Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2) Page 12

  Neither did he, which was why she knew using their friendship wouldn’t work. This was business, not personal.

  She slammed her fist into his solar plexus and darted down a narrow lane. His big feet slapped against the cobblestones, echoing off the windows of nearby buildings. She kept her pace fast enough to evade, but not lose him. A parking garage opened to her right and she pivoted to enter. Jude followed, a few steps behind.

  She ducked behind a Mini and waited. Adrenaline ripped through her bloodstream and her hair follicles turned electric. She loved this. The chase, the confrontation: this was her thing. Leave boring meetings to Malcolm—this was where Nikala excelled. This was what Hunter had modified her for.

  Jude’s footsteps halted and she listened harder. His labored breathing came from two cars over. She eased around the Mini and rushed him from behind, her enhanced speed making her little more than a blur. Her attack startled him, but not for long. His big paws formed into fists and one connected with her side. The air whooshed from her lungs, and she stumbled backward. Jude took her action for weakness and a sly grin curled his lips.

  “Not so badass, after all. What does Malcolm see in you?”

  So, this was about pride. Nikala made a show of holding her side and breathing heavy. She shook her head and watched him from the corner of her eye. No one knew her connection to Malcolm and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing who she really was. Best to let him stew and rage, burn through his energy because he couldn’t believe Malcolm might prefer her over him. Pride got you killed.

  When his fists relaxed, she kicked out, landing a boot under his ribs. He swore and puffed, then lumbered toward her. She was ready.

  Another kick, this time to his stomach, followed by an uppercut to his chin. Jude struck out and she defended herself with blocks to his moves. He’d been trained in martial arts, same as her—hell, by her—but his size worked against him. She didn’t take anything for granted, though. She knew his record. Knew what he was capable of—something she doubted he knew about her.

  Their fists whipped through the air, making contact more often than missing their mark. With each hit, she resolved to hit him harder. With each kick, she absorbed his energy and returned it two-fold, using just enough of her modifications to beat him, but not so much he became suspicious. The goal wasn’t to kill him. Oh, hell no. She wanted him to return to Malcolm, tail between his legs.

  Sweat rolled down his face and his movements became slower. Her heart pumped harder with each passing minute, but not from exhaustion. With practiced control, she held herself back from giving him everything she had. Why waste precious resources? When his eyes were wild and a sneer pulled his lips over his teeth, she knew the fight was over. She’d unleashed his rage and he’d either try to kill her or subdue her, and neither option would suffice.

  Jude growled and rushed her, but she was ready. At least, she thought she was. Jude’s movements were too quick, too precise for a normal human. The speed of his whirling fists were met with deflections from her. She lost the upper hand and went on the defensive, confusion and dread streaming through her adrenaline, upsetting her rhythm. Jude was enhanced, too. Fucking Hunter and his experiments. She should’ve known it was a matter of time before he ventured into other areas—super spies. Bollocks.

  Nikala took a kick to her middle and shuffled backward, more to gain a moment to think than to recover. If Jude was modified, most likely Yash was as well. She glanced around the car park, but didn’t see the woman. Jude advanced, his big paws held up like a boxer. Nikala made a show of breathing hard and even let spittle drip from her mouth. The agent’s chuckle ignited the fury buried beneath her dread. Once more Jude rushed in, and this time she was ready.

  A second before striking, she slipped to the side and kicked his feet out from under him. All of his pent-up energy went into his fall and he hit the ground hard. Nikala jumped onto his back and wrapped her arm around his neck. He struggled against her hold, grasping at her clothes and kicking against the concrete. She held firm until his movements slowed, then ceased.

  She rose up from the unconscious man and wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

  From somewhere behind her, clapping sounded.

  Nikala turned to see Yasheda walking toward her, the same stupid sneer on her lips that Jude wore.

  “Well done. Jude always underestimated you, but I didn’t. I knew there had to be more to you than just a pretty face.”

  “Walk away, Yash.” Nikala tilted her head toward Jude. “You don’t want that.”

  “No,” Yasheda withdrew a knife from inside her jacket, “I don’t. But I can’t go back to Malcolm and tell him I lost you as well.”

