Assassin's Haiku

by Cynthia Sax

  Despite his precautions, the Agency had made that connection, and unfettered, they would know everything about Haiku by the end of the night. She would be enemy number two, second only to him.

  That was an unacceptable situation, and after returning to his compound to collect the necessary weapons, Diego would correct his mistakes. He waited patiently until the four men were alone, the streets devoid of innocent bystanders. The operatives were sloppy, confident that no one would touch them, but he would touch them. Tonight they would die, any information they gathered perishing with them. They would not be allowed to harm Haiku.

  Diego ran along the sides of the buildings. The Agency men didn’t sense him until he dropped to his feet before them, but by then it was too late. While they reached for their weapons, he attacked, his surroundings blurring around him. He sliced and moved, sliced and moved. One man squeezed a shot off, but it was aimed at where he had stood three attacks away; the rest were dead before they could fire. Diego wasted no bullets on them; instead he sliced them to pieces with his blades. He didn’t liquefy them, as he wanted their body parts left as a warning. He would not be taken, and Haiku would not be harmed. That was his grisly promise.

  With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Diego stood in the alleyway and surveyed the damage. Severed body parts were strewn on the pavement. Blood dripped in puddles. Faces were distorted in pain. If Haiku saw this, she would be horrified. She wouldn’t look at him with love, and she wouldn’t wait for him with open arms.

  She’d eventually see the results of his profession. That was inevitable, as he was an assassin, and work had a way of spilling into his personal life.

  “You are faster, my friend.” A huge figure separated from the darkness. “What have you been doing?” Eyes as black as his gazed at him.

  “Killing Agency operatives.” Diego’s fingers closed around his guns. Vienno wasn’t a friend. They had once been coworkers, both brutally trained as Agency dogs, and now they fought on opposite sides.

  Vienno chuckled while they circled each other. “You wouldn’t have to, Diego, if you gave up the girl. They are offering you full clemency for her.”

  Fuck. They wanted Haiku. “What girl?” Diego played dumb. He didn’t understand. How could she be a bigger threat to the Agency than he was?

  Vienno’s smile held no humor. “You know what girl. Your white-haired poet. You give me her, you get forgiveness. No more Agency operatives will be sent after you.”

  He’d killed thousands of their men. They’d never let him walk. Diego knew this as surely as he breathed. “Do you believe that?” Vienno didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, because they both knew the answer. There was only one way to leave the Agency, and it didn’t involve breathing. “Why do they want her?” What had his softhearted Haiku done?

  Vienno shrugged. “You know how it is—they tell us nothing.”

  He looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his mouth drooped. The years had not been kind to him.

  “Let’s not dick around, Diego. What is your answer?”

  “I’m going to kill you. That’s my answer.” Diego looked for a weakness and found it immediately. Although they were trained to fight with both hands, Vienno now favored his right.

  “Unlikely.” Vienno’s response held no conviction. “But if you do kill me, it won’t be any great loss to the Agency. The new recruits are young, and they have powers I’ve never seen. I have mere months, if I’m lucky, before they retire me.”

  The Agency’s retirement present was a bullet between the eyes.

  “Let’s do this old school.” Vienno flung his guns to the ground. “Hand to hand, blades only.” His knives clicked into place, extensions of his arms.

  “Agreed.” Diego dropped his own guns, as he was equally skilled in both weapons. Plus he needed the physical exertion. It would burn off some of his worry over Haiku. He watched Vienno limber up, noting that the Agency assassin could only rotate his left arm partially. He’d seen enough.

  “Now.” Deigo ran at Vienno. Vienno twisted away from him. Blades whistled through the air, but neither of them made a connection.

  Diego pivoted as he bounced back and attacked again, not allowing his opponent to catch his breath. He flung himself through the empty space. Vienno ducked but not quickly enough, Diego’s blade slicing through his right shoulder. Blood spurted from the wound.

  “Fuck,” Vienno cursed, rolling on the pavement. He staggered to his feet, his right arm hanging uselessly, the tendons and nerves severed.

  Diego watched dispassionately. This was war, and Vienno was the enemy. He’d threatened Haiku.

