by A. K. Koonce
“It was nice knowing you, Alexa.” His voice is honey as he practically purrs in my ear, nipping it to accentuate his words. The hard press of muscle against my back sparks heat low in my belly.
And then he’s gone.
I watch the retreating shadow of him as he gets a running start and launches himself higher off the brick wall of the alley using parkour. Grabbing onto an emergency escape, he uses his upper body strength to pull his way up the metal bars, slipping over the rooftop and out of sight.
Showoff.
No longer being watched, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Rounding the corner, I make my way the remaining two blocks to the large house. The sharp peaks look like they’re flipping off the sky. Home sweet home.
Swinging open the wrought iron gate, it lets out a groan that suddenly seems ominous.
I head to the large, black front door, not bothering to fumble for my keys. It’s never locked. Why would it be? We’re more dangerous than anything on the outside trying to get in.
Inside, only silence greets me. That’s typical of the night. Assassins are nocturnal creatures. We do our best work after dark. Less eyes. More cover. Easier kills.
Before I can leave the entry way, I hear the deep, nearly seductive, timber of Armond.
“My sweet little Hart.”
I hate when he calls me that. An affectionate term a parent would call their child, but he’s not my guardian.
However, he’s the closest thing to a father figure that I’ve ever had.
My teeth grind together, but I quickly school my face and paste a sweet smile on my lips. “Armond.”
“You’re home early.”
“I ran into a bit of trouble.”
“That’s unlike you.”
I hum in agreement. It is unlike me. I’m efficient. I’m the best. Or I was until I met Tylin and his gang of brutes tonight—minus one. I’ve yet to meet my fourth mark, but it’s only a matter of time.
“It is, but this time it couldn’t be helped.”
“You didn’t take out the marks I sent you.” He tsks as he steps from the shadows into the light at the top of the stairway. The railings are elaborate—intricately carved, dark, stained wood and his hand rests along the top banister.
His tan skin stands out against his white button down. The gray slacks he wears are tailored to perfection. Armond is nothing if not impeccably dressed at all times. Pristine, even.
He lets his assassins do all the dirty work, and that irritates me suddenly.
“Neither did Jared.”
“So you know I’ve already been disappointed in the past.”
“He died. I didn’t.” Jared was an amateur. Why Armond sent him after them in the first place is puzzling.
“Yet.” The threat in his voice is clear. If Tylin’s crew doesn’t kill me first, he’ll do it himself if I fail. He doesn’t have to say it for me to know it’s true.
“Like I said, I ran into a complication. It’s only temporary. The marks you sent…” I make a split-second decision to out the guys. If he thinks I’m hiding anything, it’ll destroy any trust he has in me. Plus, he had to know that I know they used to be assassins. I’m too smart to miss that little fact, and there’s no way that I’d overlook the mark with the way that I kill; up close and personal. My mind flashes to the personal view I got of Tylin, but I shut that shit down fast.
Somehow, this seems like a test. There’s more to both sides of this story than anyone is letting on, and now I’m in the middle of it.
“…or should I say the assassins you sent me to take out gave me pause. I was caught off guard when I saw the mark. It was enough to lose my advantage.” I shrug like that little tidbit of information is no big deal. He doesn’t buy it.
I don't say it, but an assassin came after me tonight. I won't ask him if he sent him. I can't. An ignored voice in the back of my mind is screaming for me to ask.
But I won't.
Armond always seems to hold this sophisticated and proper stance that clings perfectly to every fluid move he makes. He’s a calculating and intelligent man that I constantly have to watch my steps around. Gray eyes narrow on me from beneath his dark brows. Drifting down the stairs slowly, he comes closer and closer to me while I force my feet to stay where they are. If I move, I show weakness. I’m steel. A damn statue. I’m a facade of fearlessness.
