Tasha turned to the wall of mirrors and studied herself critically, something all dancers did. She saw a small body, curved a little more than a ballet dancer should be, but she was no longer a professional. She didn’t have to starve herself for the perfect physique. Her back and shoulders were straight, breasts high and pointed, fuller than they used to be. Her legs were long, the calves and thighs strong.
Humming to herself she tip-toed over to her things, flinching. Now that she wasn’t dancing, her poor feet were feeling the punishment of ballet shoes. She picked up her water bottle and took a long drink of the cold, soothing water. In a graceful move, she sat in the shadowy corner next to her belongings by the mats and began some stretches to stop muscle fatigue. She wanted to dance for another hour or so, but her body needed a ten-minute break.
The darkened room in a gym, located in one of the rougher neighborhoods in the city, should have felt creepy, but Tasha never found it so. She had been borrowing it for months now, having negotiated a trifling payment with Jordan, the owner, and secured the key and alarm code. She thought maybe he had a thing for her. Though she didn’t return his affections, she did feel safe in his gym, hidden from the world.
Tasha sat up straight and brought her arms over her head in a long body stretch. She twisted her legs in an ‘S’ sit and felt something bump her shoe. Curiously, she glanced over her shoulder. She had tapped the white box with her foot. It was the unopened delivery that’d been sent to the travel agency earlier in the day.
Deciding now was as good a time as any to go over the promotional material, she reached for the box. She moved her legs into a wide ‘vee’ sit and untied the ribbon holding the box closed. It was fancier than the boxes the usual posters came in. She pushed herself forward, forcing her legs further apart in the stretch.
She flipped the lid off the box and looked down.
“No!” she gasped and pulled her legs in, recoiling.
A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over her. She brought her hands up to her eyes and bowed her head. “No, no, no, no,” she repeated in a horrified moan.
This wasn’t happening!
Maybe she imagined it.
Tasha dropped her hands and reached forward, desperate to prove she was wrong. Shaking fingers lifted a single white lily from the box. Only one man had ever given her flowers. And it had always been white lilies. He’d insisted they had reminded him of his prima ballerina, his little Russian dancer. Graceful, lovely and pure.
Tasha felt suddenly cold in the overheated room.
Then she felt him.
Watching.
Stalking.
She felt like throwing up and actually brought a hand up to cover her throat.
“David,” she whispered brokenly, tears splashing onto her cheeks.
Every instinct in Tasha screamed at her to drop the flower and run from the gym. To flee the danger that had found her, but she knew it was too late. David had finally come for her.
As if to prove her correct, footsteps, so quiet they were almost inaudible approached her from a darkened corner of the gym. She stared in horror as the specter of a man stopped several feet from her crouched form. He wore expensive black pants with a white collared shirt, buttoned most of the way, but stopping just below his throat. Casual but well dressed.
He was not a massive man in proportions, but his presence was so overwhelming he always seemed bigger. He was much taller than Natasha’s 5’1”. His body was solid with muscles corded beneath his skin, making his lithe strength subtle but deadly. He looked like a killer. He was a killer.
“Natasha.”
She closed her eyes against the deep, accented tones. She hadn’t heard that name since she’d started running. Her name on his lips was chilling and seductive at the same time. He had never been as accomplished at hiding his accent as her.
“Natasha,” he demanded again, much closer this time.
Her eyes flew open and she realized he was standing over her now. She moved to back away from him, away from the deadly intent now clearly visible in the lines bracketing his mouth and the dull acceptance of his eyes. He reached for her, gripping her by the back of the head, catching the strands of hair that had escaped her knot and tugging sharply.
Natasha gasped.
“Stand up,” he said in his quiet, deadly voice.
She allowed him to drag her to her feet by the hair. She used the pain to remind herself of why he’d come. She was so close to him she was able to take in his scent, masculine and seductive. His face was several inches above hers, his eyes devouring her features. He continued to hold her loosely by the back of the head, his other hand hung with fist clenched. As though he had to stop himself from grabbing her. Or hitting her.
His only betrayal of emotion.
Heat radiated from him, warming her skin where they nearly touched. Fury combined with lust assaulted her senses. His black eyes roved over her, taking in every nuance. He looked like a man who had been starved and she was the meal denied him.
Her body screamed at her to run, but a small part also responded to the magnetic pull of the man that held her life in his hands. She ached for him to kiss her. She felt like laughing at the bitter humor of the situation. What kind of woman wanted the man that was about to murder her to kiss her senseless?
The kind of women that knew what it felt like to be made love to by this man.
“Two years, Natasha.” Anger strained the low tones of his voice.
She nodded mutely. It had been two years since they had last seen each other. Since the day she had run from him in fear for her life. Since the day she had watched him execute another man as he begged for his life and then walk away as though it meant nothing to him. The day she had discovered that, rather than having an affair, as she had suspected, her husband had been killing people.
A contract killer.
“You look the same, my wife. Perhaps more beautiful than I remembered.”
Tasha shifted on her feet very subtly, suspecting that he would detect any tension in her body. She lifted her chin and looked coldly into his flat, black eyes. “You look older, husband.”
