Chapter 74: Codename: Aconite Chapter Twenty-Four
I clear my throat. “So, prior to your overzealous need to showcase your way around a dictionary, you realised who I was, and you tracked me all the way here. Why?”
“I find it hard to believe this guy could find out everything about your life except that you’re an assassin, which tells me he knew that and didn’t tell me. I want to find out from you why you were in Moscow, and why someone would invent a lie to get me to kill you,” he asks pointedly, folding his arms over his chest.
“I could ask you the same thing. The other month I was contacted by a man named Armand Aguilar. We met in Paris where he presented me with an identical dossier as this one,” I say, holding up the dossier. “Only it was all about you. Your real name, where you live, your parent’s names, all of it. No indication you were Scythe. He said you killed his wife in a hit-and-run and were never brought to justice. He also said I could find you at a café in Moscow. That’s why I was there. Had it not been for the bullet you left in me – thank you very much for that, by the way – I wouldn’t have known who you really were.”
He looks at me in shocked alarm. “So, when I introduced myself as Nicolae, you knew I was lying.”
“And when I introduced myself as Medea, you know I was lying. It’s pretty obvious now that neither of us had been to that café before and were each tricked into meeting there and paid to kill the other. The question is, why?”
“What did this Armand look like?” he asks, leaning his ass against my wooden dining table.
“Aged in his fifties or sixties. Mid-length wavey light brown hair. Mildly tanned skin, greying facial hair. Was about 6’4” with a military posture and a Spanish accent. What about you and this Miarganda character?” I ask, leaning against the table beside him.
“I’d put mine at about late thirties, early forties. Long dark blonde hair, 6’6” and pretty svelte looking. Not tanned, but more glowing skin and an Italian accent. Doesn’t sound like they’re the same guy at all.”
“Then they have to be working for the same guy. There’s no way in hell two completely different men hire each of us to off each other while hiding the fact we’re assassins and lying about our crimes. I’ve broken many laws, but I’m not a gold-digger and frankly, I’m offended by the implication,” I huff.
He chuckles. “So, you’d rather be known as an assassin than a gold-digger?”
“At least as an assassin it means I have talent and skills and I work for what I have. I don’t steal or con it out of people by flaunting my looks,” I say in disgust.
He nods with a smile. “Anyone ever tell you how fascinating you are?”
“You, just now,” I smirk.
He smiles broadly. “For the record, I didn’t hit anyone with my car and leave them for dead. Especially not an innocent pedestrian, and I don’t drink and drive.”
“So you have some morals,” I tease.
“As do you it seems. Look, I want to find whoever tried to kill me and put a bullet in every vital joint in their body, and I have a feeling you want the same thing just minus the bullets. So, what do you say to us working together?”
I chuckle as I look at him flabbergasted. “You want us to team up?”
“I think we proved a few minutes ago we work very well together,” he smirks, trailing his fingers down my arm, eliciting a shiver from me.
“Sex and murder are very different.”
“That’s debatable. But what do you say, Dasha? Want to help me kill a killer?” he asks temptingly, his emerald eyes gleaming like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. But I’m not Eve in this story. I’m Lilith. I gave myself over to temptation long ago and have delighted in a life of sin ever since. I see no reason to stop now. So why not accept a dance with the devil?
“How do I know I can trust you?” I ask, looking up into his hypnotic eyes.
“You can’t. Just like I don’t know if I can trust you. You have thrown two knives at me since I got here, after all,” he says with a quirked eyebrow.
I shrug. “Maybe I just like throwing knives at you,” I say sweetly, “And you did break into my apartment and punch me in the face.”
“And you responded by letting me fuck you on this very table, so I doubt you were that offended,” he smirks.
“Touché. Alright, we work together on this, find who the fuck set us up and make them regret it. But if you even think of adding a knife wound to the bullet wound you put in my back, I will cut off your very talented cock and keep it on my nightstand as a trophy. Capiche?” I threaten.
He grins and leans down brushing his lips against the shell of my ear. “My very talented cock gets hard when you threaten me like that. Be careful with your words my sweet Dahlia, or I may have to fuck you over this table again,” he says, then kisses slow and sensually behind my ear making my breathing hitch and that throbbing return to my pussy. I normally would have to be horny like a rabbit to get my pussy throbbing like this, but this man seems to get me going effortlessly.
“Depending on the colour, I could take being called a dahlia as an insult,” I say in a breathy voice.
“Then imagine any colour you wish. Now, do you have any food in this place? I worked up an appetite,” he says, casually rubbing his stomach.
I shake my head and point to the kitchen. “Help yourself.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” he says, tapping my nose as he walks into my kitchen.
I watch the man I was sent to kill a month ago, rummage around in my kitchen and help himself to my food without a care in the world. I try to think of how the hell we got here, but I suppose that’s irrelevant now. Now we’re meant to work together to track down and kill some mystery person we know nothing about, all while my vagina is screaming at me to climb him like a tree and ride his dick till dawn. I shake my head and rub my face. Two assassins rooming together and working together; what could possibly go wrong?