Shattered: Running with the Devil Book 7

by Jasmin Quinn

  The woman heading towards the diner was the same height as Yekaterina. 5’3”, but this one had long dark brown hair that hung past her shoulders in seductive waves. Thinner by maybe 20 pounds, which meant nothing – people lost and gained weight all the time. She wore no glasses, again it meant nothing. What she would have is a dimple on her right cheek if she grinned, and a small heart-shaped tattoo under her right ear. The smile in the picture, one of genuine joy, was probably Yekaterina’s last happy one before her world imploded on her. He’d studied that smile for several weeks now. It drew him, inflamed him, haunted him. And now, well now, if he saw it, he would know.

  He’d been following the woman since the day he arrived in Vancouver, over a week now. One of his contacts had left him a message on the dark web, pointing to her. Right age, height, nationality. A possibility worth his time to check out. Her life in Vancouver surprised him and he hadn’t yet decided if she was admirably intelligent or painfully stupid. Her alias was Katerina Smirnovna and for the past year and a bit, she’d been in the employ of Anatoly Kharzin. Anatoly Kharzin was one of the most feared bratva men in both North America and Russia. She would be well protected, but also vulnerable if the bratva found out her secrets.

  It was exciting – this possibility. As he was tracking her, he had imagined her hiding in a small town in a small house with a picket fence because that’s what women did when they wanted to hide. They nested, they married, had children, created a life of lies that was convincing enough even to themselves. They’d forget about their past sins, think their indiscretions wouldn’t catch up to them. And for Alexei, they were painfully predictable.

  But if she were the woman, if she were Yekaterina then it got so much more interesting, because she was still flirting with danger. No children, no husband, no picket fences. It would shake up the mundaneness of what he had originally thought of as just another job. A little more to this woman than silly blue hair and black lipstick. Maybe a little more challenge.

  Being a contract killer wasn’t as glamorous as the movies made it out to be. The only thing that films got right was the very good pay. Otherwise, it could be quite boring. He didn’t get shot at, his victims didn’t outwit him and none of them ever fought back. No. Those who saw their death in his eyes, begged and pleaded for him not to kill them. But even that was rare because he wasn’t a cat and he didn’t play with his prey. If they were to be dead, he made them dead. If there was information to be extracted before they died, then he extracted it. He rarely had to hit anyone or make them bleed. He had simple methods of torture that were generally quite effective, especially if the victim believed that they would live once they gave up their information. Of course, they never did. If he had a conscience, he might feel bad for lying.

  It was a career though, like any other. He got the contract, did the job, got paid. The worst thing about it was the travel. The hotels, the jet-lag and the food. Especially the food. These days, he found himself less inclined to eat anything that came from an animal. It seemed savage and barbaric to destroy a life to feed himself.

  Alexei followed the pretty little woman into the diner. She ate there almost everyday for lunch and he found it interesting. She didn’t appear to make her own meals. Even her shopping was simple. Cereal and almond milk, fruit, cottage cheese, sometimes chips or popcorn. Occasionally a deli sandwich and salad. She didn’t seem to have a refined palate.

  She sat at the counter, where she usually sat, on the exact same stool she’d occupied the day before. Such a creature of habit. All humans were, including himself. It would be interesting research, and maybe one day when he retired from this job, he would study it and write papers. How not to be killed by an assassin. That would be a good book to write.

  Setting aside his post-retirement aspirations, he decided that today was the day to determine whether he was wasting his time. Today he was going to get up close and personal with her. He hoped she was Yekaterina and he hoped she would be as interesting as she seemed. If she were the woman, they’d get to spend a lot of time together. First, she had information he needed, then very likely they would have to travel to retrieve the little prize she’d hidden away six years ago. Then of course, she’d die. But he was already coming to like this woman so he didn’t spoil his day by dwelling on her death.

  If she was Yekaterina.

  As he approached the counter, the waitress dropped a glass of water in front of his mark and said, “The usual?”

  The woman nodded. So serious. He had to get her to smile or draw her hair behind her ear. He sat down on the stool next to her and watched as she stiffened her spine. A little spark of satisfaction raced through his veins when she turned to him. Green eyes, sharp, sparkling, suspicious. “You must not be from around here,” she said.

  She made no attempt to hide her accent. He, on the other hand, knew how to sound like many different ethnicities. Today he was going to be straight up American. “Why do you say that?”

  She was studying him, examining him, trying to decide about him and he loved that she was doing that. Being curious in an almost aggressive manner, unlike most Canadians and even Russians for that matter. Maybe it was because of her bratva ties or maybe it was because she’d been on the run for six years.

  Alexei wasn’t worried about what she would see. She’d see what he wanted her to see, decide what he wanted her to decide. He was very good at his job, very good at not standing out. When he wasn’t trying to hide, he was six feet tall and 190 pounds, but not fat. He kept in good shape. Women noticed him when he wanted them to and ignored him when he wanted them to.

  Today, he rounded his shoulders to make himself look less tall and confident, wore slightly out-dated glasses and scuffed loafers, an old Henley too tight across his little faked potbelly and some boring brown golf pants. Today, his blue eyes were brown, his brown hair was blonde. He had a growth of whiskers on his chin that was intentionally patchy and he smelled a little sweaty, like his 12-hour deodorant had only lasted six hours.

  Whatever she saw didn’t impress her and she answered his question with a question. “Where are you from?”

  He spun his stool a little towards her. “Seattle.”

