by A. K. Koonce
I’m suddenly alone.
It was stupid of me to underestimate Mouse. He’s just as much of a threat as the rest of them; maybe more. It’s always the quiet ones.
Nine
Tylin’s Résumé
An assortment of sexy dreams assaults me that night. I blame it on my pathetic sex-less life, but deep down, I know it’s the newfound attention of my new teammates.
I hope they know I’m a shitty teammate. I’m trained to look out for myself. I’ve never had another person to rely on or take care of.
But that doesn’t stop the smutty dreams from blessing my mind.
Strangely, it isn’t one man in particular that takes the lead in my sweet dreams.
It’s all of them.
An embarrassing moan wakes me. My eyes fling open, the sound of my pounding heart fills my ears. Mouse cocks a dark brow at me from over the rim of his glasses. He sits atop the old dresser like a mischievous cat waiting for a mouse to come out and play. His chest is more defined in the morning sunlight. Hard lines are etched against his body from beneath the thin white tee -shirt.
My body stiffens around the tangled sheets and I notice my hand is poised low on my stomach.
“Please, don’t stop on my account. By all means, continue.” His hands clasp between his legs and he waits with eager interest.
My eyes close with slight mortification and my head tips back against the pillow. A deep breath shakes through my lungs. If I knew Mouse for longer than eight hours, he’d be in for an interesting show.
He speaks and the closeness of his voice makes my heart want to leap from my chest.
“You know, it seems to me you have a distracting problem.” He looks down on me as he lies back lazily against my pillow.
The white sheets make his hair seem impossibly darker.
He fucking joined me in bed, and I never even noticed a single movement. This guy’s amazing and creepy all at the same time.
I push from the bed, not nearly as gracefully as he apparently is. His gaze skims across my bare legs, pausing on the small fabric of my underwear. He’s quiet and watchful, and it makes an energy twirl through my chest from his abundance of attention.
He seems shy, but the way he’s undressing me right now with his eyes tells me his thoughts aren’t nearly as innocent as he seems. The heated look in his eyes takes in every single inch of my body. He’s careful, thought out, and sweet, but his dark assessing gaze hints to something else.
“If it’ll help, I’ll just turn my back and you can bang out this tension you seem to be carrying.”
Bang out.
He really just said bang out when referring to masturbation.
“I’d love to.” I pause. Deliberately, if I’m being honest. His gaze widens and he seems to be hanging on my every word. “Maybe I’ll just push aside my panties,” my fingers toy with the top of my white underwear, “and slip my fingers underneath,” three fingers push just slightly under the elastic band. He actually sits up slightly, giving me his fullest attention, “Or,” my hand pulls back completely, my middle finger raised affectionately just for him, “maybe I’ll do my fucking job today.”
A half smirk tilts his lips just as I turn and start pulling out my clothes for the day from the dresser he was just occupying.
“What’s on the Lifeless Agenda today?” His voice passes by me, making my eyes close as I try to calm the near heart attack in my chest.
He and I are going to have a serious talk. Maybe I’ll buy him a bell to wear around his neck.
But I suppose that’s something they do for cats, not mice.
“You got some priests to murder, kids to kill, going to go on a killing spree and just off the next poor fucks you see?” His clipped words pull at my attention, halting my efforts of tugging on my pants.
“Judgmental much? I hope you’re not being condescending, because you were right in my shoes not too long ago. It’s just a job. And I’m good at it.”
“According to Tylin, you’re decent at best.”
Decent at best. His words cause irrational anger to slice right through me.
I’m going to kick Tylin’s ass the next time I see him.
“I want a meeting with Ty. Do your disappearing act and I’ll meet you outside.” Anger tinges my tone. My jaw tics as I furiously try to pull my pants over my hips. Why the hell are leather pants part of my uniform? Who the hell voted on this material? Obviously, a man with incredibly narrow hips, that’s who. I grab a loose fitted white shirt. I usually keep to all black but I’m also normally a night owl. Today is different. I don’t really know what to expect today but I won’t be working and trailing targets.
I turn away from Mason for only a second. When I look up again ...
He’s gone.
Or is he?
My steps are quiet as I take the stairs down to the first floor. I’m like a shadow drifting through the halls. I pass the door that would take me to meet Mouse outside. I have one thing to do before I leave.
If I’m meeting with my team—why does that word have such a sarcastic undertone in my mind?—I need to have something to offer them. Something of importance. Something impressive. Something more than just my good name. Because let’s face it, my name isn’t as good as it could be. It has little value at all, really.
So into the lion’s den I go. The worn floorboards skim against my boots, and when I turn the corner, I run into a pretty, blonde girl. She smiles sweetly at me, her eyes flashing with hidden power. An assassin. Just like me. If anything, she and I are a team. A real team. And yet, we’re nothing to each other.
I don’t even know her name. And she doesn't know mine.
Just as it should be.