“You failed in your mission, Hart.” He pulls a cloth from his pocket and starts cleaning his hands. The motion is disconcerting, almost like he’s trying to wipe his fingerprints off before he makes a move, and if he kills me now, I know there won’t be any evidence left behind. It will be as if I never existed.
I’m expendable. No one to miss me. No one to mourn me. The only person who ever loved me died when I was only three. Who’s to say she even loved me?
I am alone in this world.
“I fully intend to do what needs to be done. There’s no one else worth sending, and you know it. Anyone else will die. Those guys are good. You wouldn’t send me if they weren’t.” I speak the words with a confidence that I don’t quite feel. Armond is a cobra ready to strike. His deadly intentions have never been focused on me before, but I’m facing them down now.
His measured steps bring him into my personal space, and when his body brushes against mine, none of the pleasant feelings that Jameson or Tylin instilled in me are there. His hand wraps around my neck, applying enough pressure to restrict my airflow. He backs me up against the wall. My feet go willingly. Fighting him will end in death. That’s his power, after all.
Squeezing, my brain shorts out as I gasp for air. And still I accept his force without fight.
“I will end you if you defy me.”
I nod my head as much as I can as I feel my life force wane—the energy absorbing into his hand through his fingertips.
Reaching up, I cave—giving in to the need to pry his hand off my neck before he truly kills me. It’s purely survival.
I feel the pulsating energy of his power when my fingers clasp around his wrist. The mix of my life force and his power swirl together, becoming almost indistinguishable. Pulling on his arm, he deigns to let me breath and loosens his grip just enough to allow me to suck air into my lungs.
He’s stolen years off my life. I want them back. Even though it’s an act of rebellion, I feel violated and I narrow my eyes. I pull—hard—not sure it will work; even more unsure that this won’t seal my death for daring to go against what he deems proper punishment for my infraction.
Death and I seem to be in a complicated dance these days. A give and take. So far, I’ve made my own destiny, but I fear one day, death won’t sway in my favor.
As I pull, the green glow extends to my fingertips, lighting up the flesh and bones of my hands in a weird translucent way. The energy crawls up my arms, leaving tingling trails in its wake. The small amount of stolen power pools warmly in my heart.
The eerie chuckle of Armond is the last thing I expect to hear, but he allows me to pull my life force back into my body before he releases me. Stepping away, he takes that same white cloth from his pocket and wipes his hands off again, as if he touched something undesirable.
My heavy shoulders lean against the wall as I try to make sense of what just happened.
“Interesting. Very interesting.” He pauses for only a moment. “Make sure the job is done. And soon.”
“It’s going to take time.” My voice is rough as I try to use it, sore from where he’d gripped me. “They’re smart. They’ll be anticipating my next move. I need time to track their intentions, come up with a plan.”
“Two weeks, Hart. Two weeks or it’s your life instead of theirs.”
I bite my tongue to keep my witty remarks to myself. I’ve angered the snake enough for one day and I do have enough of a survival instinct inside of myself to keep my mouth shut.
“Agreed.”
One sharp nod and he walks away. I don’t move until he’s out of sight, but when he is, I head
straight up the stairs, seeking the solitary comfort of my room.
Eight
Quiet as a Mouse
The hallway is dimly lit as I make my way to the last door on the left. Each room is more like an apartment; large with its own bathroom and a small kitchenette.
Pulling the key from my pocket, I unlock the door and proceed to spin the padlock combination until the correct set of numbers appear. With a click, I pull the additional lock free and enter the dark living space.
Flicking on the light, I toss the padlock on the end table and turn back to the door, locking all four the deadbolts from inside. Hesitantly I pull the pocket watch out and set it gently down.
“Let me take a look at that.” For the umpteenth time today, I nearly startle out of my skin.
Whipping around, I lash out; my knife in my hand in a flash.
A strong hand shoots up and wraps around my forearm, stopping me in my tracks with a controlled and dominant grip. Target Four: Mason Bothwell.
