Shadow

by Nadine Nightingale

  I was going to say something. What? My motherfucking dick takes control of my body, my thoughts, my fucking soul.

  Delicate fingers circle my shaft, applying just enough pressure to make my eyes roll back into my head.

  Dasha looks up at me, and I get lost in a dream of hazel. “You,” she strokes my hard-on, “are worth every penny, soldier.”

  She paid for me. She fucking paid for…This.

  It’s wron—

  Her warm, wet mouth comes down on me. She takes my whole length, never breaking eye contact.

  I shiver.

  I exhale.

  I fucking live.

  My hand finds her hair. Grabbing a fistful of that tempting red thatch, I thrust into her. I thrust so hard, part of me whispers, you’re suffocating her.

  She doesn’t look like she’s suffocating, though. She’s hungry, at the brink of starvation. My cock, her only meal.

  Dasha sucks, kisses, licks—her cherry lips are everything I imagined they’d be. Rough, wild, fucking heaven and hell.

  If she keeps this pace up, I’m going to cum right inside her sweet little mouth. And fuck me, I want this. I want to cum all over her, marking her for everyone to see.

  “You,” she says, coming up for a quick breath, “are delicious, soldier.”

  The ugly green-eyed monster returns, poisoning me with the kind of jealousy I never knew existed. She got to taste me. She got to drive me to the breaking point, enjoying every fucking moan. I need the same. I need her.

  “Stop,” I order, voice raw and needy.

  Startled, she follows my order. “What’s—”

  I circle the nape of her neck, pulling her up with me. “On the bed. Now.”

  She narrows her eyes and pouts those sexy lips. I love the sight, but I’m on a mission. No distractions allowed.

  In a heartbeat, she’s on her back. “Markus, what—”

  “Shh.” I drop her panties. The ones she bought at Victoria’s Secret. “You didn’t pay two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for me to talk.”

  She rolls her eyes as I toss her own words back at her.

  Head between her legs, I inhale her sweetness. “So fucking hot,” I whisper, sliding my finger over her clit down to her entrance.

  She stares at me, her expression wary.

  You paid for me, little girl. You deserve everything.

  I push two fingers inside her, moaning at the feel of her pussy. So soft. So warm. So fucking wet for me.

  Dasha presses her palms against the mattress, lifting her hips to take me deeper. The sounds…those sexy little moans, drive my cock crazy.

  I want inside her. But first—

  I deprive her of my fingers. “Hey,” she objects, disappointment flashing across her eyes.

  “You want more?” I tease.

  She gawks at me. Swallowing hard.

  “Say it,” I order.

  She shakes her head a little. Goddesses, it seems, don’t beg for pleasure. They fucking take it.

  Dasha cups the back of my head and presses my face against her throbbing sweetness. Who am I to disagree with the divine?

  My tongue glides up her slit. Slow. Deliberate.

  “Oh fuck,” she moans, lifting her hips to give me access to her sweet ass.

  I lick her front to rear, feeling her body tense. “Tell me what you want, Dasha.”

  She lifts her head, watching me as I drag my tongue over her pussy.

  “Faster?” I ask, halting to suck her nub hard into my mouth.

  She digs her nails into the blanket, cussing under her breath.

  I go on, swirling my tongue around, then biting her rosy lips.

  She moans my name, slams her hands against the mattress, and gasps for air. I suck, nibble, bite, and swirl.

  Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

  Jesus fucking Christ, she’s hot. The way she watches me, how she rolls her hips to control my pace, her fingers fisting my hair, holding me captive between her pussy and her thighs…I’m dying, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  “How…” She breathes hard. “How long did you dream of this?”

  I could tell her. I’d rather show her.

  Pushing her leg over my shoulder, I open her farther. Then, I go at her faster and harder. Like a wild animal tearing up its prey, I eat her up—licking, sucking, rubbing my whole face against the sweetest and most tempting pussy I ever had the pleasure to taste. I devour her until she cries out loud.

  “Oh God,” she holds my head steady, rubbing her wetness all over my face. “You’re killing me, soldier.”

