by Amarie Avant
We’d fit perfectly into that elite world. Freedman’s private butler allows us entrance into the Octavius Villa. Mikayla’s mouth is agape just perfectly. I can’t wait to show her the home I built for myself. Her eyes land on every little trinket and I know I could become an unstoppable killing machine just to keep a smile like that on her face.
“Mr. Freedman is awaiting your presence,” the butler says, as we follow him.
The dining room is an exquisite large handcrafted wooden table. A newspaper in William’s hand covers his face.
“You’re here,” he glances down at his Rolex. “Right on time, but you two must forgive me. See, my wife found out I was in town and she’d like me to take her shopping. So please sit, eat, and allow me to make it up to you later on. There’s this event that you both look perfect for. Say you’ll attend. The two of you look… delicious.”
Just as I suspected. It would be a shame to have to kill him here, the butler had nothing to do with this.
“Where?” I ask.
“I’m not sure yet, it’s a private club, but if you’d be so inclined to provide the butler your cell phone number while you’re eating breakfast, you’ll be notified of the location an hour prior to the festivities.”
With that, William rushes out of the room. I pull out a seat for Mikayla as she seems reluctant and appears baffled.
“He’s creeping me out, Jag-Jace,” she whispers.
“Don’t worry, he probably wants to watch the two of us screw.”
Her eyes bug out.
“That’s never going to happen sweetheart. We will still be receiving an invitation to an exclusive sex club…”
“Jagger,” she grits silently, forgetting to call me by my alias. “I gathered as much from his cryptic talk. That man is too damn old for that kind of lifestyle. Heck, I’m too old. A sex club? I’m appalled that you didn’t correct his ass.”
I give Mikayla a sardonic look. We chatted about breaking her in, but not with an audience. There’s no way in hell any other man is looking at or touching her, and for William to offer such a proposition means the asshole is blatantly begging to be tortured before he dies.
Our food is served a few minutes later. Her arms are folded, and her thick lips are bunched in a way only Mikayla can make look cute. What the hell is cute anyway? I used to be a fan of exotic, and erotic, like Ava Sinclair. Now, I’m plain addicted to innocent, and cute, like Mikayla.
“Madame, please let me know if anything isn’t to your liking.” The butler places French toast before her.
“Oh, no worries here, unless you count the fact that my husband is in the dog house.”
The discreet man’s face never wavers. He offers a nod in understanding and takes a stand in the farthest area of the room to allow us privacy.
I pick up my fork and dig in. “Eat, Uthando lwami. This tastes even better than the junk you called your last meal a few days ago.”
Her lips pull tighter.
***
The remainder of the day is ours for the taking. Since the piece of crap in the bed of my truck is virtually useless, we head to an exotic rental company across from Tropicana. She’s taken by the McLaren as I head toward the motorcycles.
“Jagger, we could be riding in style,” she grins. “Or…”
Her mouth drops. Like a fly to honey, she moves toward the Lamborghini Aventador. “It’s lime green just like my sorority!"
I clear my throat, it’s not the exclusive Lamborghini I had chosen to sell Mikayla for, but recalling how easily I gave into Ava’s request has me weighed down with guilt.
“No, we’re here to rent a motorcycle.”
“Humph, I’d rather not.”
Her upper lip curls. Shit, I’d love to kiss her mouth right now, but my glare connects with hers. We haven’t touched since leaving The Aria. Freedman’s request has Mikayla agitated, and I don’t have the social skills to pacify her.
“Well, too bad, Mikayla. I need you comfortable on one. And one day, I’ll teach you how to ride.”
“Okay,” she acquiesced, strutting away from it. “We could’ve went to Budget Car Rentals if you’re in a grumpy mood. Or how about that?”
She eyes a Polaris Slingshot, which has two front wheels and one centered in the back. It’s a two-seater with no doors or a roof and can kick up enough speed for Mikayla to grow accustomed to, once we’ve solidified her in the X Member organization. I will mold her soon enough.