She sidesteps me and continues on into the dining hall. She pushes through an oak door. It swings open, showing the hundreds of assassins gathered for breakfast. Not one word is spoken among them. Complete silence is all that fill the room before the door swings closed once more.
A breath meets my lungs as I carry on to the last door at the end of the hall.
Armond’s office.
He stands at the window overlooking the city. Just as he does every morning. The bright morning sunlight warms his skin, setting off his tanned tone. It makes him look younger. He appears nearly my age this morning, mid-twenties at most. He’s closer to a hundred if my calculations are correct. His powers are used for more than death and threats, it seems.
My heart pounds the closer and closer I creep, the idea of what I’m about to do making me nervous at best.
I’m crazy. I must be.
At the last possible second, just as he turns on his shining shoes, I start the clock. My power shakes through me, threatening time itself. My boots storm across the room and I flip open the book that rests on the corner of his shining desk.
His body is halted just three feet from me but I’m careful not to disturb his line of sight. I’m safe as long as he never sees me. The fine press of his suit jacket is fitted nicely against his slim frame, tailored to perfection, and his back is to me as lean over the desk.
The pages are coarse beneath my fingertips. The script within the book is neat and written with care. Black scrawling ink mars the lines of the book and I skim through page after page until I see the one thing I’m looking for.
Tylin Valderban
- Assigned to Alexa Hart
- Cause of Death Warrant: rebelling against his own, assault of a higher power, & organizing an uprising.
Organizing an uprising. How very impressive, Tylin. Very impressive résumé indeed.
I read on as I do a mental countdown in my mind. Thirty seconds at the most.
- Aftermath of targets death: Peace resides once more. Dispose of Alexa Hart to clear all association to events.
That last line repeats louder and louder in my mind.
Dispose of Alexa Hart.
Fuck me.
Ten
Welcome Home
We pass the little apartment I firs
t met Tylin in. I don’t mention it when Mouse leads me farther down the street. I don’t say a word when we walk for miles.
“You’re quieter than you were this morning.” His arm bumps mine just slightly as we walk side by side.
A woman passes by, her steps clicking nicely beneath her expensive heels. She glances slowly between Mason and myself.
I wonder what the two of us look like? I haven’t strolled through the city in years. At least, not in broad daylight. I peer at him from the corner of my eye. He’s handsome. In the eyes of a passerby, are we just a quiet couple?
It’s odd, but I’d never wish for that life. As crazy as my life is, I don’t want simplicity. I want excitement and self-worth.
My job provides that for the most part.
The lines that slice through the pavement hold my attention as we walk in near silence.
At least, it would be silence if Mouse could take a hint.
“Did something happen this morning?” He tips his head down, trying to pry into my line of sight as we walk at a brisk pace.
“Are we almost there?”
He releases a quiet sigh that tells me he doesn’t like being left out of my thoughts.
Pout all you like. Your pretty face doesn’t always get you your way, Mason.
“Yeah, it’s just around the corner here.” His hands push into his pockets and we do a decent job of pretending to ignore each other for a few minutes.
Until he pushes into my business once more.
“If he hurt you, you could tell me.”
He. He means Armond.
What does Mason really think his powers can do against the leader of the Lifeless League? Throw him the most surprising of surprise parties?
Because that’s it. There is no revenge that can be had in this life. Not against a league of faceless assassins. And certainly not against Armond.
“I’m a big girl, Mase. I can take care of myself.”
“Sure. Sorry if I was overly kind to you. I’ll try not to let that happen again.” The serious tone of his voice sinks right into me.
As we cross the empty street, he seems to make a point of walking ahead of me. He keeps his gaze prominently held away from me.
Well, don’t I feel like an asshole.
The one person who’s trying to be a real friend in my life and I treat him like… I’ve been treated for the last five years.
When his hand grips the steely gate and pushes it open for me, his eyes lock on mine. My shoulder skims his soft shirt and—possibly intentionally—against his strong chest. A pressing energy twirls through me from the small contact. A gravelly sound rumbles through him as he clears his throat.
That energy is still storming through my veins when my eyes land on the enormous estate before me.
The sidewalk winds up to grand steps that lead to a white door with a gleaming, old knocker. I pause there, thrown off guard from the blatantly expensive home. The bushes framing the steps on each side swirl in an unusual cut, making them point at the top to the blue skies above.
Every single detail is over the top and attention demanding.
Where the fuck did he bring me?
I was ready to sleep in an abandoned warehouse two days ago.
“What—What the hell are we doing here?” I whisper the words over my shoulder to him as if I’m afraid the occupants of the home might hear me.
My feet refuse to move farther. This has to be some sort of mistake.
Or worse.
A trap.
The doors burst open and I take a step back. Then I see him; Jameson jogs down the steps to me. Gray sweat pants cling to his cut waist. The thin material doesn’t do a thing to hide the outline of his body. Dark script lines his right side, scrolling across his ribs in a delicious way. A sweet but sexy smile pulls at his lips.
His loud voice makes me flinch when he speaks.
“Welcome home, Al.”