  Diego coiled his body and sprang. Vienno made no move to defend himself, the downward arc of Diego’s knife severing bone in the Agency assassin’s left shoulder. Vienno’s blade clinked on the pavement.

  “Don’t play with me.” Vienno swayed. “Finish me, friend.”

  The man was as good as dead. Diego could leave Vienno like this and consider his job done, as the street thugs would take him apart piece by piece, using him as target practice. Diego circled the assassin.

  Vienno stood still, calmly awaiting his fate, blood forming in a circle of red around him. His wounds weren’t healing, and if Diego waited long enough, he would bleed to death.

  “Do you protect her for the resistance?” Vienno asked.

  Diego didn’t have to answer, his feelings none of Vienno’s business. “No.” He protected Haiku because she was his. “It is personal.”

  “Then my death is worth it.” Vienno closed his pitch-black eyes, a dreamy smile curling his lips. “A woman who can love one of us deserves our protection.”

  It was as close to forgiveness as Diego would ever get, and he repaid that kindness by killing his former brother-in-arms so quickly, his smile didn’t waver. Diego grimaced. He had no friends, but he supposed this ache in his soul was what killing a friend would feel like.

  All the deaths today were different. In the past, Diego had killed for revenge, as the Agency had taken all that was human from him, and in return, he took the lives of their best men.

  Now he killed for Haiku. Propping himself up against a building, Diego pulled out the drawing. He’d killed for this future. Although the street was dark, with his enhanced eyesight, he saw the characters clearly. There he was, standing beside his beautiful Haiku, and she was pregnant with his child. He knew that as surely as he knew the mechanics of a laser pistol. He had a child, and he was surrounded by children who looked at him like he belonged, like he was part of their family.

  It was a depiction of everything he had secretly dreamed of and never thought possible. Diego carefully refolded the drawing, tucking it into a pocket deep within his jacket. The Agency threatened that dream. They threatened Haiku and his unborn child. They threatened her extended family at the orphanage. Their threats wouldn’t be successful. Diego ran through the streets, his nostrils flaring and his ears filtering sound as he hunted. He would kill every last Agency operative to protect their future.

  Chapter Eight

  “Diego, what did you do?” Haiku rushed to the gruesome apparition standing in a stupor at the door. He was covered in blood, but that wasn’t what scared her. It was the blank look in his black eyes, as though all hope was lost.

  “I killed everyone I could find.” Diego stared down at his bloody boots, his gloved fingers dangling. Red droplets splattered on the white floor.

  “I don’t care about those people.” She knelt at his feet. The laces were slick with blood and gore, and she had to wrap the ends around her hands to better grip them. “What did you do to you? Are you hurt?”

  Diego stepped out of his boots. Even his socks were drenched. She stripped those off too. “Hand.” He removed his glove and held his hand up. The gash was deep and wide. Haiku saw bone, and the room spun around her.

  “Here.” She grabbed a gleaming white kitchen towel and wrapped it around his hand. “Hold on to this.” She placed his unharme
d hand around it. “Do you have a first-aid kit?” She frantically opened cupboards, searching for the box.

  “Drawer closest to the door,” he mumbled, swaying.

  She slid the drawer open, grabbing the antiseptic agent, the suture gun, and the gauze. “Sit here.” She pulled a chair toward him, and he sat down with a thump. “Give me your hand.” She peeled the towel away from the wound. It was already healing. She splashed the antiseptic on it, and he hissed. She clucked in sympathy as she cleaned his hand. “I have to do this without painkillers. Sorry.” She hadn’t time to wait for painkillers to take effect. He would heal too quickly, and it would leave a scar. She tugged the skin together, positioned the suture gun, and pressed the button.

  It was extremely painful. Haiku knew, having used the suture gun on herself more than once. Except the only sound her tough guy made was a gasp. She brushed her lips over the wound, kissing it better. “Are you injured anywhere else?” she demanded. Blood dripped down from his wet hair, and his eyelids fluttered, flicking the moisture away. She dabbed a clean corner of the towel over his brow, so he could see better.

