The Assassin's Wife

by Nikita Slater

  Suddenly the sounds of delicate shoes against hard floor stopped and the graceful flow of movement where his daughter had been dancing shifted. In the blink of an eye she was no longer leaping from mirror to mirror, arms spread wide as if reaching out for the embrace of an angel that would never come. Like her mother, Elena was quick. Her movements could easily trick the eye. Unlike Natasha, Elena knew how to use this talent to her advantage.

  Before David could take his next breath, Elena was standing next to him, her sleight body pressed between his knee and the table. She had somehow flitted from the studio into the kitchen in barely the blink of an eye while he’d contemplated her very existence. Like a ghostly treasure. Here one moment, gone the next.

  She looked up at him with dark fringed eyes that were the exact same constant, relentless shade of obsidian as his. She dropped her eyes to the pieces of his weapon spread across the table. The weapon he would never have taken apart in front of his child if his unsuspecting wife hadn’t gone into town.

  When Natasha was away from the mountain, both father and daughter could relax and completely be themselves. Without words, David nodded to the table, giving Elena the permission she needed to proceed. A tiny smile flitted across her lips, like a shadow in winter. She rarely smiled. Something that concerned her mother, but David knew Elena was careful with her emotions. He was not worried. She would shine when it was her time.

  Tiny fingers flew, faster than even David’s could manage, skipping across the table. She assembled each piece, dancing with the cold metal as though it were made for her small hands. Finally, she turned and dutifully handed the weapon to her father, muzzle down, pointer finger parallel to the trigger. Her steady eyes met his, not a spark of emotion in sight, though he knew what was in there. It was the same thing that he felt. Love for his family. The desperate need to protect, no matter what he had to kill.

  He saw this in his Elena. She would do whatever it took to protect herself and her family.

  “Do you want to go outside and shoot, rebenok?” he asked quietly, eyes steady on his daughter.

  She tilted her head, the ends of her dark ponytail trailing across her shoulder as she thought about his question. She always thought hard whenever someone asked her a question, as though the answer really mattered. Even to a question as simple as whether or not she wanted soup or sandwich for lunch. It had led to one of her teachers thinking she might have a learning disability. David had quickly disabused the school of this notion. No, his daughter was not slow. She was exactly like him. She was precise. She would pull the trigger when she was ready. And when she was ready, she wouldn’t hesitate.

  Finally, she shook her head. “No, papa,” she said in her quiet, lilting voice. “I want to keep dancing. Mom will be home soon and I want to show her my new steps.”

  With that she handed him the gun and twirled away from the table, her hands in the air and her legs flying. Her tiny voice drifting on the air in a giggle as she danced to music only she could hear. David’s chest ached as he watched her whirl back into the dance studio and close the door behind her with a mischievous wave. She didn’t need to shoot today anyway. Unlike her mother, she was a perfect shot. Almost from the moment she could hold a gun, he’d ensured that she could hit a target. The deadly embrace would never come for his Elena.

  Because she was a dark angel. The assassin’s angel.

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  Dear readers,

  Thank you for reading The Assassin’s Wife! I hope you enjoyed reading David and Natasha’s story as much as I enjoyed my journey with them. Each character I write has their own personality and I try to be true to each one by making the story unique and exciting in its own way.

  I want to thank Drew from iDrewthis.ca for his beautiful cover art and the teasers he created for this book and many of my others. As well as for his love and support in all of my endeavours. Now if only he could start spelling the word ‘angel’ correctly so my brand-new series doesn’t have to be called ‘Angles and Assassins.’

  Also, many, many thanks to Jasmin Quinn who provided her editing expertise – and a shoulder to cry on – for this novel, despite the tantrums I threw her way (I don’t care what you say Jasmin, Natasha needed to bend that way for that scene to work!). Now if only she could learn how to spell ‘assassin’ correctly so my new series doesn’t have to be called ‘Angles and Asasinns.’ Jasmin has a hot new series called Running With the Devil heading for Amazon soon!