Mikayla walks closer to the Polaris that’s on a 360 display, turning slowly. “Whatever this is, it’s enough letting my hair down for the day, Jagger. I like the idea of you teaching me later… it implies you and I’ll still have a connection once we get to South Africa.”
“Why would you say such a thing, Mikayla?” Instantly, I taste my fucking foot in my mouth.
Once William Freedman is dealt with, I’ve got to investigate who sent the African and the Armenian’s our way. So far, Las Vegas has been a short holiday, would be nice to extend it out to forever and never return Mikayla home. That’s my plan, but we haven’t progressed to her being comfortable enough in my world, yet. Loose strings can be tied up, whomever sent them will be dealt with, but for the first time since I was a kid and watching my parents love, craving that shit one day, I’ve started to contemplate a future.
It still includes murder. But now I’ll have to transform an innocent and make her my bad girl.
“I’m saying, Jagger, you’re holding out on me. I’m aware of Prince Fari, and a tropical island sounds nice enough to vacation on. But I’m still not seeing myself as,” her voice lowers, “royalty. Nor do I see myself married to a man without so much as ensuring we are compatible. You and I aren’t compatible, but you’re growing on me. After that argument with Trick, you refused to screw me. Then all of a sudden you caved. Now, I’ve spent half the day nervous about Freedman, and I have a few questions for you.”
“Damn. I heard women love to bring up old stuff, but wait a while, beautiful,” I tell her while signaling an attendant. We’ll get the damn Polaris.
“Oh yeah, you never did apologize for being a jerk to me after I saved your life. When we left Trick’s the other night, and you slept on the couch, I cried myself to sleep, Jagger. So I’ll hold this shit over your conscience until you–”
“I apologize.” The words come out with a quiet forcefulness to them and are not to be questioned. My eyes warn her to take the damn apology. And then I glance over at a woman in a black pant suit with a nameplate, she holds up her index finger to indicate ‘one more moment’ while offering a smile.
Mikayla chews her bottom lip. “Wow, I didn’t expect that.”
“What did you expect?” I keep my eye on the attendant with dark hair, ready to get the hell out of here. The woman seems to be answering meaningless questions.
Stepping in my line of vision, Mikayla says, “Your apologies sucks, so I anticipated a ‘why’ instead of you caving in. I’m willing to forgo a proper apology and instead have you give me a few answers. I’ll go right on ahead and ask. For example, why did you hold yourself back from me, Jagger, in the first place? We connected. I know we did.”
The dark-haired woman starts over, I place a hand on Mikayla’s shoulder and nudge her aside, while whispering a last response, “Beautiful, I do not answer to anyone.”
Mikayla
“So I’m just anyone?” I grit out. A disconcerting feeling clutches at my heart and funnels down in my abdomen, unsettling me enough to cross my arms over my belly. I swear, with Jagger’s quest to murder Freedman, I’ve been nothing but a ball of nerves. When Jagger isn’t touching my body, my mind runs rampant. And Freedman took precedence. Because my brain is setup to identify bodily threats.
I save people.
At least the sticky note on the mirror of my childhood bedroom has implied as much since I decided to become a doctor. Saving lives ain’t easy! Hence Freedman consuming my mind when Jagger wasn’t consuming me mind, body, and soul.
; Now, I’m starting to come to terms with the fact that Freedman cannot be saved. But why…why did Jagger not take me up on the offer to screw me sooner? I understand how the mind works and his vendetta he had against Trick, prior to their fight, okay, I’ll give him a pass. But after their fight, it was crystal clear that Trick was not his enemy—at least in that regard. And I never saw Jagger as a man with pro abstinence type morals. So what changed?
“Why!” My voice rises somewhat, slightly above respectable, in this semi-busy establishment, depending on whom you asked.
“Screwing a mark is grounds for death through the X Member Society, Mikayla.” Jagger’s eyes sweep away from me, and he addresses someone behind us while jutting his chiseled chin to the futuristic hybrid car, motorcycle, or whatever the hell you’d call it.