  “No.” Diego stared at her, a perplexed expression on his handsome face. “I killed people today, Haiku, hundreds of people, and I’m coated with blood.” His voice was flat. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  He had killed hundreds of people? She sat in his lap, not caring that the clothes she wore would be ruined. He had been through so much. “Because I love you.” She leaned into him and kissed a patch of clean skin. Diego shook against her. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders so she could touch more of him. “Besides, I’m used to cleaning up naughty little boys covered in blood.” She tapped the end of his nose, and he blinked. “I take care of toddlers, remember?” She took care of special toddlers, actually. When she first met Jacob, he’d been covered in blood, yet he hadn’t had a scratch on him.

  “I remember.” Diego rested his head on her shoulder, the tremors in his body subsiding. “I remember everything about you. You were wearing a pink blouse when I first saw you. It had lace around here.” He touched her neckline. “And a small brown handprint here.” He put his palm on her stomach, underneath her left breast.

  Her face grew hot. There were things she’d rather he not remember. “You must have thought me a mess.” His home was a glaring white, and her clothing had been covered with grime.

  “I thought you were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.” Diego smiled slowly.

  The dazed look had left his eyes, much to Haiku’s relief.

  “You looked like an angel. You still look like an angel.” He frowned at the mark on her shirt. “Even covered with blood.”

  She tugged off his glove. He must have forgotten he hadn’t removed both of them. “I’d rather be covered by you.” She peeled herself away from him. He was sticky with drying blood. “Come.” She took his uninjured hand, helping him to rise. “Let’s take a shower.” He followed her docilely to the bathroom, leaving a trail of blood and clothes behind him. She’d clean that mess up later. She would clean him up first.

  She turned the tap on, and the cool water trickled down. Haiku stepped aside, allowing Diego to enter the shower first. His tanned skin was stained with blood. He stood under the water, his face turned upward, streams of red running over his body.

  Haiku removed her own clothing, the shirt she had borrowed from him and the boxers she doubted he’d ever worn. She moistened a soft washcloth and rubbed it over his wide shoulders, down his proud, straight backbone, between his hard-as-rock ass cheeks. Slowly and gently, she washed him from head to toe, cleansing every inch of his flesh, careful not to get the gauze around his hand wet. He stood motionless, his black eyes blank as he accepted her care. The pool of water around them faded from red to pink to colorless until the water stopped, the supply depleted.

  Haiku unfolded a large fluffy towel, wrapped the white cloth around him, and swathed herself in a second towel. She smiled. They matched. They were a couple. He protected her, and she took care of him. She led him into the bedroom and pulled back the covers.

  Diego fell into the bed like a crumbling brick wall, the mattress squeaking a protest at his weight, and he lay facedown for one long, anguish-filled minute.

  “Come, Haiku.” He rolled onto his back. His big arms spread. “I want to touch you.” His towel tented as his cock hardened, but he avoided her gaze, looking down at his flat stomach, his lips flat and white.

  It was the same sheepish expression her kids made when they had done something bad and believed they deserved punishment. “Do you want to touch me?” She dropped her towel, revealing her naked body. He hesitated slightly before nodding. “Do you deserve to touch me?”

  Diego’s eyes rose, and in that blackness, she saw his pain and guilt and torment. Haiku wanted to hold him in her arms and tell him she loved him, but that wasn’t what he needed from her right now.

  “No,” he whispered.

  She thought so. Haiku opened a drawer, removed a fresh pair of black leather gloves, and slammed the drawer closed, rocking the dresser. “And why don’t you deserve to touch me?” She flipped the gloves over her thighs, his gaze tracking her movement.

  “Because I’ve killed men, many, many men,” he confessed, lifting his square chin.

  “No.” Using all the strength in her slight body, Haiku slapped the leather across his stomach. He grimaced but made no sound, accepting his punishment, and within seconds, the red welt disappeared. “Open your towel, Diego.” He did as she commanded, unveiling his erect cock. “I’ll ask you again. Why don’t you deserve to touch me?”