  Finally, a huge thanks to my readers! Without you I would not be in the wonderful writing place that I am. I find inspiration every day in the people and places around me. Every time I get a message of encouragement or someone tells me that they loved one of my books it inspires me to keep writing and working on more material for you to read. I am always humbled by and grateful for your support. Reading is such an important gift and I’m glad I can share a small part of my world with all of you.

  Thank you!

  Nikita

  Sneak Peek: Fire & Vice Book 7 – In His Sights

  He needed a fucking drink.

  His skull felt like it was splitting in half from the pain of withdrawal after a weekend of steadily drinking his way through two cases of beer and a fifth of whiskey. He wouldn’t have bothered drying out except he had a bounty to chase. Jane Sitnikov had left the perp’s file on her desk. He didn’t even bother flipping through. Guy would have the same MO as the others. Guns, drugs, jumped bail, blah, blah, blah…

  Jane said the guy wouldn’t be a problem for Mack to hunt on his own, so she was going to chase down a few other leads. He was fine with that. He preferred to hunt alone anyway. Much as he enjoyed spending time with his occasional partner, she could be a handful. And even coughing in her direction was courting death from her insane-as-fuck, mobbed-up-the-ass husband. Mack didn’t know how or why he got involved with the Russians, but he was fairly certain eventually he wasn't going to live to regret it. Fine by him. He’d been suicidal for years.

  He relocked the door to Jane’s PI office, shoved a handful of dirty blond hair off his forehead and strode toward his truck with the file shoved under his arm. He was about to open the door when he noticed the light was on in the tiny apartment over Jane’s office. He frowned. Jane hadn’t lived up there in nearly a year and she was too damn lazy to rent it out. He just spoke to her on the phone an hour ago and she hadn't indicated she was going to swing by. Son-of-a-bitch. Had someone broken into her old place?

  The area housing her office wasn't the best in the city. It wasn’t an unfair assumption that someone might break in and squat for a few days. There was certainly nothing of value in the cockroach infested place to steal. With a growl of annoyance, Mack opened the door to his truck, flung the file inside and relocked the door.

  Striding around to the side of the building, he took the outside stairs two at a time until he reached the top. He would see who was inside, physically throw their asses out and then call Jane and tell her to get her scrawny butt over there and replace the damn locks. He pulled his keys out and searched for the correct one. When he reached for the door, the knob turned easily under his hand. It wasn't even locked. Idiots must be so drugged out they hadn’t noticed.

  He pulled his gun and stepped inside, expecting to find the place in shambles, covered in drug paraphernalia with a few strung out junkies inside. Instead, he stepped into what could only be described as a homey wonderland. The small bachelor suite had been transformed from the broken-down place Jane had used to sleep in during her brief time spent there to a homemaker’s palace.

  The double bed was piled high with fluffy pink and grey quilts and lace-edged pillows. Probably all hand sewn. There was even a teddy bear wearing a dress and wire-rimmed glasses on the bed. The small round table sitting between the bed and the kitchen was covered in a cheerful blue and white checkered tablecloth. There was a basket on top of the table, brimming with fruit. Mack reached out, almost against his will, to touch the fruit
. It was real. Matching curtains hung in the kitchen windows, but they were wide open allowing the fall evening breeze to drift through the tiny suite.

  He sniffed the air, catching a hint of something sweet and saw a tray of what looked like freshly baked blueberry muffins sitting on top of the stove next to a flower-patterned oven mitt. Mack shook his head hard and then immediately regretted the action when his head throbbed sickeningly.

  He was rubbing the ache away when something brushed up against his combat boot. Mack came immediately to attention and pointed his SIG at the offender. An oversized tabby with white paws sat on its haunches and stared at him with supreme unconcern. Mack frowned at it and gave it a little shove, then turned to close the door so the little bastard wouldn't escape. Now that he was pretty certain a squatter hadn’t taken up residence in Jane’s old place, he guessed he wouldn’t let the cat out.