  Not yet, little girl. Just give me another minute to memorize your taste.

  I dig my fingers into her ass cheeks, slipping my tongue inside her.

  In and out.

  In and out.

  Her body tenses.

  Her muscles stiffen.

  Her thighs clench around my head. And then—

  “Harder,” she pleads.

  I add two fingers and bite her clit.

  “Ah fuck,” she cries as her body shatters into pieces.

  Her head drops onto the bed. She’s struggling to control her breath. Well, I’m sorry, little girl. We’re not done yet.

  I push her legs open, slowly climbing on top of her.

  She looks at me, the same lust in her eyes that courses through my very soul. “You’re the closest thing to perfection there is,” I say, brushing a strand out of her face. “I’m going to fuck you, Dasha. So, hard, and so good, you’ll never want anything other than my dick.”

  She cocks a brow. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

  My tip teases her entrance. “I am.”

  She pulls me down, tracing kisses up my jaw to my ear. “Then show me,” she whispers. “Fuck me so hard, my pussy never forgets you.”

  My heart races, does somersaults, and drops into my pants at the same time. I’m going to fuck you, Dasha. And you’re going to beg me for—

  A high-pitched scream pierces my brain.

  Dasha’s eyes widen. “What the fuck was that?”

  I’m torn between ignoring whatever it was and getting off Dasha.

  “Help!” a woman yells. “Somebody, help.”

  Fuck!

  “Stay here,” I say, putting my pants on.

  The hallway is cluttered with people. I push through them, following the direction of the woman’s hysterical screams. They lead me to another guestroom.

  Shit, is that—

  Dimitri holds his son, rocking him back and forth. “Gleb, wake up.” He shakes him relentlessly. “Gleb, open your goddamn eyes!”

  But Gleb will never open his eyes again. He’s fucking dead.

  “What happened?” Deveraux stands beside me, staring at the bizarre scene.

  I wish I knew, but I was busy sucking his girlfriend’s pussy.

  Luckily, Lady in Red has an explanation. “He couldn’t breathe and was sweating like crazy.” She sobs. “And then…” She shakes her head, pointing at the blood drying on his cheeks. “He started bleeding from the eyes,” she chokes out.

  “What the fuck?” Deveraux barks.

  Ignoring him, I move toward Gleb’s corpse.

  “Don’t touch him,” Dimitri warns.

  I draw a deep breath. “I need to check his pulse.” Just in case.

  He lets me, and like I expected, I find none. What I do spot, however, is a massive hematoma on the nape of his neck. The spot is purple, crimson leaking from a small prick in the skin.

  I face Red Dress. “You said he had a hard time breathing, sweated, and bled from the eyes?” She nods. “Did he convulse?”

  “Yes,” she cries, ugly tears smearing her makeup.

  Deveraux is next to me. “What does that mean?”

  I ogle Gleb. “It means I’ve seen this before.” In Africa, on a SEAL mission. Our guide—a decent fella who dreamed of life in the Big Apple—made acquaintance with a not-so-decent snake. “He was poisoned by an adder.”

  “That
’s impossible,” Dimitri roars. “There was no snake.”

  Lady in Red agrees. “There really wasn’t.”

  “I know.” I turn Gleb’s face, showing them the little prick in his skin. “That’s because the poison was injected with a syringe.”

  Dimitri jumps up, dropping his dead son like a sack of potatoes. “Are you saying someone killed my son?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, eyeballing the corpse. “That’s exactly what I’m—”

  “Uh, guys?” Dasha cuts in. “I think you should see this.” She stands by the window, fully dressed.

  “What is it?” Deveraux barks, approaching her.

  “Look.” She points at the stage in the backyard. From up here, you have a perfect view of it.

  Deveraux stumbles backward, pale and fucking scared.

  Can’t say I blame him. On the stage, written in red, are two words: You’re next. Add the stuffed teddy and his little doll sitting there, looking up at all of us, and you’ve got the makings of a horror movie.

  Except, I already know the identity of the killer.

  “Flipping the switch has many reasons.”

