by S. Ann Cole
“Why don’t the Pinnacle just boot him from The Organization?”
“Because Rafail’s seat is inherited. His uncle was a part of The Organization, and he named Rafail as the inheritor of his seat for when he died. If your seat in The Organization is inherited, you can’t be booted or voted out. You’re a lifetime member. Matters in The Organization are very sensitive, and remember they answer to no one but themselves. There are no laws to adhere to but their own.”
My shoulders slumped as a sigh breezed out. “What a stupid ass organization. Those dumb laws need to change. If I knew where to find Rafail, I’d kill him my fucking self.”
I made that comment without thinking. The man was Chad’s father, after all.
Taking no umbrage, he merely chuckled. “Get in line.”
I studied his hand on mine. His fingers were long and masculine, but delicate at the same time. They weren’t crooked from too much knuckle cracking, and he had square nail beds with clean, filed fingernails. Nice hands, he had really nice hands. Oh, but the dirty, dirty deeds those nice hands did…
“Why does he want you dead?”
As if tired of answering questions, he let out a loud, obnoxious sigh, and dropped back on the bed, eyes drifting back to the ceiling, probably wishing he hadn’t started talking about this.
“I had no idea who was ordering hits on me, or why, until yesterday. Now it all makes sense. My life here has been pretty peaceful, until roughly two years ago when my aunt and her husband got murdered in their home, and I became sole guardian for their daughter, my cousin, Alina. This aunt was from my mother’s side, and much like the Niiveuxs, they are from old money, and the mothers passed their legacy down to their eldest daughters. My aunt was the oldest between her and my mother, so the legacy went to her. When my aunt died, because Alina is an only child, the legacy went to her—”
“And because Alina’s under your care, Rafail wants you dead so she will end up under your mother’s care, hence his care. Then he’ll do the same thing he did to you to manipulate her into signing over her family’s legacy to him in exchange for her freedom,” I summed up, my voice hollow, my blood alternating between cold and hot, indecisive of how it really wanted to flow. Oxygenated or deoxygenated?
Oh. God.
I’m so afraid. I’m so afraid to tell him.
“Yep,” Chad said. “That’s my summation, too. Can’t see any other reason why he’d want me dead.”
Maybe I shouldn’t tell him. What good would it do?
“How much is she worth?”
“Twelve.”
“Billion?”
“Jhay?”
“Yeah?”
“Whenever I’m talking figures to you, always assume I’m talking billions.”
“Mhmhm,” I absently responded, too busy warring in my head with my decision. To tell him or not to tell him?
No, I have to tell him. He told me everything tonight. Held nothing back, even when it hurt. If we were going to forgive each other and move forward, there needed to be no secrets. None.
“She has eyes like yours and hair like mine,” I whispered, so tremblingly soft I could hardly hear myself. “She’s beautiful.”
Chad’s whole body went still, and I could feel his questioning eyes on me, but I avoided them at all costs. “What?”
“She was so scared,” I said, voice getting even lower. “Her dark eyes were wet, pleading, as she begged me not to kill her. But I was ordered to keep her alive, so I did the same thing you did to me and told the in-training assassin assigned to me for that hit to duct tape her and lock her in her closet.”
Bracing up on his forearms, drawing himself away from me and further to the headboard, he shook his head once. “No.”
I nodded yes. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know who they were. But everything matches up. Two years ago, plus that name, Alina…I remembered her name. I remember it so well because ‘Alina’ was the last thing her mother whispered before she took her last breath. I remember her because when I looked at her, I saw myself at ten years old. I saw me.”
Vision blurred with tears, I stopped hiding and looked at Chad. His face was ashen, black eyes so glossy I could see my reflection in them. This was hurting him. It was clear he had a special love for this particular aunt. Of course, they had to have had a close relationship for her to leave her only daughter in his care.
“Why?” I cried. “Why would he order me to kill them? His wife’s only sister?!”
In a cold, gruff voice, he said, “You said it: my mother would get guardianship of Alina and she would automatically be under his care.”
