  Though well hidden under layers of reserve and ice, David could feel the heat of her anger, her rebellion. Fuck, if it didn’t turn him on like nothing else ever had. His wife was proving even more irresistible than the first time he’d set eyes on her as she flew across the stage, captivating audiences of thousands at the Bolshoi.

  David swiftly unholstered one of his guns and placed the muzzle against the side of her head. She flinched a little at the brutal feel of metal against her soft skin, but she didn’t even blink. Ah, his brave, beautiful girl. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted her more. What a fucking pity he needed information more than he needed to bury his cock in that silken pussy he only had the shadow of a memory of.

  He pressed his lips against her ear and said in clear, crisp Russian, “Tell me who hid you for two years, Natasha. I know you didn’t do it by yourself. Tell me who you were fucking and I promise I will only kill him.”

  He desperately wanted her shock. Wanted to hear her gasp in denial and jerk away from him, disgust at his accusation bright in her gorgeous eyes. She did none of those things. Instead, she hid her face from him, turning her chin away. His heart turned to ice in that moment, the bloody, raw tend
rils of rage clawing at him, guiding him in his actions.

  He slipped his fingers around her throat and squeezed, his gaze and his thoughts dispassionate as her fingers flew to his, wrapping around his hand, pulling, desperate to breath. He knew there would be bruises. Knew that she was truly terrified for her life. He didn’t care. He needed her fear. He closed his eyes, refusing to meet hers. He pressed the muzzle of the gun harder against her temple and kissed her lips hard while he pressed his thumb against her larynx, cutting off her precious air supply.

  His lips tilted in a chilling smile as he felt the desperate wetness of her first tear touch his lip. The first crack. His cock twitched in anticipation while his brain screamed in triumph. Make her pay, make her cry and beg for every breath. Make her crawl to you and plead for her very life. She will know the pain of a long, endless life at your hands. Show her the horror that could be her future if she doesn’t relent. Break her now and live in peace later.

  Chapter Ten

  They drove from Calgary, into the mountains for about three and a half hours before David finally stopped. It was well past dark. The road David took seemed to stretch and wind endlessly in a remote area with few other travelers. After turning his truck off the highway, the road become even more steep and bumpy. Tasha fearfully clutched the dash for support and tried not to glance out of the side window, knowing he was taking her up the side of a mountain.

  She had spent the entire drive worrying about their interaction in the gym, silently castigating herself for not doing more to protect her friends. Though the further they drove from the city, the more relieved she felt. Perhaps he wouldn’t kill anyone. She was most concerned for Jordan. She knew exactly how jealous her husband could be and apparently two years apart had not lessened that possessive streak. The biting coldness of his gun pressed against her as he demanded information she wouldn’t give, demanded the name of the shadowy person that had helped her escape him, confirmed that his controlling nature was still very much intact.

  Tension within the truck had compelled her to tuck her feet up on the seat underneath her and wrap her arms protectively around herself. It was such a strange feeling. Sitting beside her was the David she had known, and yes, loved; utterly dark and forbidding. But this David was also different. He seemed to be teetering on the razor’s edge of wrath, but he was cloaking it with icy control. She could feel the simmering rage all around and in between them. Knew he was a heartbeat away from pulling the truck over to do something terrible to her. Take out some of this relentless anger that was beating away at him.

  But this wasn’t her David of two years ago. Maybe he didn’t know she felt it too. Or maybe he wasn’t bothering to hide it from her any more. Perhaps he wanted her to know that he was so furious with his runaway wife that he was willing to lose his legendary cool. Whatever was going on with him, she knew it did not bode well for her.

  While they traveled she stole glances at him, studying his stern profile in the brief flash of headlights from other cars. David was still quite handsome, in his own strict, disciplined sense. His hair was a little longer than she remembered, a little lighter than her own. The grooves bracketing his mouth and eyes were deeper. He looked sterner, more unapproachable than ever. If she hadn’t known David from before, gone to bed with him, she might have considered him downright frightening. Her heart pounded as he took more turns, driving them further and further into the wilderness.

  It makes sense, she thought bitterly. He is an assassin, after all. He would want all the privacy he can get to plan and plot his next murder. Perhaps hide a woman’s body deep in the woods.

  After escorting her into an, admittedly, cozy cabin, he left for a few hours. Though he said he was leaving for supplies, the way he touched her, the swirling tension surrounding him, told her he was leaving to put space between them. She thought his leaving was a good idea. She could feel the blackness within him, his need to hurt and destroy. She’d sensed this overwhelming emotion in him before, when he’d come to her after leaving for “work” on one of his many business trips. Back then he had suppressed what she now suspected was a ruthless adrenaline fueled high with icy calm. Back then he treated his wife with respect. Except for, perhaps a few times, when the darkness had seeped past the edges of his control. Now, that rage was no longer under control and it was all directed at her.