His close-cropped brown hair is messy in an adorable way, and brown eyes hide behind black framed glasses. The black t-shirt he wears fits his strong, lean frame a little too well. His wide chest tapers down to a defined, lean stomach. Low slung jeans hang on his hips and I have a sudden desire to see the way they fit his ass. I just know it’s going to be a beautiful sight. His clothing doesn’t hide the lines of his body. He’s practically artwork. My breath catches, and I let my eyes wander over his body doing some eye fucking of my own. He’s nerdy gorgeous.
My body is tired of all the sexual tension, aching for release after what’s been the longest night.
Instead, I acknowledge the stranger who’s not really a stranger.
“Mason.” I greet him.
“It’s Mouse, actually.” He corrects me. His voice is quiet but smooth. His low tone feels like it brushes along my skin.
“You mean like a nickname?” I wonder why they call him Mouse.
He tilts his head in a semblance of a quiet nod.
“You let the ladies call you Mouse in bed?” I couldn’t imagine yelling that out in the middle of an orgasm.
In the most endearing way possible, his cheeks turn pink.
“It’s… ah, because I’m quiet. You know… in and out of places before anyone realizes I’m even there.” He shrugs sheepishly.
From what I learned from him during my short time stalking him, he’s also a tech nerd who’s obsessive with details. He didn’t speak one word the entire day. The name fits.
“So that’s your power?” I hope he cops to his magical abilities. It’s so much easier than tracking it down myself, albeit much less fun than searching his body for his mark. Naughty visions of stripping him down assault me. What I wouldn’t give to see this man undressed.
I see a few attractive men in one day and suddenly my hormones are on overdrive.
I definitely need to start looking into dating sites. Assassin Mingle, Assassins Only, Plenty of Assassins. That’s a thing right?
He chuckles, almost like he can read my mind. Maybe he can. “No. I’m just quiet.”
I can’t stop myself from antagonizing him further. “We’ll, I’m a screamer.” I give him a sultry wink.
“I’d like to hear that.”
Suddenly, I don’t know who’s antagonizing whom ...
The color in his cheeks is high, but his eyes gleam in the dark; alive with interest. I can’t help the genuine smile that curves my lips in response.
Releasing my wrist, he lets me drop my hand and I re-sheath my knife. Weary from the roller coaster my night has been, I step around him as he scrubs a hand through his hair. So that’s where the messy look comes from. Grinning, I walk into the small kitchenette and open the fridge.
The cold air from the fridge helps cool me down as I envision him buried between my thighs, moaning loudly for him like he wants. That’s a vision I could get behind… in front of… on top of… My nipples harden, but I won’t admit whether it’s from the blast of fridge air or the sexy porno running through my mind.
Mouse enters the kitchen and leans an arm against the fridge, watching me.
“Beer?” I offer.
“No thanks. On the job.” He motions to the room around us, but I know he means me.
I’m the job.
Frustrated, I grab a cold one and pop the top on the scratched laminate countertops that adorn my kitchen.
“Cheers,” I say sarcastically and hold the beer up in the air before chugging half of it in one go.
Amusement sparkles in his eyes.
“How did you get in here anyway? You know this is ridiculously dangerous for you, right?”
“I used to live here, remember?” He arches an eyebrow at me.
“No. I don’t, actually.” Exasperation tinges my words.
“It was before your time.”
“It must have been. I would have remembered you.” I tip the neck of the bottle in his direction.
“And I you.” This time, it’s his eyes that travel over my body.
I want to wince at what he must see. I refreshed a bit at the warehouse but I can still smell the stench of the dead clinging to me.
Choking on a swig of beer I’d just taken, I decide it’s time for some me time. If this guy wants to stay, he’ll get an eyeful. Not that he’ll mind. Most men don’t.
“I’m going to take a raincheck on this conversation.” I set my beer on the counter, the clink of it hitting the solid surface is the only sound between us.
He is the quiet type. Assessing but silent.
Inclining his head, he gives his consent. Like I need it. This is my kitchen. My apartment. My life. My time.