  Shadow

  Inquiring minds—or fucked-up minds on the dark net—want to know how the crème de la crème of assassins celebrates an accomplished kill. I, for starters, don’t caress the leaves of a plant and down some milk. I don’t go around saving a pit bull either. And neither do I take my nonexistent daughter Christmas shopping. That shit is made up by screenwriters who like to believe they have a clue about how the brain of a killer works.

  They really don’t.

  Every murderer is different. Some only kill once—the wife lashing out at her drunk husband after another beating, the molested child snapping when faced with the abuser, or an ordinary man seeking revenge after someone hurt a person he loved. Some are driven by passion—wife-killers, stalkers, and all that scum. Some are bullied to the breaking-point—shooting up a whole school to get back at their abusers. And some are simply psychopaths—shitheads who solemnly kill for pleasure. And then, there are assassins like me. Hitmen who off folks for money. We have no motive other than cash transferred to our off-shore bank accounts by someone who hates the target enough to hire us. No motive or personal connection means we’re likely getting away with it.

  So yeah. Flipping the switch has many reasons. Even the best shrinks can’t explain why some of us take lives and others don’t.

  Anyway, back to how I celebrate a kill. We’ve already established I don’t live by the movies. I don’t go out and get shit-faced either. What I do is this:

  Open the faucet of my tub.

  Fill it up with sinfully hot water.

  Move to the cabinet and grab a bath bomb—I prefer Sex Bomb, smells deliciously like Jasmine. (FYI, I don’t give a fuck if you think that’s girly. I happen to like nice scents.)

  Peel out of these uncomfortable clothes.

  And climb in.

  Like I did just now.

  The water burns. Feels like a million needles hammering into my skin at once. I push through the sensation, slowly descending into the tub. By the time I’m covered with bubbles, the pain is only a soft tingle in my limbs, and the sweet smell of jasmine covers up the scent of death and mayhem.

  Leaning back, I cover my eyes with a washcloth and relax.

  I fucking earned it. Gleb is dead. I offed him under the noses of hundreds of people. Watched his daddy cradle his corpse. Bathed in his pain. All while maintaining my cover.

  You may wonder how Dimitri got there so quickly? I don’t leave things to luck or fate. I plan every little detail. Like Q texting Dimitri from a burner, telling him his son was in danger. The asshole dropped everything and raced to Deveraux’s mansion.

  Fuck, I’m good.

  I killed that son of a bitch, and no one even suspected me. The one person who could have stopped me, who’s smart enough to put the jigsaw together—Boulder—was too busy getting his cock sucked. I never took him for a guy controlled by lust. I suspect it’s more than just fire in his loins. He likes Deveraux’s girl. I feel a wee bit sorry for him. Dasha will break him. He just can’t see it yet.

  Story of his life.

  Boulder is blind when it comes to the people he cares about. The reason he’ll never know the truth about Damascus. The reason he’ll never understand it wasn’t me who killed his brother. It was—

  The raven-haired leader, an all-too-familiar face, scanned the narrow hallway, shielding little Zara and her mother, Eva, with his body.

  The SEAL closest to him—they looked eerily similar—was on high alert. “Jason,” he barked, waving a young guy over.

  He jogged up to him. “Yes, sir?”

  “Keep your eyes open.” The SEAL looked up to where I hid in the darkness. “Something isn’t right. I feel it.”

  Boulder stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s going on, Luke?”

  Luke, the SEAL, shrugged. “I don’t know, man. This,” he tilted his chin at Zara and Eva, “was too easy.”

  Boulder squinted. “What do you mean?”

  “No guards, no nothing.” He sighed heavily. “It’s too easy.”

  Boulder smiled. “Someone ever tell you, you’re para—”

  RATATATA…RATATATA…

  Jason hit the floor first. His fellow soldiers following suit.

  Luke’s gut feeling was on point. Shame he didn’t see the reflection of the sniper rifle aimed at his squad.

  Boulder shielded the hostages. Dropping to one knee, he searched for the shooter. Even I couldn’t have seen him from down there. But I did see him from up here. He aimed for the soldiers, not Eva and Zara.