  Before leaving the cabin, David handcuffed her to a queen size bed in a chilly room, gripped her jaw as though she were a naughty child incapable of listening, told her he had to go for supplies and warned her against trying to escape. She knew better; for multiple reasons. Though she was a talented woman in her own right, escaping from a set of handcuffs was not among her repertoire, as she suspected he already knew. Plus, she had seen David kill another man and walk away from the grisly scene as though it was nothing. She wasn’t quite ready to test out his newfound ‘no killing the wife’ policy.

  Until she had a solid escape plan, she wasn’t going anywhere quite yet. Even if she managed to make it to police protection she knew he would come after her, gunning down anyone in his path. He had said as much before leaving her, “Anyone that helps you leave me is a dead man.”

  Tasha shifted uncomfortably, flinching at the rattle of the handcuffs against the headboard. She shivered in the cool evening, though David had turned the heat on in the cabin before he left. The room was beginning to warm up. She wore only a lightweight spring coat over her dancing outfit. She was definitely not dressed appropriately for the tail end of a Rocky Mountain winter, which was far colder than the city. Not wanting to waste time at the gym, David hadn’t let her change before leaving. He’d pushed her arms through the sleeves as though she were incapable of helping herself, belted the waist, picked up her gym bag and ushered her quickly from the building without a backward glance.

  The new David was both infuriating and… perhaps a little exciting, now that he wasn’t out to kill her anymore. Thinking about it, she realized he had always had a cruel streak. He’d just never let the brunt of it touch her. Until now. He was a different man these days, thanks to her. Or perhaps he was the same man he’d always been, only she had never seen this side of him. This David certainly seemed to be more of a sadistic bastard than she remembered.

  Two years ago, David had been the kind of man that opened doors for her, ensured her comfort over his own and worshipped the ground her slipper-clad feet had walked upon. From the moment he had swept her away from the Bolshoi dance company and traveled with her around the world she had been his princess, his delicate dancer. He had married her only a month after introducing himself to the company’s principal female dancer and ensured that she was so happy she never wanted to look back at the life that could have been.

  They traveled around the world for four months in a haze of bliss. Or so it had seemed to Tasha. The only unhappiness she knew was when her husband had left her alone in strange cities, sometimes for days at a time, to “attend business.” Now she knew exactly what he’d been doing during those absences. She shuddered and drew her knees up to her chest, accidentally yanking down on the handcuffs. She winced when they bit cruelly into her flesh.

  She had been so naïve back then, living a blind life in the lap of luxury. Pouting when he’d told her he would have to leave for a few days and that she was to amuse herself in Rome, or Versailles, or Mumbai. He had given her access to credit cards with seemingly unlimited maximums and he had paved her way into any studio in the city, which would give her access to dance space. His stipulations were simple. She was to never go out after dark, talk to strangers or dance for other people.

  Only once had she broken a rule.

  Tasha shivered at her memory, at her first glimpse of the cruel part of him he kept hidden from her. She had been using a borrowed studio in Nice for several days, bringing the notice of the sophisticated dance choreographer that ran the place. The local company was down their prima ballerina as well as her understudy. The girl that was left was not nearly experie
nced enough for the part. Would Tasha agree to take the principal’s place in the production? For just one night, until they could replace her?

  When Tasha had demurred, the woman smiled knowingly. She had flattered the young ex-dancer and slyly told her she knew who the other woman was. That hiding her unique style and talent was impossible, and that Tasha should not be hidden away from the world by a jealous husband. She should take her place once more on the stage where she belonged.

  It was perhaps unfortunate that this speech came at a weak point for Natasha. She had been only twenty and at the very height of her career when she had disappeared suddenly from the stage. Most dancers retired before thirty and she had only a few good years left at the top of her profession. She and David were just past their honeymoon phase where reality begins to intrude. Tasha was beginning to realize what she had given up to be with him. During his longer than usual absence it was hard not to resent him for taking professional dancing from her.

  Tasha had capitulated and agreed to dance on stage. She excitedly threw herself into learning the program. It was a familiar dance with some new choreography that she picked up without any problems. The choreographer and director had both seen her dance before in Russia and were quite enthusiastic to be working with her. Once more flattered, Tasha thrust her absent husband and his overbearing edicts into the background.

  Her one night on the stage had been such a success that she did another night, and another. David had called and said he would be another few days away. With only slight misgivings, Tasha signed on for another three nights, hoping her husband would stay away for the length of time he said. She would finish her run Saturday night, the before David was due back. He would know nothing of her transgression.

  Except, somehow, he did.

  She was later to learn that David often hired someone to watch her whenever he was away. He had known of her plan to dance on the stage again almost right from the moment of its conception. He would have put a stop to it much sooner except business kept him away. He came back to Nice the moment he could.