Beauty and the Assassin

by Nadia Lee

  Tolyan joins me, his body shuddering against mine, his arms wrapped around me like he’ll never let go.

  He kisses me along my neck and back. I shiver as hot bliss pulses through me. How can they be an erogenous zone?

  Suddenly, he tenses.

  “You okay?”

  “No.”

  I turn, and his attention is one hundred percent focused on the door. His breath is suddenly even, his body still, coiled in a prelude to violence.

  Apprehension cuts like an icy blade. Is it the home invasion he’s been paranoid about?

  Or is it Roy? He said he’d find me when I was at my happiest and kill me. And right now, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

  I yank the sheet to my chest. Just as Tolyan pulls a gun out from somewhere and aims it at the door, it opens and a man starts to walk in.

  “Ack, dude!” The intruder instantly covers his eyes. “I totally did not need to see that! What the hell?”

  Tolyan lets out an annoyed growl. “What are you doing here, Lyosha?”

  Lyosha? Isn’t that Tolyan’s son? Oh my God. This is not how I wanted to meet him! I pull the sheet all the way to my nose. I want to cover myself completely, but curiosity gets the better of me. I’m dying to see what Tolyan’s son is like.

  Lyosha’s tall and wide-framed. His facial features take after his father’s, although the lines are a little softer. He has Tolyan’s coloring, too. He’s in a gray Berkeley T-shirt and jeans. One of the Dobermans steals a look into the bedroom from behind him.

  “Can you, uh, cover yourself?” he asks.

  I realize Tolyan is out from under the sheets and fully exposed. No wonder Lyosha reacted like he’d been visually violated. I throw the other end of the sheet over Tolyan’s midsection. He grunts.

  “We are now,” I say, doing my best to sound normal and carefree. The son of the guy I just slept with barging in on us is something that happens to me all the time, hahaha!

  Lyosha slowly lowers his hands. “Could you, you know, put the gun down, Dad?”

  “Why? So you can steal one of my cars?”

  He’s here to steal a car? Tolyan’s tone’s flat and cold, tinged with irritation, so I don’t think he’s kidding. But something about the situation doesn’t add up. Tolyan keeps that room upstairs for Lyosha. I presume that means he’s also providing for his son in other ways, including a car.

  “How did you know?” Lyosha sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Never mind.”

  Tolyan finally lowers the gun. “Out. We need to shower.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll just wait over there.” He gestures in the general direction of the kitchen.

  “Shut the door behind you and put the dogs out,” Tolyan orders.

  “Yes, sir,” the kid says, surprisingly obedient. Based on what Tolyan said about cats and teenagers, I thought he’d be more rebellious.

  The door closes. I jump out of bed, sheet still clutched to my chest. “Omigod, so embarrassing. But I’ll go shower.” Before the kid barges back into this room for whatever reason. I’d rather jump off the balcony—without the parachute—than face him again in this condition.

  “You can use my bathroom,” Tolyan says calmly, like the situation’s totally normal. He didn’t have to use the gun, so I guess it’s perfectly normal to him.

  “I can use mine…” Then I stop. His son’s outside, and I don’t want to go out like this. “Okay. Let me use it first.”

  I dash into his en-suite bathroom and close the door. The place smells faintly of his shampoo and body wash. I pee, then step inside the glass stall. He has shampoo but no conditioner. Of course. Well, I’ll just have to deal.

  The shower sprays hot water. I wash quickly, checking the bathroom out a little. The double vanity is made of pale marble, with bottled water on the counter. The laundry basket is half-full, and I realize the sunken tub has Jacuzzi jets.

  As I cut the water off, I also realize that I don’t have a fresh towel. The door opens, and Tolyan walks in, still completely naked. His gaze sweeps over my nude body, which is covered with beaded water. Fire burns in his gray-blue eyes, and his cock starts to swell.

  Heat flushes my cheeks. The wetness between my legs isn’t just from water anymore. But this is no time to indulge, not when his son’s waiting.

  “Um. Can you hand me a towel?” I ask.

