I have been a contract killer since I was a boy. For years I savored the fear caused by my name, the trembling at the site of my tattoos. The stars on my knees, the marks on my fingers, the dagger in my neck, all bespoke of danger. If you saw my eyes, it was the last vision you’d have. I have ever been the hunter, never the prey. With her, I am the mark and I am ready to lie down and let her capture me. Opening my small scarred heart to her brings out my enemies. I will carry out one last hit but if they hurt her, I will bring the world down around their ears.
I’ve been sheltered from the outside world all my life. Homeschooled and farm-raised, I’m so naïve that my best friend calls me Pollyanna. I like to believe the best in people. Nikolai is part of this new life, and he’s terrifying to me. Not because his eyes are cold or my friend warns me away from him, but because he’s the only man that has ever seen the real me beneath the awkwardness. With him, my heart is at risk…and also, my life.
Swinging my scope over to room 524, I flip on my night vision goggles. I can only see the outline of her body. It is leaving the apartment and she appears to have a basket with her. I track her down to the basement laundry. When I first walked the building, I noted the basement laundry facility. It was dank and musty with only a few lights and disgusting floor. 524 should not have to clean her clothes down there. Someone should clean her clothes for her but I knew she could not afford that. Her refrigerator held few items and when she did eat, which seemed far too rare for my own peace of mind, she ate noodles and other cheap food stuffs. Her roommate did not make any more money either. The two of them were poor and so obviously prey it is a miracle that they’ve survived on their own to make it to adulthood. The one male in their lives is worthless.
I watch again as her outlined form leans over the washing machine. She places her clothes inside and then leaves. She returns to her apartment and returns to her bedroom. It is too dark for me to tell what she is doing in there. Is she touching herself again? Is she bringing herself off? I think she may be reading a book. I watch her and the time that passes is meaningless. Nothing is more interesting to me that watching her, even if it is just the outline of her form. I should be doing so many other things. Researching my potential mark in Seattle. Determining my next step with Mr. Brown. Instead I am mesmerized by her.
About the Author:
Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog. She’s been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at email@example.com.
About the Author:
This is a pen name for Jill Myles.
Jill Myles has been an incurable romantic since childhood. She reads all the ‘naughty parts’ of books first, looks for a dirty joke in just about everything, and thinks to this day that the Little House on the Prairie books should have been steamier.
After devouring hundreds of paperback romances, mythology books, and archaeological tomes, she decided to write a few books of her own – stories with a wild adventure, sharp banter, and lots of super-sexy situations. She prefers her heroes alpha and half-dressed, her heroines witty, and she loves nothing more than watching them overcome adversity to fall into bed together.
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