  Motherfucker. Malcolm had sent them. Asshole.

  Nikala cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders. She shook out her wrists, then beckoned Yasheda closer. If the foolish woman wouldn’t take Nikala’s good advice, then she’d have to teach her a lesson.

  Smaller and faster than Jude, Yasheda zipped around Nikala like an annoying gnat. Too fast for a normal human. She’d been right—Yash was enhanced as well. The flash of her blade caught the yellowish glare of the overhead lights. Nikala kept an eye on the knife while fending off Yasheda’s kicks and quick jabs. The woman’s determination startled Nikala. So much for being friends. The way Yash went for her throat with the sharp blade proved her loyalties had shifted entirely to Malcolm.

  Anger flooded her thoughts, blurring the line between rational thinking and murderous intent. Her focus narrowed to Yasheda’s face and Nikala struck hard. One, two, three quick jabs and blood gushed from the woman’s nose. A roundhouse kick to her side and she went sprawling across the floor. The knife clanged when it hit the ground and disappeared beneath a car.

  The urge to kick the stupid woman until she no longer took a breath overwhelmed Nikala, but she held back. There was no honor in defeating a fallen opponent. She heard Hunter’s stern voice berating her, telling her that she was weak to let the woman live. He’d have her slay them both and discard the bodies where no one would ever find them.

  Nikala shook her head hard to silence the menacing taunts of her youth. Even if Yash had forgotten their nights out drinking to ease the stress of their job, Nikala hadn’t. She wouldn’t kill a friend. Instead, she kneeled on Yasheda’s back and ripped her shirt to make strips for tying her hands together. Yash struggled, her arms flailing, nails ready to scratch Nikala. She grabbed a handful of hair and slammed her head against the concrete.

  “Move again and I will kill you.”

  Yasheda quit fighting. Nikala tore another strip of Yash’s shirt and bound the woman’s ankles and then secured them to her wrists. She looked like a hog ready to roast. When Nikala finished with Yasheda, she did the same to Jude.

  As she left the parking garage, she glanced at her one-time friend. Fear lingered in the woman’s eyes. Nikala staggered out the door and rested her hands on her knees. What did Yash fear? Certainly not Nikala. She could’ve killed her, but didn’t.

  If not Nikala, then Malcolm. But why? Had he sent the pair to take out Nikala or find Cian or let Nikala find Cian then kill one or both of them? They were good agents—skilled at deception, same as her. In her absence, she’d lost the ability to know when they were lying. But then, in her absence, they’d undergone modifications from Hunter. Their new strength wasn’t as honed or as battled hardened as Nikala’s, giving her the advantage—but for how long?

  Question after question tumbled through her brain. Behind them all, Hunter’s face tormented her thoughts. It could’ve been a test. She wouldn’t put it past Hunter to override Malcolm’s orders and bribe Yash and Jude. Even after two years of living on her own, Hunter still tried to control her.

  Malcolm or Hunter: it didn’t matter who had sent the pair. She wouldn’t let them get the better of her. Anger fueled her need to find Cian and prove those assholes wrong. She was more than capable of getting answers from him. The final question rummaging through
her mind was—would she give the men the truth? After their failure with Yasheda and Jude, Nikala once again wondered why they deserved her loyalty. She knew the answer and refused to allow it space in her mind. Shoved it to the depths of her soul and forbade it from entering her heart.

  One question she didn’t evade: why had Hunter enhanced Yasheda and Jude? Then, a second, more terrifying question turned her blood to ice—how many more people had he destroyed with his tests and modifications? It unnerved her to believe she wasn’t alone, while at the same time she found solace in the fact that there were others like her. A macabre family, of sorts.

  She rose and stared at the rust spot on her trousers. She turned her hand over and winced at the gash across her palm. Yasheda’s blade had cut her and she’d not even felt it. Nikala tore a strip from her blouse and wrapped it around her hand. That was three shirts she’d ruined in less than five minutes. Not her best record time, but close.