A slight lifting at the corner of David’s mouth was all the acknowledgment her insult produced. He did look older. The lines in his face had deepened, chiseling his sharp features in granite. His dark mahogany hair now had strands of grey that hadn’t been there before. He had never been a handsome man, but there had always been a magnetic quality that had drawn her interest. Now she suspected it had been his deadly intensity that had attracted her to him.
“You still dance like an angel,” he said matter-of-factly.
He had always loved her ability to dance. Watching her dance was one of the few times his face would smooth out and the intense scrutiny would disappear. He shifted ever so slightly and frowned, as though restless and annoyed that he cared about her dancing still. He hadn’t meant to speak of it.
Never one to waste an opportunity, Tasha smiled up at him angelically and said, “That’s not all I do well husband,” before bringing her leg up in a powerful kick that connected with his knee.
Surprise, then cold fury flashed across his face as the knee crumpled and hit the ground. He had never been taken by surprise before, which was another reason this woman shouldn’t exist any longer. Knowing he had to end it once and for all, he reached out swiftly and took hold of her wrist before she could run from him. He twisted brutally.
Tasha cried out and dropped to her knees in front of him. He swung his arm around to catch her neck in the crook of his arm. Before he could wrench her neck, Tasha sent her elbow backwards into his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. She followed it with another elbow to his head that sent him reeling back, breaking his hold on her. It was clear she intended to cause maximum damage while defending her life.
David had been holding back. Reluctant to damage her, even knowing the outcome was inevitable. He no longer had a choice. Swiftly he backhanded her, snapping her head b
ack and sending her body flying into the floor to ceiling mirror. She landed with a pained moan, but quickly tried to get up.
He pulled a gun from the holster under his arm and pointed it at her.
She screamed and dropped to the floor again on her hands and knees. She stared up at him, tears bright in her eyes. Slowly, she raised her chin. Wordlessly, she told him to get on with it.
David stared at the beautiful, disheveled woman with cold intent. He needed to kill her. He couldn’t have loose ends. He’d always known that one day she would have to die by his hand. Assassins couldn’t have weakness. She was his single obsession. Marrying her had always been an indulgence he knew he couldn’t afford. But he’d intended for her end to be peaceful. Not like this.
Natasha shouldn’t have fought back. He could have spared her this horror.
“Do it, you bastard!” she hissed at him.
His eyes went from ice to fire so quickly she gasped and pressed herself back against the mirror. His hand shook.
Seconds passed.
A minute.
She wondered if it would hurt badly. If she could still be so brave once she was laying on the floor bleeding out in front of him.
He swore savagely in Russian before lifting the gun and emptying it into the mirror above her head. Natasha screamed as shards of glass fell over and around her. She held her breath waiting for the fire of a bullet to rip through her flesh. For darkness to claim her. She huddled on the floor, arms over her head, harsh gasps sounding in her ear.
Natasha stayed that way for a few long moments after David had finished firing. A quick inventory of her body revealed that she had not yet been shot. Slowly, she lowered her arms, slivers of mirror sliding off as she moved. She dared to look up, terrified eyes seeking out her would-be executioner.
David lowered his arm, the silenced pistol now pointed at the floor. He shook his head as though to clear it. The look on his harsh face was a mix of annoyance and resignation. He closed the distance between them, his shoes crushing the shards of glass as he got closer. Natasha tried to back away, certain he was coming closer to put a bullet in her head, but winced when glass slivers bit into her knee.
“Stop,” he barked.
Natasha froze, a whimper escaping her throat. He holstered his weapon and reached for her. He pulled her straight up by the waist, the muscles under his shirt rippling as he lifted her out of the mess of broken glass. She gasped when he set her on her feet and began brushing bits of mirror from her shoulders and hair, his touch impersonal. Anger still radiated from him in waves, but he had himself back under control. He was once more the icy assassin.
Natasha shivered. Lifting her chin, she said as bravely as she could, “You didn’t shoot me.”
“No,” he answered. His dark gaze roving over, possessive, starving and furious.
“But you were planning on k-killing me, weren’t you?” Her voice wavered, but she attempted to hold his gaze steadily.
He looked down into her bottomless aqua eyes for a moment, his steely grip continuing to hold her immobile. Finally, he answered, “Yes Natasha, I had planned on killing you.”
A distressed noise escaped her throat before she could stop it. She pressed the back of her hand hard against her lips, attempting to stop the panicked sounds from escaping her. She wanted to be strong right now, she really did. She wanted to face her end with dignity. But when faced with the terrifying reality of her own demise, she was left feeling shaken and weak. She didn’t want to die!
“Have you changed your mind?” Her whisper was pleading.
She didn’t realize that the words she spoke were those of her childhood language: Russian.
David sighed heavily, his muscles tensed and pressed hard against her smaller body. He inclined his head slightly. “Yes, Natasha, I have changed my mind. I find I can’t bring myself to end you.”
She let the words wash over her and closed her eyes in momentary relief. He wasn’t going to kill her.
“But you’re still a big fucking problem for me.”