  Tolyan grabs one of the towels from the metal rack on the wall. “Need some help?” he asks, his eyes narrowing with singular intent.

  “No, I, ah, think I can do this myself.” If I say yes, we aren’t leaving the bathroom for a while. And his college-age son will definitely know the reason.

  Our meeting’s already been embarrassing enough. I don’t need to make it worse.

  With a small sigh, Tolyan hands me the towel. It smells of fresh detergent. I dry myself and wrap it around my body. “Um. You don’t happen to know where Lyosha is, do you?”

  “My guess is he’s watching TV or checking his phone.” He puts a finger under my chin and tilts it up. “Don’t let the boy disrespect you. He’s my son, not our boss.”

  Easy for him to say because it’s his son, and it’s obvious Tolyan’s in charge. I’m in a sort of weird position because I’m here under his protection and now we’re sleeping together, but does that officially make me his girlfriend? We didn’t get a chance to talk about anything, and now Lyosha’s here. Still, I give Tolyan a small smile, since that’s what he’s expecting right now, and I don’t want to have the “where are we going from here?” conversation with his son waiting outside. “Okay.”

  “Good.”

  Tolyan steps into the stall. I dash out, then look for my clothes. Tolyan’s bedroom’s huge and painted in a pale sage green. The wooden floor is spotless, except for our clothes flung all over. I put on my bra, then the rest of my clothes minus the panties. I shove them into my pocket, then pick up his clothes and lay them over the back of an armchair in front of the gas fireplace. Not that I noticed last night, but this room doesn’t have anything personal, either. No photos. Just one large contemporary painting with a vast white background and a small splatter of bright scarlet in the upper-left corner that reminds me of blood. The bed’s a four-poster, carved out of dark cherry, and the sheets are the color of the Caribbean in a sunny summer.

  I don’t see anything that looks like a hiding place for weapons. But of course a hiding place wouldn’t be obvious. This room probably has its own separate armory or something.

  I look at the damp towel. Normally I’d put it back, but Tolyan’s in the shower. I don’t want to leave it on the floor, but I don’t want to put it on upholstery.

  Just take it to your room and put it in the laundry.

  The second I step outside, Stravinsky comes over and whines, his gaze absolutely forlorn. I run my hand over his smooth head.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask softly.

  “He’s begging for a treat.”

  I almost jump. Lyosha’s watching me, left shoulder against the wall and a hand on his right hip. The posture says he’s too cool for any school.

  His eyebrows quirk. He knows he startled me, and from the small smile curving his lips, he’s enjoying having me off balance.

  So much for him watching TV or checking his phone.

  “Don’t give him anything,” he says. “I already gave him two biscuits.”

  “How about Mussorgsky and Tchaikovsky?”

  Surprise flickers in his gaze. “Dad introduced you to the pack, huh?” It’s more of a statement than a question. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about them.”

  I nod, still uncertain how to treat him. Tolyan said he was forty, and Lyosha’s a freshman. I’m closer to Lyosha’s age than Tolyan’s.

  Awkward.

  I wish I could go back to my room and change into something else. But Lyosha isn’t moving.

  Instead, he looks me over with a thoroughness that reminds me of Tolyan. “So. When did you move in?”

  “Um…” I blink. Lyosha isn�
�t hostile, but he doesn’t exactly seem friendly, either. It’s like he’s trying to figure out how to react to my presence and what I’m really doing here. He might’ve decided I’m too young for his dad. Or that I’m trying to score myself a sugar daddy.

  Since I can’t tell him the whole truth, including the fact that I’m pretty certain his dad murdered somebody even though everyone thinks it was a suicide, I keep my mouth shut.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t. Nobody just visits in pants like that.” He jerks his chin at my lounging pants.

  Guess I should stick to the truth as much as possible and hope for the best. Now I wished Tolyan hadn’t limited himself to giving me pointers on what to do in case of a home invasion. What’s the protocol when I’m facing his son? “Yeah. Um, like five, six weeks ago.”

  Lyosha frowns a little. “And he didn’t say a word…”

  “Well… You’re his son, not his boss.” I echo what Tolyan told me earlier.

