Sinful Red

by Celia Crown

  “Boilers?” I mimic his eyebrows.

  “Industrial-sized,” he confirms.

  Adam is an artist in his own ways when he wants to use torture methods. It should not surprise me that he brought an industrial-sized boiler to turn his victims into tomato soup.

  “Hmm, you are still a creature of habits.” I shake my head as Eric’s hand reaches down to his knee and he laces our fingers together in an act that makes my heart flutter.

  I’m getting weak. This is what happens when fate throws love into the equation of death and Eve. It’s no longer my name or title. I don’t want anything to do with it, so I prefer to be called Nora now.

  If the situation calls it, I have a backup identity that I can use in case I need to burn this one.

  Adam laughs, his voice rumbling in the serene atmosphere. “I believe you find that endearing, my Eve. Your Eric is also a creature of habits.”

  “You know better than that,” I warn him lightly.

  The tick in his eyes betrays his calm façade. Adam is smarter than anyone I know, and he knows that there is a line he cannot ever cross.

  “Yes, yes, I know. Never harm your precious Eric, I receive that message loud and clear.”

  I never told anyone about Eric, but Adam has ears everywhere, and I’m sure his pupil had spoken to Adam about his findings. Information gathering requires more than just the target itself. The file needs to be filled from relatives to a distant friend from fifth grade.

  It’s a heavy silence when he talks again, “You’re retiring.”

  I nod as Eric squeezes my hand in confusion. I curl my fingers to rub his knuckles. It does the trick of calming him down as it’s a gesture that he’s familiar with. I didn’t mean it to be conditioning, but if it means to bring him peace, then it’s fine with me to use it.

  “Yes, do you have a problem with it?” My nails tap on the tablecloth with the tune of an old Spanish song playing through the speakers of the restaurant.

  I don’t recognize the song, but I do notice the tune and rhythm is familiar to other Spanish songs that played during the old days. The former Eve and my kidnapper, I refuse to call her my ‘master,’ would always play old songs from her time in Barcelona. Her taste in music runs from her heritage as an offspring of Spanish descendants.

  Her past is shrouded in mysteries, and I never had the opportunity to know more because all she wanted was to train me to take over the position as Eve. Her time is spent working my body to infinity and beyond, and her other times would go to her hours of dancing by herself to old music.

  It was her signature; she would dance to the tune of upbeat music and dance through the dead bodies that she left at her feet. Depending on the pace of the song, she would adjust the tempo of her solo dances.

  Haunting and full of suspense, she’s nicknamed the Dancing Devil. Ambitious and corrupted, she banishes men’s reservations and sinks her seduction claws into them before letting her desire for blood meddle with their bloodcurdling screams for mercy.

  “I have no problem with it,” Adam says, chuckling in shortness of breath. “You were always a soul of freedom. You can never be tied down.”

  He leans back to his chair, creaking under his weight as he shifts while crossing his arms over his chest. His suit is still crisp with lines from ironing and precision cuts of a tailor.

  “I would know. I have tried.”

  Adam does try to tie me down, he thinks he’s subtle when it comes to his objectives, but he isn’t Eric. I don’t believe that I have been attached to anyone, and I don’t find anyone that makes my heart race more than Eric and his naivety.

  He doesn’t have the skills to protect me from professional killers, but he still wants to try with a hand in mine. He wants to be the shield for bullets and knives. He may not have the skills, but he has the heart of a warrior hell-bent on protecting.

  He is very special, I knew that from the very beginning, and I will continue to say it until I die.

  “You’re not going to let me convince you to stay?” Adam tries with a smirk.

  I open my mouth with a chuckle, but Eric answers for me. “No.”

  “Well, you heard him.” I shrug, tilting my head towards Eric’s broad shoulders.

  One would think he is in my world from the way he is built; he has the size of a monster and the strength of men who have trained for years, but it’s his fierce stubbornness that makes him stand out from every contract killer who wants to stay hidden.

  Eric gets too much attention, and I am slightly irked that the workers in the restaurant are eyeing Eric as if he is a piece of meat. I do not care of Adam. He gets ogled on a daily basis, and I feel nothing towards him so they can look however passionate as they wish.

  I do hope that they try to burn a hole through his skull with their stares.

  “And, Adam, please do not take another pupil,” I glare at him through my lashes, the slight tug on my ponytail pricks my skull when I cock my head to the other side.

  I peer through the windows; cars are going by and people are walking across while the world moves on; no news on any developments regarding the deaths in the town where we were at.

  By now, the FBI would be at the prison to assess the situation and help the warden control the potential riot that might have broken out. The town would be in shambles trying to find out why there are unrelated murders going around; there are three separate incidents that are too close in time.

  The death of a prison inmate, the deaths of two people with crows in their hands, thanks to Adam’s egotistic pupil, and then the deaths at the diner where I worked.

  It might take the FBI longer to put the pieces together or not at all, I keep up with the changes in their headquarters with my contacts, and I was told that there were changes of people all around the FBI department.