  What. The. Fuck? When had Jane rented out her place? She would have told him if someone had moved in. And what the heck kind of Mary Poppins wanted to live in this area? He was guessing the shady kind. Though the throw rugs all over the floor with giant knotted flowers decorating them pointed to anything but shady. Mack was confused and Mack didn't like being confused. He usually shot things that annoyed him.

  Just as he was beginning to wonder where the resident was hiding, he realized the shower had been running during his brief inspection. Without warning, a clear, sweet voice filled the air, punching him in the gut and stirring his dormant cock. A woman sang in a language that he recognized but didn’t understand, Pennsylvania Dutch. That language, the voice was one he hadn’t heard in four long months.

  He had tried to forget. So many nights, looking at the bottom of a liquor bottle, shooting at nothing out behind his cabin, praying her face would disappear. She was too young, too sweet for someone like him. He had too many secrets. He was too damaged for the likes of her. Fuck, if her mama hadn't come along when she had, when he had the girl under his hands he would have taken her right there in the dirt. Whether she wanted it or not.

  Mack willed himself to leave. To walk away from her. He couldn't have Lucy Miller. He wouldn’t corrupt her with his darkness. But instead of walking away, he reholstered his gun and reached for the washroom door. Her beautiful voice called to him, wrapping around him like a sweet, silk blanket, pulling him in. He opened the door and stepped into the steam-filled room.

  Her voice continued as she sang a song he didn’t recognize. She hadn’t heard him step into the washroom with her. The scent of strawberry kiwi shampoo enveloped him, tantalizing him almost as much as the the shadowy form of her body through the nearly transparent shower curtain. She was standing with her back to the spray and holding something up out of the water while she sang.

  He tried to tell himself his reaction to her was the same he would have over any naked woman having a shower, but he knew it was a lie. Lucy had owned his nights since the moment he set eyes on her. He nearly groaned out loud as his cock stiffened to the point of agony against the zipper of his faded blue jeans. He pressed the heel of his hand against the burgeoning ridge in an attempt to ease the pressure. Jesus fuck, what was he doing? Spying on a girl he’d obsessed over for four long months. A girl who was fifteen years younger than him.

  Just as he determined to step backwards out of the washroom and leave her in peace, never knowing he was there, she stopped singing and giggled. He froze at the unexpected sound. What the fuck was she laughing at in the shower? Then he realized what she was holding when her pale arm reached out from behind the curtain to drop an iPhone on the back of the toilet. She had been texting in the shower. Apparently, the Amish girl had learned a new trick.

  He caught himself grinning. He was too busy caught up in her adorable new quirk to realize the water had shut off. She shoved the shower curtain back and reached for a towel. Her eyes met his and her mouth dropped in a silent scream at being confronted with a huge, scruffy man in her washroom. The silent scream quickly turned to a very real, very loud scream as she snatched the towel and jumped back into the tub. With all the instincts of a baby, she turned her face away from him and cowered in the corner.

  Mack sighed, his viciously pounding head now ringing with her screams. He thanked god she didn't have any close neighbours that would call the cops. Which reminded him, the naive little idiot had left her door unlocked in one the worst neighbourhoods in the city. He took hold of her arm and pulled her out of the tub, giving her a shake.

  “Lucy,” he growled. “It’s me, Mack Hudson. Your sister’s partner. Open your damn eyes and look at me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She clutched her towel with one hand and stood frozen, cowering against him for a moment before slowly opening one eye to peek at him. Her brown hair, made dark by the shower, was sopping wet and hanging in wild strands nearly to her waist. She shook in his arms from a combination of cold and terror.

  “M-Mack?” she said his name uncertainly, her wide eyes finally taking in the huge body that filled her tiny washroom. Her pupils were dilated to the point that her eyes were nearly completely black.

  He sighed heavily and tried to step back from her. Her knees immediately buckled, the same thing that happened last time he got his hands on her. He was beginning to suspect he affected this woman as much as she affected him. Damnit! He did not need to be touching her any more than necessary. Reaching down, he hooked his fingers into the towel she was clutching, jerked it from her stiff fingers and tightened it around her body, keeping his eyes respectfully averted.