  His frown only deepens. “So? I’m one of the Four.”

  “The four what?”

  “The four people at the top of his priority list. If you aren’t in that group, you basically don’t matter to him.”

  Wow. That’s pretty black-and-white, but then, it seems to fit Tolyan’s personality. If Lyosha knows about it, the Four was probably formed a while ago, which means I’m not in this special group. My chest feels funny, tight and uncomfortable. One night of sex doesn’t make two people extraordinarily special to each other. But just because my head understands that, it doesn’t mean my heart does.

  “Don’t worry. There’s no ‘other woman’ in the group,” Lyosha says. “My mom’s dead, in case that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugs, trying too hard to be cool. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Still.” So awkward. I wish I had a huge bag of chips so I could pretend to dig for some and not have to look at Lyosha. My eyes flick in the direction of the pantry.

  He follows my gaze, then frowns a little. “Did Dad show you the cream of corn?”

  “Yes,” I say, relieved at the change of topic. “He has towers of them.”

  “Huh. That’s a first. He hasn’t done that with anybody, not even Elizabeth.”

  “Oh.” I shift my weight, unsure how to process the fact that although I’m not one of the Four, I know something that at least one of the Four doesn’t. So maybe that means I might be able to squeeze into Tolyan’s special group. But realistically, sex isn’t enough to put somebody into a group so intimate. Tolyan’s helping me out of…pity or goodwill or something, and that isn’t enough either. The notion punctures something buoyant and happy inside me, making it shrivel.

  “So…” Lyosha nods back over his shoulder at the birthday hats, which are now on the kitchen counter. He must’ve taken them off the dogs when he walked in. “Your birthday?”

  “Yes,” I say, happy to change the topic to something safer and more neutral.

  “Oh. Cool. Well, happy birthday.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you make a wish?”

  I nod. My wish is always the same—that Roy is out of my life.

  “Did Dad ask you what it was?”

  “No.”

  Lyosha looks a little skeptical. He isn’t saying it out loud, but I can hear it anyway. You guys were doing the horizontal mambo in the bedroom, and you’re saying he didn’t ask? C’mon!

  So I add, “But he already knows.”

  “Huh. Lucky you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If he’s interested in your birthday wish, it’s going to come true.”

  He says it with enough blind conviction that I almost laugh. It’s fascinating. Most people grow out of such trust in their parents when they’re old enough to realize some things are just beyond human capacity. But it’s kind of cute that Lyosha has such childlike faith in his dad, so I decide to humor him. “I hope so.”

  “You don’t need to condescend to me.”

  Okay, guess he’s sharper than I thought. “Sorry. It’s just…I think it’s interesting you can’t think of a single case when your dad couldn’t make your birthday wish come true. That’s all.”

  He looks affronted. “He’s never failed. Never. There’s one he hasn’t delivered on yet, but he will. He told me so.”

  “What did you ask for? A fancy car?” I can see Tolyan buying him something expensive for his college graduation.

  “Nothing that dumb.” Lyosha’s face is red now, like a pissed-off toddler being told the Christmas present he thought he was getting from Santa isn’t coming. “He’s going to make the man who killed my mom pay.” The moment he blurts the words out, he presses his lips together.

  I’m not sure exactly how to respond to the outburst, especially when it’s a subject as sensitive as his mother’s murder. Now I wish that I hadn’t half teased, half pushed him. And that a sinkhole would appear right underneath my feet, just big enough for me to bury myself in shame.

  After a moment of awkward silence that makes my skin crawl with embarrassment, he clears his throat. “You probably shouldn’t be here.” Lots of bluster. From the way his eyebrows pinch and un-pinch, he’s uncomfortable about having said too much and wants to say whatever that pops into his head to change the conversation. “You aren’t even… My dad’s an old man—”

  “Not that old.” I do my best to keep a straight face.

  “—and his son can be an asshole.”

  “Really? Most assholes don’t call themselves assholes. Most assholes think they’re the good guys.” Like Roy. And Eric. On the other hand, Lyosha could be thinking I’m too young for his dad, and wants to be a dick to me. This could be his way of warning me off.