  There was a pause as he considered his answer. “Because I killed a friend.” His voice wavered. “He was an Agency operative, but he was once a friend, and I killed him.”

  Shit. He’d killed a friend today. Haiku’s heart twisted as she felt his anguish. “Wrong.” She whipped his upper thighs with the gloves, and his stomach muscles contracted. “Killing Agency operatives to keep me safe is your job. You didn’t disobey me that way. You went to work, and I gave you permission to go to work, didn’t I? I told you go, work…safely.” She got off the mattress and padded around the foot of the bed, her bare feet slapping on the tile as she moved to the other side. “So for the third time, why don’t you deserve to touch me?” She brushed the gloves over his cockhead, and beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. “Answer me, Diego.”

  “Because I didn’t keep myself safe.” He gave her the words she wanted, his tone communicating that he didn’t think they could possibly be the right answer.

  “Exactly,” Haiku purred, leaning over him, stroking his cheek with her index finger. “I said to do your job safely, and you came back injured, didn’t you?” She threw her left leg over his body to straddle his stomach. When Diego put his hands on her waist, she slapped him hard, the leather curling around his forearm. “No. You don’t deserve to touch me. You know that.” He yanked his hands away. “Put your hands above your head and cross your wrists.” He’d shown her last night how stimulating that position was.

  She waited until he complied, his muscles stretched and strained. “Your body is no longer your own, Diego.” She bent so that her nipples rubbed against his chest. “It belongs to me.” Her lips were a breath away from his. “If I want to lick it.” She licked along his neck. “If I want to suck it.” She swirled her tongue around his flat male nipple before sucking it into her mouth. She wasn’t gentle, marking him as he had previously marked her. “If I want to bite it.” She bit down on that moist flesh. A whimper escaped his lips. “I’ll do it. You belong to me, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Haiku felt the muscles underneath her soften, reaffirming her conviction that he needed to share some of his control over life and death decisions. “Good,” she cooed, stroking his cheek again. “Because I’m going to take what I want”—she wiggled back until his cock nestled between her ass cheeks—“what I need, from you.” She tilted back and forth, brushi
ng her nipples over his chest, grinding her ass against his cock. “And you’ll give it to me, selflessly, coming only when I tell you to come, understand?” When he didn’t answer quickly enough, she slapped his thighs with the leather gloves.

  His groan vibrated her skin. “I understand.”

  Diego was tired and emotionally empty, and he wouldn’t last long. That was fine, as her pussy had been primed and ready since she scrubbed his naked body clean in the shower.

  “What I want, what I need, is to fuck you now.” Haiku rose up, positioning him at her entrance, and slowly sank down on his thick shaft, relishing his size and strength. Once impaled upon his cock, she squeezed and released him in an erotic massage, until he pulsed in time with her rhythm. “Do you feel that, Diego?” She rocked on him. “That is what I need, and you won’t be able to give it to me if you get yourself killed. Would you die and leave this pussy empty?”

  “Fuck no.” A muscle ticked in his clenched jaw, and his hands folded into fists.

  “Kill who you need to kill to do your job.” It was a horrible job, but they were in a war, and horrible jobs were necessary. “But don’t ever hurt yourself again.” Haiku assigned him that impossible task, knowing he needed the challenge of an impossible task. “Because next time, I won’t be as kind.” She increased the pace, panting with effort, slamming down on his cock, her pussy tightening.

  “Haiku, please…” he begged.

  “Not yet.” Sensing he needed more pain, more punishment, she raked her fingernails over his exposed underarms, leaving red marks. Diego moaned, straining against his self-imposed bonds, thrusting up with his hips, and she rode him, holding on to him with her thighs, resisting his frantic attempts to dislodge her.

  Perspiration dripped down his face, and veins rose over his muscles, but still she rocked upon Diego, pushing him closer and closer to his breaking point as she also neared hers. Haiku dangled over the edge of her own abyss, clinging to sanity, ruthlessly ignoring her body’s demands, to give him what he needed. Her pussy vibrated, and her heart pounded, yet she held out, held out, held out, until she couldn’t take it an additional moment more, and he’d had enough.