  Lucy gasped and pushed weakly against his chest. He looked down at her, taking in each curve. Fuck, he wanted to taste her so bad. To put his fingers in her. She was so goddamned beautiful it nearly killed him to just steady her and step away from her. He reminded himself he was supposed to be some kind of military hero, even if it was a long time ago. Somewhere in there, buried deep inside, he’d had morals once upon a time. He would not fuck up this perfect being, no matter how many times she was thrown in his path.

  She licked her lips and lifted her eyes to his, giving him an image to jack off to later on. “Wh… what are you doing in here Mack?” she asked hesitantly.

  He pushed back through the door, deciding they both needed more space. She followed him, innocently pursuing danger. Her long bare legs caught his attention as she moved. She stopped just outside the washroom door and gave him a suspicious look. She made sure her towel was secure before she reached up to catch her long hair in both hands, twisting it and then tossing it over one shoulder.

  He watched, mesmerized for a moment, before answering. “I saw the light up here, thought someone broke in. You didn’t lock the door.”

  Her eyes widened for a moment and then she looked guilty. “Oops,” she said. “Sometimes I forget. We never locked the door back home. Vlad would murder me if he knew I forgot something like that.”

  Mack raised an eyebrow at the casual way in which she mentioned her brother-in-law’s penchant for murder. He doubted she knew what the man was really capable of. Vladimir Sitnikov certainly wouldn’t harm a hair on the innocent Lucy’s head. Mack frowned and glanced toward a clearly high-end security system next to the door. “You didn’t set the alarm either.”

  She grimaced and shrugged. “Uh… forgot?”

  His frown grew fiercer. “Why the fuck are the Sitnikov’s letting you live in this shithole?” he demanded. “You clearly can’t take care of yourself. I could have raped and killed you just now and been out before anyone knew a thing.”

  She gasped and stood up straighter, pushing her full chest out against the towel. “I can so take care of myself,” she snapped. “Just because I forgot my door this once doesn’t make me a blithering idiot. And I have a bodyguard! He just… he’s just… well I’m not sure where he is actually.”

  She looked worried and went to the window to peek out into the darkness. Her towel flirted with the edge of her ass cheeks as she looked for her supposed bodyguard. Mack clenched his fists so he wo
uldn't stalk over to her, bend her over the counter and bite into her plump ass before eating her out from behind. His dick was not getting the message that she was too young for him, too innocent and not interested.

  “You don't think anything happened to him?” she asked, worried.

  Mack shook his head in disgust. Trust the naive Amish girl in the big city to worry about a Russian soldier whose job was to keep her safe after her apartment had just been broken into. Mack shoved his hair off his face and ran a hand over the blond stubble on his cheeks. “I’ll look into it.”

  “Okay,” she said softly, turning around to look at him. She crossed her arms in front of her as though realizing exactly how little she wore. There was no hiding the hard ridge of his erection. He wore only a pair of faded jeans and an old grey T-shirt that moulded to his chest. He rarely wore a coat, except in winter, since he tended to run hot.

  “Why are you staying here?” he demanded gruffly. “No offence, but I don't see good ol’ Vladimir letting you out of his sight. He’s a controlling fuck, pardon my language, and you are an innocent in a lion’s den in a city like this. Seems a weird choice to let you live on your own in this area.”

  She smiled a little, flashing him some teeth. He felt something in the region of his chest melting, but didn't want to examine what it could be. He had been certain his ex-wife had killed all things emotional left in him after his mother had finished with him and his sister.

  “He didn't have a choice,” Lucy explained softly. “Rumspringa is about choice and experience. Amish youth are meant to go out and experience independence, which I cannot do under the constant supervision of my indulgent brother-in-law. With Jane’s extremely convincing arguments, and I believe threat to move out with me, he helped set me up here with a security system and a round the clock bodyguard.”