“And what does—”
“You need to go.”
“What?”
Detached, hard, devoid of warmth, he reiterated. “You need to go. Go to your room.”
“Why?” I demanded.
He pinned me with that unfriendly black glare. “That aunt, I loved her. And it’s taking every bit of strength in me right now not to reach out and break your fucking neck. So just…go.”
Incensed with resentment, I eased up onto my knees and intrepidly leaned into his face. “How fortunate of you to have aunts and uncles and fucking cousins. I only had a mother, a father and a fucking brother, and you took them from me. All of them, gone! And now you want to whine like a bitch because you lost one fucking aunt? At least when I was killing her, I was killing a complete stranger. You, you knew who my—our family was and you still pulled the goddamn trigger.”
“Get out, Jhay,” he said, his warning deadlier now.
“Fuck you,” I venomously spewed.
He lunged for me, but I was quick in shifting and rolling off the bed, landing soundly on my back. I ignored the pain, and when he leaped off the bed and came at me, I pressed my palms flat on the ground to keep firm, brought my feet together in anticipation of his descent, so when he reached for me I drove my feet upward and slammed them to his chest, the force knocking him backward.
That gave me enough time to frog jump back to my feet and assume a defensive stance. Chad was standing upright by then.
Making the first move, I swung a punch at him, but he ducked so easily and slightly, my hand swinging through thin air, hitting nothing.
Chad’s eyes lit up with a mixture of rancor and humor. “You’ve got to do better than that if you want to take me down, Tweety Byrd.”
Gloriously, fantastically, gratifyingly naked, he was standing so calm and tall, imperturbable, like I was no match for him, and my nude jumping around was some form of entertainment. This pissed me off, and with an unwomanly growl I charged forward in thoughtless rage.
Chad moved in a blur, and before I knew what was going down, he was pressed up against me, his chest to my back, both my wrists held tightly behind me by one of his strong hands, and his other hand hooked around my neck.
Hot, peppermint breath down my ear made my stomach flip and the butterflies inside whistle. “You really think you can fight me, Tweety Byrd?”
I felt weak. Stupid. Vulnerable. Powerless. “Go fuck yourself.”
“You want to know why I’m always so calm, Jhay?” The question was rhetorical. “Because it’s easier not to get pissed off than it is to control myself after I get pissed off. Rage kills, it consumes you and makes you do impulsive shit. Calmness allows you to think clearly, which prevents you from making stupid decisions.” His lips were touching my ears now, his voice but a breath as he said, “Like engaging a fight you know you can’t win.”
“I. Hate. You.”
Keeping my hands in a firm hold behind me, he unhooked his other arm from around my neck, and slow and deliberate, he dragged it down the front of my body, before dipping said hand between my thighs.
I closed my eyes and cursed, because I knew my vagina was doing anything but hating him right then.
“These lips down here are singing a different song,” he breathed down my neck.
“You sicken me,” I hissed.
“If you get this amazingly
wet for someone who sickens you…”—he slipped a finger inside—”I’d pay any amount to see what happens for someone who…turns you on.”
As his finger slid in and out of me, in and out, in and out, I lost all sensible thoughts, my body giving up the fight and sagging into him, soft moans floating from my lips.
I felt his mouth on my neck as he moved backwards with me, in the opposite direction of the bed. Maybe I should have been paying attention, but with his tongue on my neck and his finger inside me, I chose the overpowering sensations instead of cognition.
Then that thrusting finger was gone, my hands were released, and Chad was in front of me instead of behind. Too late, I semi-consciously realized we were at his bedroom door, and before I could think to react, he pushed me across the threshold and slammed the door in my face.
The sharp snap of the lock came next, and I cursed myself. I was such a clown. Letting my fucking vagina control me.
Pounding my fists on the door, I yelled, “Open the goddamn door, you shithead!”
Nothing.
I pounded it, I kicked it, I kneed it.
Still nothing.