Yet, somehow, I have a hard time getting annoyed with Mouse the way I did with Jameson. I actually seem to like Mouse.
I like Jameson too. No, I don’t. Yes, I do. Oh, hell.
Rolling my shoulders, I unzip my leather jacket once more and shrug it off. Walking around him—again—I hang it on one of the hooks I have at the front door and then go into the bedroom. It’s small, but holds a queen size bed, a dresser, and has two doors—one leading to the small in closet, and one leading into the bathroom. It’s the latter door I head through now.
Unbuttoning my pants, I wiggle the tight leather over my ass and down my thighs, peeling it off of my body. Tossing the pants into a heap in the corner, I reach around to unclasp the bustier when fingers skim over mine, pushing them away.
“By all means, let me.” Mouse’s deep voice echoes softly in the small space and I can’t help the shiver that runs through me when his fingers brush gently across my back, slipping beneath the fabric as he unhooks the clasp. He really is quiet, I hadn’t even heard him following me.
Swiftly, the few hooks are undone, the weight of my breasts heavier now that the structure of my top is no longer supporting them.
Brushing my ponytail aside, his fingers graze along my neck.
“Armond never should have touched you.” The anger in his voice cuts through me. I haven’t had anyone care about my well-being since I was a child.
When I was a very young, an old woman named Kioko took me in. She didn’t speak a word of English. I know a few sentences of Japanese thanks to her, but it wasn’t really a family setting. She found me and took me in the way she took in stray cats. She just didn’t want to see me suffer.
The only person who ever felt like family is Armond, and that wasn’t until a few years ago. Now I know that’s only because I am a great asset to him—hard to replace, but not impossible.
The spark in my chest concerns me. It’s safer not to care. You can’t get hurt that way. Mason gives me a trusting sort of feeling. He’s too likable.
I push it all to the background and shrug in regard to Mouse’s comment. I try to blow it off. “I’ve had worse.”
The rumble from his chest isn’t exactly an answer, but it’s all I get.
His fingers find the zipper of the bustier, just below the undone hooks. The tips of his finge
rs drift along my spine with warmth. As he slides it down, I smirk. “And here I thought you were the sweet one.”
Again, no answer. His eyes meet mine in the mirror. They’re intense; full of fire and so much depth you could drown. I find I want to. I rip my gaze from his, bringing my hands up to hold my top in place just as the zipper falls free.
Stepping toward the white porcelain tub, I turn the water on until it’s hot enough to cook a crab and let it fill. I’m determined to soak until the sun rises, and hopefully the smell of death will wash down the drain by the time I’m done. Just because I kill for a living doesn’t mean I like rotting corpses or that terrible smell that accompanies them.
Throwing some bubbling soap into the bath, I drop my top and pull down my thong, giving the stunning man behind me an intentional view. By the time I sink below the bubbles, my body finally out of sight, Mouse has that pink color back in his cheeks, but his eyes are simmering as he stares at the waterline now keeping me decent.
I feel like a goddess. He’s like my sexy, shy pervert, but I can’t say I mind. My libido is at an all-time high.
“You realize that it’s stupid that you’re here, right?” I poke the quiet bear of a man. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No one knows I’m here. They’ll never know. And if anyone’s coming, I’ll know.” The rumble of his voice as he quietly speaks makes me want to reach between my legs. This guy could read the fucking phone book and it’d get me off.
Instead, I latch on to what he just said. “That’s your power.”
He nods. “I’m a tracker. Not only do I sense people, but I can find anyone, anywhere, at any time. Remember that, Alexa.” The cool warning at the end of his little speech sinks into my body and I look into the bubbles as I realize that I’ll never be able to hide from Tylin and his crew.
The Lifeless League trained these men. And they took that training and are using it to their own advantage.
Looking back up toward Mouse, I find myself staring at the empty space he was occupying a second before. Damn, that guy is good.