  She frowned like she’d just bitten into an anchovy and she reached for her water to wash the taste of his unsavouriness out of her mouth. “Why are sitting next to me? Anyone from Canada or Seattle would know that you are invading my personal space.”

  Alexei shrugged, a small pitiful smile. Little stuck-up princess, deeming him unworthy already. “The seat was open and you’re pretty enough, I guess. Thought it might be nice to talk to someone over lunch.”

  The waitress came by with a menu and dropped it in front of Alexei. “To drink?”

  He smiled at her too, but she didn’t smile back. He decided he didn’t like this disguise. It made him too unattractive. “Water’s fine.”

  As she left, he turned to the little Russian, “Where are you from? That’s a pretty accent you have.”

  “It’s French Canadian,” she said lightly, and Alexei almost laughed out loud. It was the worst French-Canadian accent he’d ever heard. And even though he thought she was being flip, he wanted to say that to her, but it was too soon to give her a clue. Six years of running, she might still be guarded.

  The waitress returned with his water and a cheeseburger for the Russian. He tried not to frown as she dug into it, taking a huge bite, then two smaller ones, chewing quickly and using water to help wash it down.

  “I’m Alex,” he said to the little savage devouring her meat as he handed the menu back to the waitress. “Just a tomato and lettuce sandwich please. Whole wheat, not toasted and nothing on it but butter.”

  Alexei turned back to the Russian who had already taken three more bites of her burger and was wiping her greasy fingers on a napkin. “And you are?”

  She wiped at her lips. “Kate.”

  “I’ve seen you in here before, Kate.” He shouldn’t have said that, but she was so intrigu
ing. Her lack of response to him as a male was unusual for a woman her age. Granted, he wasn’t a prize in his current disguise, but even so, he was paying her attention and that should have gotten at least a casual glance or two. But nothing and so he wanted to goad her a little.

  She dropped the napkin on the counter and took another bite of her burger, chewed then swallowed and Alexei got caught up in the bob of her throat. If she were mine, he thought, there’d be no more burgers for the little wild cat. He’d want her mouth clean and minty when he kissed her.

  She reached for her water and took a deep drink. “Are you stalking me, Alex?” She said it matter of fact, barely glancing at him. A lesser man would be pissing himself at this point because she was truly that lovely and contained.

  Alexei decided not to let her put him off. “Not really stalking you, no. But you’re not hard on the eyes, so I noticed you.” He watched the little frown play at her lips as he said this. He thought she wasn’t happy with his praise. It wasn’t big enough for her. For some reason, that gratified him.

  “There are other beautiful woman that eat here too.” Alexei almost laughed out loud at the little compliment she gave herself.

  He shrugged, looked around at the other patrons, then back to her. “But none with the colour of your eyes.”

  That got her attention and she gazed at him. Stroking him. Contemplating him, like she was trying to make up her mind. “Okay.” She nodded as the waitress brought by his sandwich and set it in front of him.

  Alexei took a bite. The tomatoes tasted like garbage. Not fresh, not even sliced today. “Okay what?” he said, his mouth still full of the foul-tasting shit.

  “Okay, I’ll have sex with you.”

  Alexei choked on the bite of his sandwich, had to rinse it down with his water. “You’ll what?”

  Her gaze was flat, hard, uncompromising. She flicked her eyes to her watch then back to him. “I only have ten minutes though. Will that be enough time? Are you close by?”

  Alexei was speechless, which was not anything he’d ever been by accident. “I… that.. uh… ”

  She nodded like he had just confirmed what she was thinking. “Probably plenty of time.”

  He dropped his sandwich on the plate and narrowed his eyes at the little Russian hellcat. Ten minutes wouldn’t even be close to what she’d need if he decided to fuck her. Poor little kitten. But he had to establish her true intent. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  Then she grinned, a beautiful, bright smile, showing her perfect white teeth and a little dimple. And he knew. His heart leapt into his throat, his chest thudded and he was irritated by his response to the realization that he was going to get to play with this woman.

  He’d found Yekaterina.

  She threw some money on the counter, stood and placed both her hands on his shoulders from behind, giving him a small pat. “Sorry, Seattle. I just realized I have no condoms with me. Maybe another time.”

  She didn’t wait for a reply as she turned and strolled out the door. Little tease. Alexei took another bite of his sandwich then abandoned it, almost spitting the tomato back onto the plate. He threw some bills on the counter and left.

  He wanted to catch up with her, press his gun into her side and force her to walk with him to his car. Make her understand the fragility of her existence. But he didn’t have an ego, not really. She would find out soon enough not to fuck with him.

  Past Sins: Running with the Devil Book 8

  Release date: June 28, 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Jasmin Quinn. All Rights Reserved

  About Jasmin

  Jasmin Quinn is a writer in her heart and soul and loves reading and writing highly erotic romance novels with strong male and female characters. She writes intense and sexy romance with a hint of suspense, a splash of intrigue and a whole lot of Alpha male.

  Jasmin tries not to take herself too seriously, but some things matter to her – like good manners, compassion for humans and animals alike, and Canadian maple syrup on vanilla ice cream. She generally disregards other people’s opinions of her unless they’re complimentary, in which case she fully embraces them.

  When Jasmin isn't writing, she's a beta reader and editor for Jem Monday Publishing. She also likes to fuss with her website, lunch with her friends, indulge in retail therapy, and play the occasional computer game. She stays in shape by exercising her rights to her opinion.

  Jasmin lives in beautiful British Columbia, Canada with her husband.

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