Then I resorted to begging, because he finger-fucked me right out of his room and left me hanging on the edge, the weight between my legs like a frigging kettlebell. Resting my forehead to the door, I begged, “Please, Chad, you can’t leave me like this. I need you.”
Nothing.
Then I got mad all over again and banged and kicked until I was tired. “Shithead psycho killer on crack! I hate you!” BangBangBang. “You’re gay and you suck big black dicks.” BangBangBang. “I hate you.” Bang.
Then I went back to begging and pleading. “Open the door, Chad. I’m sorry. I meant none of it…”
After fifteen minutes of alternating between hating him and needing him, I finally resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to drag me back in and fuck me ten shades of purple. So I hauled my pathetic ass off to my room, flung myself on the bed, buried my fingers inside me, and finished what he started.
FIFTEEN
And mortal life shall cease…
I slept in late the next day.
After all, it was around 3am when Chad kicked me out of his room, and around 4:30am when I caved to sleep.
Now it was noon. Hot noon. The sun at its peak in the center of that inimitable blue expanse called sky, burning into the clouds; the stronger the sun’s heat, the puffier and whiter the clouds’ boast.
Simply put, the noon was beautiful. Hot as a dragon’s tongue, but beautiful.
By the time I was showered and dressed in shorts and tank top, my love/hate from the night before was no more, leaving only the love. I was hoping Chad was done hating me, too. Because, honestly, we were like two idle teenagers.
Murderous teenagers, of course, but still…considering our past jobs, slitting throats, pulling triggers, blowing marrows and all, we should at least be acting a little more mature than this.
Catching my hair up in a ponytail, I started out of the room and stopped short when I noticed a guy moving down the hall toward Chad’s bedroom. He seemed less like an assassin looking to complete his objective, and more like a playboy in washed-out raggedy jeans, Timberlands and graffiti T-shirt.
Looping my ponytail in a bun, I directed my steps down the hall to Chad’s bedroom instead of my original path, tiptoeing behind the guy.
Unless he was here to kill Chad, what business did he have in his bedroom? And where the hell was Ronnie? I thought this place was supposed to be a fortress.
Chad’s bedroom door made only a faint creak when the guy pushed it open, and he walked in freely, like he knew the place as well as he knew the veins on his dick. Heading straight to the dresser, he opened a wooden box which was sitting on the center, and took out something jingly, like keys.
By the time he made to turn around, I was right there, my right forearm jamming to his chest, driving him back with a wretched force until he was slammed back against the wall.
“Who are you and what are you doing in this room?” I demanded.
The guy stared down at me without fear or surprise, and, holy wow, he was like a fucking Roman prince he was so hot. His gold eyes shone paranormally, like a mythical vampire’s, his lashes long and unnatural, his hair sandy-brown and waving loosely past his shoulders.
Full, impressionable lips curved up into a crooked grin, as he drawled sexily, “You’re her, aren’t you? The Killing Byrd.”
“The what?”
When he did nothing but stare down at me with that damn disarming grin of his, I eased my elbow off his chest, but kept my body firmly pressed against him to ensure he remained where I pinned him. I reached down the length of his right hand that clutched the thing he stole from the wooden box on the dresser and pried his fist open. He obliged without a fight or struggle.
A keyring with four regular-sized copper keys on it.
“What are these keys for?” I questioned. “What do you want with them? And how did you get in here?”
Roman Prince’s gold gaze drifted down to where my body was pressed up tightly against his, and he shifted uncomfortably, making a strange groan in his throat, like a rapacious fat kid afraid of touching the mouth-watering chocolate cake dangling in front of him, knowing he’ll get into big, big, trouble if he ever dares.
“Look,” he said in a strained voice, “you’re pretty, and you’ve got a really nice rack, but I’ve got a super-crazy British wife downstairs waitin’, and I don’t think she’d be too happy ‘bout the way your tits are pressed up against me right now.”
Okay, so he and his wife were the Bonnie and Clyde type of assassins—or key thieves.