My bottom lip drops but there’s no time to respond to him, as a brunette introduces herself and they engage in a discussion about what’s needed to rent the damn thingamajig. White noise grates my eardrums.
He denied me repeatedly, and I continued to seduce him. Questions bombard my psyche. Such as what does he mean grounds for death? Someone will… kill him? I suck in a breath, wishing I had listened to my mother! This is a prime example of abstinence until the marital bed—albeit, a peculiar example, but still a valid one.
I follow them to a glass table where we both sit down in leather chairs. Jagger slides over a false driver's license and a credit card, both using his alias, then he slips his hand in mine.
“Mrs. Windhoek…? Mrs. Windhoek?”
I’m in a daze until Jagger’s deep voice cuts in, “Alisha…”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I just,” I blink, flustered and at a loss at how stuck with grief I was.
The woman speaks up, “I was just mentioning Lake Mead and Red Rock Canyon are awesome scenic places for a ride. The slingshot taps out at 140 miles per hour.”
My only viable response is to ask why vehicles must go so fast, so I bite my tongue and smile instead. This woman has done nothing to me.
***
Jagger insists that I drive, once we’re settled down on another Polaris, stationed outside, and after gritting out that I prefer Red Rock Canyon, I give him the silent treatment. There’s no rearview mirror on this thing, so I ease my foot onto the gas. The damn thing zips forward, but I stop at the end of the driveway, where a river of endless pedestrians continues to cross over. A haze of dyspnea overwhelms me. And for the first time, it’s not due to a discomfort of traveling at a high speed on an unsafe slingshot.
How could Jagger die from us having sex? It seems so cruel.
“Mikayla,” Jagger begins.
I inch forward enough to scare the walkers into giving me a break. Twenty minutes and two miles later, I’ve traded The Strip for Interstate 15. While following the GPS to the national conservation area, air whips past my face offering an adequate amount of oxygen to cut my palpitations in half.
Thirty more minutes later and I start the thirteen-mile loop. Neither of us are dressed for the occasion, but my heart is finally beginning to settle. Often, there are groups or couples hiking the natural wonder of the orange-red painted rocky terrain.
And then it hits me. New memories are being formulated in my mind. Good ones that include a man I assumed I could never breath freely in front of. Although, a heavy sigh rolls through me now and then, and the future is still a murky question, I want this. Whatever the hell this is… with Jagger Johansson.
Veering toward the side of the road, I slam on the brakes. A plume of red dust rises up around us. With my vision distorted, I reach over and slap at Jagger’s arm again and again. How can we have this amazing connection? Why couldn’t we cross paths like two normal people! I continue to hit him, confused about the biggest question of all. I had a good life but do I honest to God care how Jagger stormed in like a tornado, uprooted me and everything I know. It’s only been four days, and I … like this.
“Stop, Kayla!”
His bark prompts me to feel the sharp prickles of my palm print due to the thick sinews of his biceps. I try to hit him, again, anyway. Jagger saves me from my anger by gripping my wrist, and squeezes as warning before letting go. Then he removes the helmet from over my head, before removing his own. We’re in an awkward position as he pulls me into a hug.
“You should’ve told me, Jagger,” I cry out in desperation.
“I just did, Kayla.”
I have it in my mind to hit him again, but he offers a glare that keeps me from hurting myself any further on his rock hard body. “You know good and damn well what I meant. Who will kill you? When?”
Jagger pushes his hand into his hair, the dusting of red sand ruins his suit jacket even more. “We have a lot more to talk about than some idiotic rules, Mikayla. For now, look at the scenery, it’s a lot more appealing than the artificial crap we left behind.”
I hold up my hands. “We left behind? Ha! We left behind my life, Jagger. You say I’m a princess, I’m certainly not the princess of the MGM Grand. Heck, I’m accustomed to utilizing a little more of the 10% of the brain we as humans employ. How much are you using?!”
“You are Princess of Nivean. Tomorrow morning, after Freedman is expired, we’ll discuss more of your past and what’s to become of your future.”