  I question if that has anything to do with Adam’s stunt of infiltrating in there and stealing classified data just for the hell of it. He walked in the headquarter with his Casanova charm and British accent, seduced women from every department, and walked out with millions of classified data in his hand.

  The women wouldn’t talk because they are too smitten with him; it’s a botched form of Stockholm Syndrome. Till this day, they all swear that Adam did not do anything wrong, and their love will get him to safety.

  “Do I at least get a farewell kiss, for old time’s sake?” Adam cracks a grin.

  I control my expression when Eric’s grip becomes unbearably tight as he glares at Adam. He’s a jealous man, and I shouldn’t be feeling ecstatic about it. What my heart wants isn’t what’s best for me, but nothing can go wrong when it’s Eric.

  “As your farewell gift to me, scatter ashes across the land of sin,” I said.

  Chicago has many gangs, but the one I want to be gone is the one that has caused Eric harm. I’m sure Adam can narrow down the lists of gangs that are dominating Chicago with their illicit activities, though it wouldn’t be hard for him to use his skills to blend in and gather information.

  “You wish for me to round up the ants and watch them burn?” he suggests ambiguously, but there is interest in his eyes as they curve with a slither of his tongue wetting his bottom lip.

  I heard a squeal from a girl by the cash register, but I don’t see the appeal of his attractiveness. I’m immune to his looks. Sometimes I wonder why women throw themselves at him because he has crazy written under his skin.

  “They played with fire, Adam.” I harden my gaze.

  They hurt Eric, and that is enough reason for me to come after them. If they have left Eric alone, I would have turned the other way and let them go do their illegal activities. They tried to force Eric to return to his home city and face the punishments for going against the gang, but they also dragged me in it when they waved the gun at Eric.

  I do not respond kindly to threats.

  “Dead Sea apple,” Adam scoffs, drumming his long and slender fingers on the table.

  I smile, the emotion doesn’t
reach my eyes, and Eric’s heat from his palms soothes the simmering anger in my stomach.

  “From the root,” I say.

  Eric is emitting a sense of confusion from his massive body. I assure him that nothing is going to happen to him when I squeeze his hand as I smile the same smile I would give him. It’s genuine, and nothing I have experienced with him had been made up.

  “You are wicked,” Adam shakes his head with a fond expression on his face.

  I counter back, “You are a sinner.”

  Adam doesn’t do things he likes for money. He does it as if it’s his hobby to bring maximum chaos, so he is the perfect entity to do this. I want to watch the streets of Chicago light up in mayhem through a river of red; innocents will be spared, but those who have wronged Eric will pay their sins with blood.

  “Apple has deep symbolism of temptation, the fall of man, and sin,” Adam offhandedly mentions and flash his eyes towards Eric whose posture is stiff and on guard.

  “You are the apple of his eyes,” Adam rolls his tongue in his casual British accent.

  I am everything to Eric, just as he is everything to me.

  “His downfall is going to be the blood on your hands,” Adam stands from his chair and straightens his suit.

  I scoff lightly, “Are you worried?”

  “About him?” Adam cocks an eyebrow but shakes his head, “No.”

  The waitress is starting to approach; in her hands is the check that Adam is going to pay when he reaches into his breast pocket.

  “You, on the other hand, would fiddle while Rome burns. For the sake of others, I wish Eric good luck.” Adam gives a solid twenty-dollar bill to the waitress and leaves through the front door as if he isn’t a wanted man by the police.

  I stand too and pull on my hand. Eric doesn’t let up the tightness of his grip. I get the sense that he thinks I’m going to run and disappear amongst the roaming people on the streets.

  I guide him out the side door where the strong sunlight sears onto my skin. The animosity of the heat is unforgivable as the mid-summer humidity kick starts the trail of goosebumps at the change of temperature from the restaurant.

  “Nora,” Eric calls, demanding my attention.

  I sigh and stop to the side of the sidewalk so others can go through. One of the pedestrians looks over out of curiosity, and she can’t decide which one of us to look at while her interest seems to stay on Eric longer.

  “I want an explanation,” he hisses, eyes wild and commanding as the rawness of his voice sends shivers down to my fingertips.

  My pulse under his hand jumps and he grips tighter, but I remain calm since this isn’t the right time nor place to talk about something like this.

  “Later, I promise.”

  “No, now,” he presses, glaring his order through the deepness of his brown eyes and holding onto my green ones.

  “What do you want to know?” I give him briefly, cautiously watching the people that pass us.

  We’re close by the walls, so there is enough space for people to walk without the ability to eavesdrop into our conversation, but I can’t rule out those who are too nosy and strain their ears to listen with their feet carrying them in a pace too slow to be inconspicuous.

  “Adam,” Eric hisses out as if it’s venomous and the most hated word in his vocabulary.

  I don’t bother to lie or deceive him with half-truths, “He’s an acquaintance and an ex-husband.”

  “What!” the sneer of shock comes expected as I stand calm, “You’re married?”

  I don’t want to cause a bigger scene, and it’s nothing to hide either, so I just tell him everything in the most minimal detail, “We pretended to be married for a job, but that was a long time ago, and we are nothing.”