  With a shrug and shake of her shoulders, she took out her phone and set off in the direction of the blinking blue dot. At the corner of where her app said Cian was, she slipped into a shadowy doorway to observe the property. A five-story sandstone and brick Georgian building with one main entrance. She scanned the windows, noting those with closed drapes, but lit from within, and those that were dark. The top floor flats all had balconies and as Nikala’s gaze roved over the darkened windows, she stopped at the last on the right. A light flicked on and a moment later, Cian drew back the drapes. Her heart pounded as she watched him step from the flat to the balcony, looking for all the world like a king surveying his domain.

  She slouched deeper into the doorway to avoid being seen. His gaze swept over the street, pausing to stare at something to his left, Nikala’s right. She desperately wanted to know what caught his attention, but stayed pressed against the wall. After several moments, he continued his surveillance without even a blink when his gaze passed over her hiding place. Another sweep of the area and then he ducked into the flat.

  Nikala let out the breath she’d been holding. It was showtime.

  With a last glance at the empty balcony, she jogged across the street to the front door. She scanned the names on the registry, not seeing either McCabe or MacNair. Mentally, she worked out which might be Cian’s flat and buzzed. When no one answered, she moved to the next guess.

  A woman answered. “Hello?”

  “Delivery for flat six. Can you let me in?”

  A moment later, the door clicked and Nikala slipped through the opening. She carefully closed it behind her, checking the street for Malcolm’s thugs. Not seeing anyone of interest, she turned toward the staircase and jogged to the top floor. At Cian’s door, she paused, taking a moment to make certain she looked suitably mussed. As she raised her hand to knock, the door opened and Cian stood before her, tall, handsome, and imposing. He’d taken off his coat and suit jacket, and loosened his tie, leaving his tailored white shirt unbuttoned, allowing a peek of chest hair.

  “Miss St. James.” His features twisted into a look of, I should be surprised you’re here, but somehow, I’m not. His smile, however, did its best to disarm her, and dammit, it worked. Her knees shuddered at the way his upper lip curled to reveal pearly teeth.

  For a second, she imagined those teeth sunk into her skin and another shudder raced from her heart to between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together with a silent reprimand.

  “I was hoping you’d have a first-aid kit.” She held up her cut hand with a sheepish grin.

  “Come in.” Cian stepped backward to allow her entrance and her gaze swept over the immaculate, sparsely yet fashionably decorated flat. His tastes, if they were his, ran to casual comfortable with a traditional flair.

  He checked the outside hallway before closing the door and locking it.

  Nikala affected a wounded doe demeanor and simpered up at him. She might’ve even batted her lashes. “Clumsy me. I slipped on a cobblestone and landed on a piece of glass.”

  He took her hand in his own and unwrapped the scrap of her blouse. His gaze flicked to the torn remnant peeking from her trousers. A small whistle came from between his lips and he nodded to a door opposite the large windows.

  “Wash up. I’ll be right back.” Cian disappeared into another room and she did as told.

  Nikala removed her coat and placed it over the back of a sofa. She took her time in the bathroom, using a soft washcloth and soap to cleanse the wound, and also to freshen up after a long day. When she returned to the lounge, Cian was waiting with plasters, antiseptic, and two tumblers of what she hoped was whisky. After the day she’d had, she wouldn’t be picky, though. Any alcohol was appreciated.

  He held out his hand and she placed hers palm up. Warmth spread across her arm up to her chest. A strange tingling followed. Once it reached her rapidly beating heart, the tingling spiraled to her extremities. After the tingling came a pinch. Not unpleasant, but unknown.

  Nikala watched Cian’s face as he swiped an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball across her skin. What should’ve burned didn’t. She braced for the sting, but felt only the cotton’s pressure. Cian blew against her palm and her thighs trembled as if he’d blasted her with a turbine engine.

  “How did you find me?” His casual tone didn’t fool her. He’d probably been expecting her.

  He concentrated on cleaning her wound and dressing it with several Steri-Strips. If he knew the sensations his touch caused, he didn’t show it.

