Chapter 64: Codename: Aconite Chapter Fourteen

It turns out biding my time was utterly pointless. Does this man have a bladder the size of a watermelon? How has he not needed to pee once during our entire dinner? He’s had one black Russian and two glasses of water, and yet not a single bathroom break. I could probably relieve myself, but I’m too paranoid to leave my food or drink unattended, but I’m allowed to be paranoid. I already know I do this to others, so it’s not unreasonable to assume someone would spike my food or drink.

Despite this irritation, I’ve found this dinner date – or his last meal – extremely enjoyable. Silas is witty and flirty and every so often he drops a double-entendre that has me clenching my thighs just hoping there’s even a nugget of truth to his words. Before I know it, he’s requesting the bill, paying in full and leaving a very generous tip. I wouldn’t have been offended if he wanted to go Dutch. If anything, I feel like since I’m going to kill him, perhaps I should have paid. Just seems cruel to take his life and his money.

With dinner paid, he stands and offers me his hand, and I once again gladly take it as I retrieve my purse and sling it over my shoulder.

“Would you like to join me for a walk? If you don’t find it too cold,” he clarifies.

I hold his hand and hold his arm close. “A walk sounds perfect,” I say softly, smiling up at him.

He smiles down at me, but something about it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. Nevertheless, he escorts me out of the restaurant, and we begin walking down the streets of Moscow. The air is cold and unpleasant, but his body warmth is acting as a very welcome portable heater.

“I’m sure you do this with all the women,” I tease.

He shakes his head with a reticent smile on his face, “No, I definitely don’t do this with all the women. You’re different.”

Well, I already knew that, but it’s nice to know he knows that. Aside from lying about my name, I’ve been myself all night. That should unsettle me, but it doesn’t. I’ve never felt so comfortable being myself with someone, but maybe it’s because I know this won’t go anywhere.

“What’s different about me?”

He stops walking, slides his hands around my waist and presses me against a brick wall. I gasp as the cold brick penetrates my back and shocks my heated flesh while his eyes hold mine and I feel my heart hammering in my chest. He presses his body against mine, leaning down as if to kiss me, but instead, his lips only hover over my own. I feel his warm breath against my lips and can still smell the scent of the black Russians. I clench my thighs as my mind forgets the entire reason I said yes to this date. Now all I can think about is feeling his lips on mine, feeling his firm hand kneed and massage my flesh marking it as his own, and the hard bulge I can feel pressing against my thigh only spurs those thoughts on further.

“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just excited to see me?” I ask in a breathy voice while a smirk plays on my lips.

He replies with a sardonic smile. “As a matter of fact, Dasha, it is.”

My eyes blow wide, and I feel my blood run colder than the wind that blows against us as I watch him pull an ASP handgun from his pocket and place it under my chin, the cool tip of the barrel practically burning against my flesh.

“How do you know my name?” I ask in shock while keeping a steady voice. Yes, I’m in a quiet street in Russia with a gun pressed against me and yet it’s the fact he knows my real name that I find most disturbing.

“I know all there is to know about you, Dasha Hatzis, and I want you to know I don’t take any pleasure in this. I actually really enjoyed spending time with you, even if you did lie about who you are. But I can forgive that, and I hope you won’t take this personally,” he says in a bereft tone, stepping back and placing the barrel of the gun against my forehead.

All lascivious thoughts vanish from my mind. The moment he places the barrel of the gun to my head, it’s like a switch flips in my brain. I no longer see a handsome man in front of me, but a moving target. All my training comes flooding to the forefront of my brain with one objective in mind: Killing Silas Istrati.

“I won’t if you don’t,” I say with a confident smirk, causing him to cock his head to the side in confusion.

I take a firm grip on his wrist and twist my body under his arm, pulling his arm behind him and kicking him with full force, directly into the wall. He hits it with a hard thud and looks back at me in shock. He wastes no time and kicks his leg back landing a hard blow to my stomach that I can feel in my throat. I stumble back, retrieve the dagger from its holster between my thighs, and press the release on the side of the grip. I hold an attack position as I allow the poison to release from its compartment and coat the blade.

“When I said you were different to other women, I didn’t know just how different you really are,” he says, sounding impressed. He once again raises his gun at me, and I quickly throw a fan kick, knocking the gun from his hand as it clatters against the ground, the sound echoing around the empty street. His brows dip in irritation as he raises his hands into fists. “I was going to make this quick and painless, but now I’m going to make it fucking hurt.”

“Funny, I was always going to make this hurt for you,” I say with a Cheshire smile as I take a swipe at him with my blade. I swipe at him again and again, but he quickly ducks and dodges demonstrating impeccable reflexes.

He manages to grab a hold of my free wrist and spins me into his chest. “You’re only making this worse for yourself.  It would be better if you just gave up,” he says, holding me tight as I wriggle in his grasp.

I stomp my heel into his toes and drag my blade against the back of his hand causing him to cry out in pain and release me from his hold as he clutches his now bleeding hand.

I turn around and smile at him in satisfaction. “Why would I give up when I’ve already won?”

Fury and excitement burn in his emerald eyes, as he lunges at me. I take another swipe at him, but he dodges, putting himself behind me. He grabs a fistful of my hair, yanks me hard, and slams my head into the brick wall, making me cry out as pain radiates through my skull and black spots dance in my vision. There’s an unpleasant ringing in my ears and I feel disoriented as I feel the familiar warm sensation of blood trickling down my forehead.

He pulls my head back to slam it into the wall again, but I swing my elbow back and connect with his nose, watching the blood gush from his nostrils as I feel the cartilage of his nose crunch beneath my elbow.

He releases my hair like it’s infected, as he cups his nose. “Chizda!

“I’ve been called worse,” I say nonchalantly as I grab him by the shoulder and lunge forward stabbing my blade into his stomach.

He lets out a strangled sound and looks at me dumbfounded, yet there’s no fear or hostility in his eyes. Just surprise. Whether from being beaten or that a woman could defend herself, I’m unsure. I step back withdrawing my blade, as he lets out a painful protest and drops to his knees. I take a breath and collect my purse from the ground, where it must have fallen off during our little brawl and place it back over my shoulder while throbbing pain radiates through my head and abdomen.

“I’m sorry our date had to end like this, Silas, but for what it’s worth, I had a really good time,” I say with a truthful pant, noting the way his eyes blow wide when I use his real name.

I steady myself, turn away from him, and begin to walk away, knowing that if the wound I inflicted on him doesn’t kill him, the aconite now travelling through his system will. I take a few more steps, stupefied by the twist in tonight’s events but satisfied with my victory when I hear the sound of gunfire and feel pain spread through my right shoulder blade, knocking me off my feet and into the wall. I clutch my shoulder with a deep groan of pain and glance back to see blood soaking through my dress. I reach back and touch the open wound, only to see the blood now coating my hand. I look back to see a bloody Silas, still on his knees, but with his gun pointed in my direction and a confident smirk plastered on his face.

I glare at him in fury and quickly run off before he can fire another shot. I have to get back to the hotel and call for help before I end up bleeding to death on the streets of Moscow. Motherfucker couldn’t just die and be done with it, he had to get off one final shot. Well, I’m not about to be done in by a lousy fucking bullet. Only one of us is dying tonight, and it’s not me.