  “For how long?” Eric frowns. I’m tempted to smooth the wrinkles on his forehead.

  His worry is appreciated, but I don’t think it’s necessary because it’s not a big deal. Eric has nothing to be worried about, and he shouldn’t feel threatened over Adam of all people; he is the last person I want to ever see because nothing ever good happens when he is near me.

  The whole mess back at the other town is a testament to my supposition.

  “A month,” I mention distantly, those are the times that I would rather not think about it.

  I’m embarrassed to even remember it. It was days and days of pretending to be his wife that made number one on my cringe list.

  What a nightmarish month.

  “He’s had you for a month,” Eric scowls, teeth baring, and he slants his lips over mine while digging his fingers into my hair.

  I probably shouldn’t tell him that Adam and I go way back, and we have had more than one run-ins with each other. It’s unimportant ancient history that should stay in history. It won’t do Eric any good if he knows about every immoral thing I have done.

  I try to calm him down; his jealousy is adorable but unwarranted. “You have had me for three months, my love.”

  That gets him thinking, and he whispers against my lips; people on the sidewalks are staring with no shame. It’s the closest juicy action they will see because this town is just as dull and boring as the one before.

  “And for the rest of our lives, you are mine.”

  I mewl softly and giggle on his lips. His possessiveness has heat pooling in my belly. My panties are soaking from the juices leaked through my small pussy hole. It’s a tempting idea to push him into an alley and let him have his big cock spurt hot cum in my tiny cunt.

  “You don’t know what I am—”

  He bites my bottom lip, “I don’t care who you were, I know my Nora. You will tell me everything, and I’ll take the brunt of your burden, but you can’t leave me.”

  I open my mouth to tell him that I am a contracted killer and there will always be people coming after me; old enemies hold too many grudges, and former clients will still reach out to me for services while new clients will be referred to me in an attempt to bring me out of retirement.

  Those words died in my throat when Eric presses his thumb to the pulse of my neck, feeling the rhythm of my heart as he doesn’t back down with those dark eyes filled with determination and possessiveness that could be mistaken for obsession.

  Good thing I am prepared with three backup plans for every job. I shift the straps of my backpack and feel the weight of cold hard cash and two new sets identities for myself and Eric.

  One with the names we have now under different last names and different background information. The other is a completely brand-new life that has no connection to anything in our pasts.

  “Don’t you want a life where you can settle down?” I ask as the final attempt to have him think about the consequences of sticking to the plan he has in mind.

  “Yes, with you.”

  The things he says to make my heart flutter like a school girl. I close my eyes and shake my head with a small laugh under my breath. I just had to fall in love with a man so stubborn that his life has no meaning if he isn’t with me.

  I suppose I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Then, let’s run away together, my love.”

  Epilogue

  Nora

  Three years Later.

  Our first year together was rough. We had to move multiple times to ensure that we were not being tracked by others, and we had to be positive that we would no longer be in danger.

  Eric understands that my job comes with many forms of enemies, but I don’t think he fully understands the concept of being a contract killer and the risks that are attached to me. One of the biggest concerns he has that he will never have a permanent home because we were often moving around and changing names.

  It’s the reason for most of our arguments. I wouldn’t call it fights because it’s hardly a fight when I’m trying to keep him safe every time I deem it is time for us to leave again. Being on a tight schedule must make him feel trapped like a prisoner being dragged along. He’s itching to settle down, and all I have be
en doing is yanking his chains.

  Eric has always wanted a home, somewhere he can feel safe and let his guard down for the rest of his life. His childhood isn’t ideal for any child, but he survived by being brave and took matters into his own hands while being able to escape the claws of his former gang.

  I can see why his desire to find a permanent home so strong, and I am the one stomping on his dream.

  Every time he finds a place that he can call home for a couple of months, I would have to be the monster and tell him that we need to leave. He either doesn’t know it or doesn’t try to show it, but at those times, I am the monster in his eyes.

  I can live with it; all I care about is that he is alive.

  At the back of my mind where I have calculated the probabilities, and they are no in my favor, I was wrong before, and I don’t think I can ever be what he needs when my sins have the footprints that I have created.

  Someday, someone would catch up to me, and I can’t be the one to uproot Eric’s life again. I did it more than one time, and enough is enough, Eric wouldn’t be able to handle another relocation again.

  He’s been agitated these months and being in different houses for three years would drive anyone to the brink of insanity.

  I decided that Queenstown, New Zealand is his final stop.

  The last identity and last relocation, New Zealand would be the perfect little spot for him. Queenstown has a nice city where there is a good amount of greens around it. Eric can have both if he gets sick of the busy city or the silence of the trees.

  I brought a single-level house under his new name and opened a bank account that is funded with more than enough money to not raise any apprehension from the bank, but I did open a Swiss account and wired so much money that it would take two lifetimes for him to empty and only he has access to it.

  Not me or anyone else.

  The information about how to access the bank account in Swiss is in a safety deposit box in the vault of his New Zealand bank.

  Being a contracted killer has given me lucrative rewards, and I still have money left to support me without having to return to my previous profession to get more.