  All I had to do was wait till the shooter took the Americans out. Then I’d kill him and bring Eva and Zara back to Moscow with me.

  RATATATA…RATATATA…

  Luke hit the ground, a bullet between his eyes.

  “Luke!” Boulder was next to him in a heartbeat, not caring about the bullets still flying. “Luke, no! Please…don’t leave me.”

  They were family. I could tell by Boulder’s grief-stricken expression.

  He cradled the corpse. Sharp pain sliced through my chest. Losing family hurts like a bitch. I should know. I only have one person left, and I wouldn’t know what I’d do if I lost her too.

  The sniper aimed at Boulder’s head. In a second, he was going to—

  BANG.

  I fired a single shot. The shooter died on impact. Later, I would find out he wasn’t an ISIS member like I initially thought.

  He was American.

  I snap my eyes open, unwilling to go down this road further. The worst day of Boulder’s life would automatically lead to mine. I’m not up for this tonight.

  I have shit to celebrate. The look in Dimitri’s eyes when he spotted Masha i Medved? Recognition. He remembered her, the girl who hung herself in his bedroom while Masha i Medved watched.

  An eye for an eye, asshole. Your lies killed her, my hands offed your son. I call that justice. Now, I’ve got two more names on my list, two more kills. Then I’m done, and she can finally rest in peace.

  Until then I’ll enjoy my bath and rub some peeling on my skin. Got to look good when I send those fuckers to hell, right?

  I wash the strawberry peeling off when my phone vibrates.

  Q: Houston, we have a problem.

  Me: ???

  Q: They put ten million on your head.

  Me: The Bratva?

  Q: Not sure.

  Me: Whatever.

  Q: ??? That’s all you’ve got to say? Several of your colleagues are coming for you.

  Me: Catch me if you can ☺

  Q: That cockiness is going to get you killed.

  Me: How’s the merchandise?

  Q: Thriving.

  Me: Make sure it stays that way.

  I toss my phone on the towel and grin. Let them come. They can’t kill what they can’t see. Can’t hunt when they don’t know what the prey is. Besides, I’ve got more important
things on my mind. Planning Dimitri’s end is one of them.

  “You have no fucking idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  Markus

  Sunday morning, six a.m. I sneak out of Deveraux mansion to meet my former KGB-SVR contact. After what happened Friday night, I’m desperate for answers.

  So is Deveraux, by the way. He and Dimitri grilled me all night. “How did the killer get past security?”

  Shadow is a legend for a reason. He can get past anything. “I don’t know.”

  “Who is next?”

  Could be Dimitri, Deveraux, or all of Miami. “I don’t know.”

  “How did he inject Gleb with the poison without anyone noticing?”

  Gleb must have felt the prick, but wrote it off as a mosquito bite. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you know anything, Boulder?”

  I knew this: the Secret Service offered me a chance to bring my brother’s killer to justice. They believed I could protect the president’s son. When push came to shove, I failed. Twice. Why? Because I sucked the pussy of Deveraux’s girlfriend. Because I let my dick dictate my actions. Because I’m a fucking loser.

  No more. I’m done with Dasha. From now on, I focus all that raging energy on Shadow. He’ll pay for what he did. He’ll die for his crimes. And he’ll fucking suffer.

  The Uber I ordered pulls up. I climb inside and give him the address.

  A text comes through.

  Tiffany: Where the hell are you?

  Shit. I forgot she was going to drop by today.

  Me: Out.

  Tiffany: I can see that, smart-ass.

  She’s been on edge since Friday. London gave her hell after she heard about Gleb. I should have taken the heat, but I couldn’t talk to the deputy director of the USSS when Deveraux refused to leave my side. America’s Favorite Son is petrified he might be next.

  Tiffany: Out where?

  Me: Out, out.

  Tiffany: Jerk.

  Me: I’ll come by the hotel later.

  Tiffany: You better. I have news.

  Me: What news?

  Tiffany: See you later, Boulder.

  I fucking hate it when she does that. Saying A but refusing to proceed with the alphabet should be a fucking crime. She’s stubborn as fuck. No point in pushing.