Running out of patience, I jammed my forearm back to his chest, then with my other hand reached down and grabbed his nut sack through his jeans. “Listen up, you cocky shit, if you don’t start talking, I’m gonna rip your fucking balls off and feed them to you.”
Again, the dauntless SOB grinned at me, flashing straight white teeth, then suddenly yelled, “Chadrick! I’m being sexually harassed in here!”
What an arrogant shit! Irritated, I immediately removed myself from him then chucked his chest. “I wasn’t sexually harassing you!”
Brown eyebrows shot up, crooked grin still present. “No? Then what would you call all that just now? Throwin’ me against the wall and feelin’ me up?”
“I was—”
Chad came into the room just then, well-dressed, fresh and fuckable, looking between me and the insolent prick. “What—” he started to ask.
But Roman Prince cut him off by pointing a finger at me and accusing, “She grabbed my dick.”
My mouth popped open. “I didn’t—”
“Say you didn’t,” Roman Prince dared, narrowing his eyes at me.
Sticking my middle finger up at him, I looked to Chad and explained, “I grabbed his balls, Chad. His balls.”
When Chad bit his bottom lip to hide a smile, and the Roman Prince doubled over in a bout of laughter, my cheeks flamed from embarrassment, then got redder from anger.
“Unless a man’s hard, you can’t grab his balls without grabbing his dick,” Roman Prince said. “It’s just not possible.”
“Yes it is,” I defended, just short of stomping my feet like a toddler. He was making me feel like a dunderhead. “You know I didn’t grab your dick. I don’t even like men!” I turned to Chad, who was just standing there with his arms crossed, lips folded. “I thought—I thought he was—who is he?”
Flicking his gaze over my head to Roman Prince, Chad shook his head in frustration as he spared, “That’s JK. My best friend.”
“Well, you need a new best friend, Blood,” I fumed, “because this one’s a despicable asshole.”
Like a petulant adolescent, I stomped out of the room, down the hall and into the kitchen. There was no sign of Vivian so I grabbed myself a cup of coffee, plopped down at the breakfast bar, and stewed. Not long after, I heard the two men ambling down the hall and talking a
bout some hill house.
They entered the kitchen and the JK dude took residence on the bar stool beside me. Retrieving a box of raisins from his pocket, he shook out a palmful, then began popping them into his mouth while he stared at me. Blatantly. Unapologetically. Impertinently.
Doing my best to ignore him, I focused on Chad instead, who was puttering about the kitchen, doing his best to ignore me.
He was still mad. Could he be any more unfair? How could he compare what he did to me and what I did to him, and think my sin was greater?
As much as he didn’t have a choice, I didn’t have a choice either. And once I learned the truth behind the whole thing, I forgave him. Easily. Why couldn’t he forgive me? He didn’t kill my family and I didn’t kill his aunt. His father did.
Sipping at my coffee, I stared him down. I wouldn’t stop staring until he looked at me. Apparently I was going to be left here again today, because he was fully dressed, not in his usual semi-formal fashion, but in black on black: black boots, black jeans and a tight-fitting, muscle-hugging black T-shirt, his silver cross pendant dangling on his chest.
The man was so fucking hot it was unimaginable.
“Are you leaving me here again?” I asked his back as he fished for the bowl of washed fruits from the fridge.
He kneed the fridge door shut, set the bowl on the countertop, plucked a strawberry and popped it into his mouth, still ignoring me.
“Whoa,” JK mumbled from beside me. “Snowflakes in hell.”
A bitter scowl twisting my features, I shot him a sidelong glance. “Didn’t you say your wife was waiting for you downstairs?”
“Yeah, but she also loves couple talk. So if I go back down there without some sweet news about Chad’s new…whatever this is…she’s gonna be more pissed at me than if I tell her you grabbed my dick.” He shook out more raisins into his palm. “Go on,”—he motioned at me with the raisin box—”kick him in the nuts, strip him down and fuck him on the countertop, coldcock him with a gun. Do something. For two heartless monsters who kill people for a living, you’re kinda boring me. Ya-a-a-aw-wn-nnn.”