“What’s to become of my future?” I screech. “I-I … have feelings for you, Jagger. You either really aren’t that smart or cannot decipher social cues. Hello! I am aware some aspects of your initial plan include, you tossing me into my ‘new normal’ and then continuing on your merry way! Tell me what you meant by death due to screwing me, Jagger, tell me.”
He silently bites the tip of his thumb, then just glances off into the distance at the beautiful land we could be enjoying together. The sun feels hotter now that we’re at a standstill, and I’m still faced with the unknown.
“Alright, there’s such a thing as a kill-head in our organization. There are clauses that we all must abide by. Any assassin is able to take a contract, meaning the mark, which is you. Depending on the profile price, yours is a good amount, so…”
“So that increases the number of other hitmen eager to murder you and get the job done.”
“Yup, but nobody knows that we’re having sex, Mikayla.”
“Trick does.”
“He doesn’t do domestic gigs, and he owes me his life three times over. So far, I’ve just had you a little longer than deemed necessary, but the Zihula’s did not place a timeframe on the assignment. Listen, I’ve never been placed in the situation where I’d want to screw my target, Mikayla. I had to have you. End of fucking story.”
“Oh, you’re the best at being unapologetic,” I say, my reply reeking with sarcasm. “Are there always timeframes for when someone is to be murdered or abducted.”
“Almost always. Now, stop asking questions, Mikayla.”
“Yeah, because you know my next inquiry is why? Why not include in the profile that I must be taken by the end of the week? And why would both entities need to have me kidnapped? The Nivieans are supposed to be my people.
I read ‘The White Queen’ in my junior year in high school. They hide their royalty when there’s a threat, but the next in line to the throne is always made aware of it. Jagger, I’m not sure it’s safe for me to leave with them. And if I stay with you, your organization will surely know why. I can’t have people come after you–”
As response, Jagger presses my helmet back over my head. At least he doesn’t ‘bop’ it down over my head like he did the first night we met. He then places on his and presses the forehead portion of his helmet against mine. Some of the sunlight is diminished by his nearness, but his gaze is sincere.
“I fucked you, Mikayla, and I loved it. I plan to continue having my way with you until you grow tired of me…fuck, I’ll claim you until I’ve satiated myself with you, Uthando lwami, so screw the rules. And regarding the mysteries surrounding your seat at the Zihula, and or Nivean throne, we will figure both of those out together
.”
My eyes close as peace levels out the worry in my mind. I breath in the serenity of nature. Jagger’s mention of ‘we’ is a beautiful chorus to my ears.
Jagger
Later in the evening, there’s a thick coating of dust all over our skin and clothes as we return to our suite at The Aria. I shrug out of my blazer and Mikayla unbuttons her skirt, leaving a trail of dust on the marble floor.
“You know, Jagger, if you were gentlemanly enough to come to my home and steal me from my bed… like a lesser barbaric outlaw, I could’ve packed a few of my favorite sweats,” she says, her skirt falling down around her pretty light pink toenails.
“Today, wasn’t by the book for me,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “Fuck these clothes, you look gorgeous dirty.”
Before I can reach in to taste her lips, Mikayla inquires, “Speaking of, what is by the book for you?”
“Murder.” I bruise my mouth against hers in a hard kiss that brings a moan up Mikayla’s throat, my tongue diving in that beautiful mouth of hers, exactly where my cock has wished to be since we met. “And rampage. But despite ‘your little moment,’ we had a good day.”
“Oh, my little moment? When I attempted, desperately, to slap some sense into you?” She bites on my bottom lip. “Somehow, I see many more ‘moments’ of me attempting to knock some sense into you in the future. But, wait. Do we even have a future, Jagger?”
I’ve always lived life like a man who could die at any moment. With recklessness. Not to say that I move around like my life is a video game. I won’t respawn if I’m taken out, but there’s a level of freedom when it’s just me to worry about. It’s every man for himself, even during those occasional times when I hook up with Ava or another female assassin while on assignment. I couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck about a life other than mine… until Mikayla.