Natasha flinched. David had never been anything but polite and courteous when speaking to her. Her eyes swept up, dark blue, big and innocent, wet with unshed tears. Her eyes had always held such sway over him. In the two years since she had been running from him he had forgotten, perhaps purposely, how lovely and revealing those eyes were. His cock hardened as she continued to look up at him.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked softly.
Looking down at the wife he had been stalking for two years, erotic images flooded his brain, of all the things she could do for him. Natasha on her knees, her tongue and mouth around his cock. Natasha bent over the nearest table with him balls deep in her cunt from behind. Natasha begging him for mercy as he pounded into her, showing her none, because he would have his revenge on his wayward wife.
David nearly groaned out loud. He wanted her now. Here in this room where she had sweated and worked alongside the younger Jordan, allowing the man to touch her small body while she learned how to fight her husband. Perhaps David would come back and kill the other man for daring to lay hands on his wife. Had there been others since him? Natasha had always been a passionate woman. It seemed impossible that she had remained celibate for two years.
Yes, she would pay dearly for that too.
His wife had never known his brutal side. The side of him that made him one of the most successful assassins in the world. He had always been so careful that she should be his cherished little doll when they were living together as man and wife. No more. He would have all kinds of fun fucking out his revenge on his beautiful little wife and showing her what kind of monster she had married. He would give free rein to every dark thought he had ever had about her sweet little body. He would never let her get away from him again.
His dark eyes held her anxious ones, merciless. “You will resume your role as my wife, darling Natasha.”
Keep reading. Download this title now!
Bonus: Excerpt from Thieving Hearts
Revulsion hit Katie like a punch in the stomach. It was everything she could do to search for the key to her old apartment in her coach bag, fit it in the lock and open the door. She wasn't sure who she hated more, her ex-husband or herself. She didn't understand how he could feel such disgust for her and her profession, yet summon her here month after month. Oh, she understood the money. Blackmail for money was an easy concept to comprehend. It was the sex she didn't get.
She shifted uneasily in her knee length button up tan coat. Reaching for the belt, she knotted it tighter around her too slender waist. She knew she'd lost too much weight recently. Constant fear and agitation had taken its toll on her figure. She spent every waking moment terrified that the FBI were going to break down her door. All because of the man whose apartment she was about to enter.
Something didn't feel right. Usually she heard the sound of music or the TV blaring. The smell of food would hit her as she cracked open the door and stood nervously waiting for his summons. Colin liked to keep her waiting. Like a dog or a slave. Today she heard nothing.
She pushed the door open further and saw that the interior of his apartment was flooded in darkness. Had he forgotten about their appointment? Impossible. It was the same time every month. Since the day of their divorce a year ago. She would come to him on the 25th of the month at 8 pm, like clockwork. If she didn’t, he would make the call that would end her life.
Something definitely wasn't right. Her legs began to shake. She wished desperately that she wasn't wearing four inch heels. Not that it was her choice. Colin chose her apparel for these visits. It rarely deviated. He liked the easy access of the coat, heels and nothing else.
She stepped further into the apartment, allowing the door to close behind her. The sound of the muffled slam made her jump. Her heart pounded in fear and her palms dampened. She smelled something metallic.
Blood.
She bit her lip to hold back a whimper. “C-Colin?" she whis
pered. Then realized he wouldn’t possibly be able to hear her unless he was standing right next to her.
"Colin!" she called in a stronger voice.
When he didn't answer she took a few more steps closer to what used to be her kitchen before the divorce. Before Colin had taken everything from her and then demanded more every month after. A $25,000 payment and her on her back with her legs spread, a willing vessel for him to use as many times as he wanted before kicking her out like some dirty whore. Something he liked to call her during their hours together. She shuddered.
With shaking fingers, she reached for the light and pushed. The bright overhead light blinded her for a moment. She blinked and then turned her head toward the metallic smell, forcing herself to brave the possibility that something might have happened to Colin. She gasped in horror as she took in a pool of blood that was far too big for someone to simply walk away from.
She whimpered and backed away from the kitchen, intent on reaching the door, her eyes glued to the blood. It was almost perfect in its shiny depth, the way it was spread across the floor. No smears, or prints to mar its glassy surface. She forced herself to blink and continue moving toward the door. She would call the police as soon as she got down to the lobby.
Her heels were the only sound in the apartment as she shuffled slowly backward toward the door keeping her eyes on the blood, as though it would somehow attack her. Before she could reach the door, her back hit a solid wall of muscle. She opened her mouth to scream and would have jumped away, but a hand clamped over her lips and another around her waist, pinning her arms to her side. She was dragged backwards into the heat of a very hard, very male body.
She knew instantly the man holding her wasn’t Colin. Her ex-husband was the same height as her when she wore heels. And he wasn’t near as hard as whoever was pressed against her back. This man was rock solid. Was this man responsible for the massive pool of blood on the floor? Of their own volition, her eyes fell to the crimson lake. She tried to struggle, but the man held her so tight, all she could do was wiggle helplessly against him.
Scarred Queen Page 26