  “I, erm.” She swallowed the desire to stroke his dark hair. “I saw you on the balcony. A few minutes ago.” Her shrug upset his grip and his fingertips wrapped around hers, holding her hand firmly in place.

  “Good fortune, that.” Once the plasters were applied, he wrapped her hand in a gauze bandage.

  Then he raised her palm to his lips and kissed it.

  Nikala fought the urge to jerk her hand away and slap him.

  She also fought the urge to melt into a simpering mass of goo.

  Damn him and his irritating way of confusing her emotions until she wasn’t sure which way was up. Fuck questioning him. She needed to kill him and get out of his flat as soon as possible. She was certain CCTV saw her enter his building, but doubted anyone had seen her enter this flat specifically. Her mind raced with ways to make it look like an accident all the while he held her palm in his big, warm hand.

  “Try to be more careful in the future. That glass infected your skin. You could’ve had a nasty reaction and had to get a tetanus jab.” His thumb traced over the bandage, sending fresh spirals of whatever the fuck it was through her body.

  “I should go. It was wrong to impose on you. Thank you, but I should go.” Her stammered words held little conviction and she didn’t try to take her hand from his grip.

  “Of course. But first, something to help with your recovery.” He handed her a glass and took one for himself.

  She hesitated and he chuckled. The deep vibrato did things to her already overworked heart.

  His glance went from her glass to the diamond solitaire she wore on her right ring finger. “If whisky isn’t your poison, I have wine.”

  She curled her fingers against her trousers. It might’ve been a cute saying, but Nikala had the distinct impression Cian knew exactly what she’d done to that man on the train. She’d made it look like she simply reached out to touch his leg. How could Cian guess she’d poisoned the man? He couldn’t. That would be ridiculous. It was just a saying, nothing more.

  “Whisky’s fine.” With a brazen swipe, she claimed the tumbler and took a healthy swig. Notes of honey tickled her tongue and she swirled the liquid in her mouth before she swallowed. A satisfying burn coated her throat and stomach. One more gulp and she emptied the tumbler.

  “Damn.” Cian chuckled again and she swooned. “I like a woman who enjoys her whisky.”

  “And I like a man who can treat a wound.” Fuck it. She set the glass on the table and grabbed him by the tie, pulling him close. Surprise lit in his eyes, followed b
y a devilish grin.

  His mouth claimed hers and she tugged at his tie, almost ripping it to get it undone. She worked to unbutton his shirt as his fingers worked on hers.

  “No, my shirt stays on.” Nikala moved his hands lower, to her pants.

  They were a flurry of motion, each stripping the other while keeping their lips locked in a battle to stay connected. His belt jangled open and she hurried with his trousers, desperate to feel him inside her.

  Frenzied sex she knew well. No thought, just passion and release. No emotion, just down and dirty, get the job done. This was how she liked sex. Detached.

  Cian growled into her mouth, the sound coming from low in his sternum. The corners of her lips quirked in a smile. They kicked off their shoes and, both still wearing socks, Cian lifted her to his eagerly waiting cock. As she slid onto his erection, he pushed her against the wall. Her head hit with a satisfying thunk and she sighed into his mouth.

  His fevered pace matched her own need. Harder, faster.

  Sweat glistened on his forehead. Beneath the sheen, a curious iridescence shone through. Like pearlescent nail varnish swirling across his skin. Fascinated, Nikala stared for a moment until she remembered herself and turned away from his handsome features. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t let it be personal.

  She repeated her mantras until she was rocking against him, taking every thrust deeper and deeper. Her orgasm crested and she panted with her coming release. Veins protruded on Cian’s neck, snaking their way to his forehead.

  Fuck, but he was damn sexy.

  Naked, on the cusp of coming, teeth gritted against the effort, he wasn’t a god, but right then she would’ve prayed at his altar.

  Look away, Nikala.

  She cast her glance down, to his chest that heaved close to hers. Her nipples raked against the hairs on his pecs and she arched to keep contact. Just one pinch and she’d be over the edge. Just one touch of his hand to her throat and she’d release. Silently, she willed him to do something, anything, that might cause a fissure of pain, but she kept her mouth closed. Maintained silence.