Eleven
Her Past
God, if he could make any more commotion.
Does he want everyone to know he’s here? How the hell did the Lifeless League not murder him years ago?
I look both ways down the quiet street. Sculpted trees line the flawless sidewalks and perfectly manicured lawns are all that can be seen. Not a single soul is in sight.
That doesn’t mean no one is watching though.
My boots storm up to the steps, and I grip his arm and haul him up the three curving steps to shove him back inside.
“Mmm, if you missed me you could just say so, Lex. Though I do like when you show me you’re in charge.”
I forgot how obnoxious he is. Somehow, I managed to block that out in the twenty-four hours since I’ve seen him last.
I release him, my fingers lingering slightly on the defined veins of his forearm for only a second. His skin is smooth beneath my touch. That taunting smirk of his is still held right in place.
Mouse slowly strides in, pushing the door closed behind him.
His dark gaze flickers between me and his friend.
Friends. They’re friends… how odd.
It must be interesting to have someone who looks out for you. Someone to spend time with. Someone who shares common interests.
How weird it must be.
The two of them are quiet as my attention trails over the high ceilings. Crisp white details trim the walls. A rug of deep red is made of the finest threads at the center of the room. I’m terrified to take a single dirty step onto it. Furniture that looks like it’d be a pain in the ass to relax in sits in the middle of the entrance room. They face the entrance as if someone might casually sit there and stare at the door for happy hours on end.
What the fuck kind of place is this?
“Whose house is this, Jameson?”
His palms settle on his hips, trying to draw my attention once more to the deep lines veering down into his low-slung pants.
“No idea.” He nods, a smirk tilting his lips.
My gaze darts slowly around the room. This definitely feels like an awful idea.
“You guys are just squatting in this mansion in plain sight?”
“Well, we intended to stay downtown, but this gorgeous assassin kept fucking with our plans.”
I force myself not to smile at his words.
“What if the owner comes home?”
He shakes his head.
“She died two days ago. Rory found the old chick in a patio chair out back.” Another content smile as if he’s just describing another average day in his life.
The tension in my shoulders relaxes just slightly. I suppose we could stay for a while. Unless someone comes to check on grandma. Then we’ll have to slip out.
My brows lower as I reconsider my own thoughts.
There were a lot of we’s in my mind just then…
I shift, trying to push out the thoughts of newfound friendship.
“Where’s Tylin?” There’s a meeting to be held. Some discussions to be had. Some angry words to be spoken.
Jameson nods, his blonde locks falling into his pretty eyes. He turns on his bare feet and pads down the glossy tile floor. A severe zig zag of lines create a symbol that must represent his electric power is just beneath the script that swirls down the lean muscle of his ribs. I can’t tell what language it is, and I don’t ask either. I trail after him, careful not to step on the heirloom rug. I avoid the damn thing like the floor is lava.
He leads me through the entry room and down a long hall. It’s dimmer here. Intimate almost. I keep my gaze held on the span of his wide shoulders. Of course, I make note of the etched lines of muscle that define every beautiful inch of him. He walks like he’s been used to people watching him his entire life. There’s a confidence in every step he takes.
He turns, jogging quickly down white stairs into what must be the basement. It must be a very remodeled basement. Honestly it doesn’t look like any basement I’ve ever stepped foot into. It’s as pristine as the rest of the home. My fingertips ski
m down the smooth white walls, and the farther down we go, the louder the music starts to become. It pounds through the foundation and into my chest.
When we finally stand at the base of the stairs, my lips part without words. A wide space opens. A white couch and flat screen television line the walls as if they’re in the way of what’s really on display in this room; the two men pounding their fists into each other’s faces. Tylin clings onto Rory’s neck with one arm while he pummels him with blow after blow. Sweat clings to their bodies and every move they make is fluid. The muscles of Tylin’s biceps and shoulders tense with power as he slams his fist into Rory’s bloody nose once more.
Rory brings his knee up, jarring into Tylin’s chest before pulling him down to the crisp white carpet. Crimson blood smears over the clean flooring.
When they land, they spot me.
Their chests heave, glistening beneath the bright lighting of the room. For several seconds, they just stare at me.
My arms cross and I have to put thought into closing my open mouth. Yes, I am openly gawking. But I don’t have to continue to do it.
I have some manners.
Some.
“Is that how you treat your teammates?” A weird part of me can’t help but imagine them manhandling me. What would it feel like to have Rory’s big body cover mine? To force me down beneath him?
What is wrong with me? Mouse should have led me to an insane asylum, not a mansion.
“I guess not all my teammates. Only the ones who can handle it.” Tylin kneels there on the floor, his chest rising and falling as he holds my narrowed gaze.
What an asshole.
He’s so fucking cocky. He wouldn’t be that belittling if I showed him my real skills. He’s in for a happy surprise.
Everyone has a past.
Welcome to mine.
I kick my boots off and shrug off my jacket, needing as much skin exposure as possible. I’d strip down further if I could, but I want to kill them, not fuck them.