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She’s also the most innocent person I’ve ever met, not that that’s saying much. I don’t come across a lot of innocence in my world. That’s probably why I’m drawn to her starry-eyed vibe. She’s a breath of fresh air.
She’s also mercifully quiet throughout breakfast. The most she does is offer thanks. “This is delicious.”
“I can scramble eggs like a pro.”
She keeps her gaze averted throughout the rest of the meal, busying herself with shoveling her food in like there’s a time limit and she’s afraid of having it taken away. Blissful silence. I almost forgot there was such a thing.
It takes no time to clean up after two people. Once everything’s finished, I open my laptop on the kitchen table. “What are you doing?” she asks from the sofa in the living room, where she’s aimlessly scrolling through options while searching for something to watch.
To think, I imagined that would distract her into silence. “I have work to do.”
“You work on computers too?”
“When the need arises.”
Fuck me, that’s not enough. Before I know it, she’s approaching, invading my concentration once again. “How does it work? You’re, like, an assassin or something. Right?”
She’s going to find out exactly how ruthless I can be in roughly three seconds. Removing my hands from the keyboard, I fold my arms on the table. “Remember how we almost died?”
That snaps her mouth shut. With wide eyes, she nods.
“I need to find out who is responsible for that. I also need to find out who put him up to it. Which is why I’m working.”
“Oh. I see.” Sure, she thinks she sees, but that doesn’t stop her from dropping into a chair across from mine and leaning in like this is all a game. “How do you do that? Google?”
“Yes, it’s as simple as using Google.” Shaking my head, I get back to it, using an untraceable messaging platform common among people in my line of work. I send out one message after another, only to people I trust and who happen to owe me a favor. One of them is bound to know who put the contract out on my life. And if they don’t know, they’ll know someone who does.
“I mean, how do you even get into this line of work?” My God, she never stops. “What, do they have assassins come in on career day to inspire the kids? Is there an apprenticeship program?”
“I would imagine it’s sort of like becoming a smut writer.” For the first time since she sat down, I lift my gaze from the screen to look her in the eye. “It’s something you stumble into. I mean, who grows up aspiring to write porn?”
I shouldn’t get so much enjoyment from watching her go red and indignant, yet every inch her shoulders rise brings me a new level of pleasure. “It. Is. Not. Porn.”
“Semantics.” Turning my attention back to the laptop, I find a new message headed by two words. “Victor Ivanov,” I whisper.
“Who?”
“That’s our guy. Victor Ivanov.” Unfortunately, there’s no current location provided with the name. Only a few pieces of information. Volatile. Tenacious. Probably insane.
He’ll see what true insanity is by the time I’m finished with him.
Reading the rest of the intel, I finally come across something useful. Bingo.
An upcoming meeting he’ll reportedly be at, and the location. I just need to bide my time a few days, track him down when he reaches this address, tail him from the rendezvous, and do what I do best.
If only I could sit back and indulge in the carnage blooming in my head. Instead, I have to listen to the man’s name on repeat like a broken record. “Victor Ivanov. VIC-tor IVAN-ov.” She lowers her voice to a growl. “My name is Victor Ivanov, and I will destroy you.” The piss-poor Russian accent she attempts is the icing on the cake.
I can’t take it. After slamming the laptop shut out of frustration with more than her, I bark, “You realize he’s the one who needs to be destroyed, right? And that accent is shit.”
Her brow furrows. “No, it isn’t. Don’t be mean.”
“That’s what you care about?” There’s a monster of a headache starting to form. “Why am I surprised?”
“You know what?” She pushes her chair back and jumps up, hands on her hips. “I’ve had enough of your snarky, grumpy attitude. I’m only trying to make this situation a little more bearable.”
Funny, since she’s making it unbearable for me. “While all I want is to bring an end to the situation.”
I wish she wouldn’t fold her arms and squeeze her tits together. Even under a shirt big enough that she swims in it. “In the meantime, do we have to suffer? Come on. You got this guy’s name. Now, let’s do something different.”