  He gives me a slightly annoyed look. “What do—”

  “What are you doing here, standing in the hall?” Tolyan’s voice comes from behind me. He’s putting away his phone with a cold, dispassionate expression on his chiseled face.

  “Just saying hi.” Lyosha’s tone is buttery, his smile polite. It’s like he never said all those things about his mom or his dad or himself. But there’s a twitch in the corner of his mouth, the smallest hint of tension in his indolent pose.

  I realize he’s faking it all. He’s not happy I’m here. Does he see me as a threat? Or a replacement for his mom? He might be feeling that way if Tolyan’s never brought a woman home before. It can’t be easy dealing with the idea that his father will eventually move on. Not only that, his mom was murdered and the killer hasn’t been caught yet, so he might feel his dad was going to stay true to his mom’s memory forever.

  Tolyan gives him a sharp look, then turns to me. “Was he?”

  “More or less.” I offer a diplomatic answer, since I don’t want to lie or cause any friction between him and his son. But, now that I think about it, Lyosha hasn’t introduced himself or even asked who I am. And he hasn’t said hi or anything approximating that, either.

  Tolyan narrows his eyes briefly. He’s not fooled. “I thought I told you to let the dogs out,” he says to his son.

  “I did, but they wanted to come right back in. They missed me.” Lyosha shrugs.

  Tolyan takes the towel from my hand, tosses it into his room and shuts the door. The careless disposal is shocking—he always puts things back where they belong. But maybe he doesn’t want to leave me alone with his son anymore. Tolyan herds everyone into the kitchen and gestures for us to sit on the stools in front of the counter.

  Lyosha sits like an angel—nice, sweet, his posture perfect. He reminds me vaguely of the Dobermans: alert and seemingly innocent, but ready to beg and cajole whatever he can out of Tolyan.

  “Breakfast first,” he states flatly. “Then we discuss your accident.”

  Lyosha scrunches his face like he just realized he’s swallowed a fly.

  I inhale sharply, my gut twisting painfully. Roy. He always sends somebody to do a hit-and-run. My heart thuds hard like a thousand dru
ms. My head throbs.

  Suddenly, the pain in my chest sears through me. I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I expel the air forcibly, then suck it back in.

  But a sliver of cold logic slices through my panic. It couldn’t have been Roy. He doesn’t attack people you don’t know. You didn’t meet Lyosha until today, and he wasn’t even in the same city as you.

  If Roy was going to come after someone, it would’ve been Tolyan. He’s the most obviously close to me. We go to the foundation together; we come home together. We walk the dogs together.

  Besides… I look at Lyosha. He doesn’t look like someone who’s just been the object of some maniac in a car trying to kill him. And Roy would’ve made sure to damage him. Every single one of those hit-and-runs ended with, at a minimum, the victim’s legs getting broken.

  “You okay?” Lyosha peers at me, mild, reluctant concern on his youthful face.

  I blink. “What?”

  “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  “I was just…” I pause, searching for the right words. I can’t tell him about Roy. “I was just worried.”

  “Uh-huh.” His eyes are sharp.

  I need a moment to collect myself. “Excuse me.” I walk to my room, leaving the two behind. And if Lyosha got into a car accident, he probably doesn’t want to discuss it in front of me.

  I shut the door behind me, then pull my panties out and toss them into the laundry basket. I change into a dress, but my hair’s still damp, so I squeeze the excess water out and put it up in a messy knot, holding it together with a pair of chopsticks.

  Then I brace myself against the vanity and breathe, willing myself to calm the hell down. What am I trying to do here? Advertise to Tolyan’s son that something’s up? Tolyan wouldn’t want his son involved in my problem with Roy. It’s too dangerous.

  Calm, Angelika, calm. Just put on a friendly face until Lyosha goes back to Berkeley. He’s not a target for Roy. Don’t do anything to turn him into one.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Tolyan

  “I don’t like her,” Lyosha says in a low voice the second the little fawn’s disappeared into her room. His green gaze holds mine.