Chapter 25
VICTORIA
Now this…this is what waking up should feel like.
For a second, everything’s still. No noise in my head. No claws digging into my brain. Just…quiet. It’s not the numbness I’m used to. This feeling is peaceful, and I don’t recognize it.
I keep my eyes shut—breathe in, breathe out—trying to enjoy this moment while I still can, fully aware my demons will take over any second now.
Then I feel something…between my legs? Wait, someone.
Who the fu—Azrael! Azrael’s mouth is between my legs, licking, sucking, giving me the best oral of my life.
Who would have thought being tongue-fucked so early in the morning is what I need to keep my demons at bay? I would have just asked him sooner.
I come way too fast, seconds after waking up. I just cannot help myself when he is involved. Everything is fast, pushed to the limits, out of control. Yet, seeing him looking at me with burning passion makes me feel like I’m the one in control, and that’s what messes with me.
I should be thinking about what this means. I should be calculating my next move and making sure I still have the upper hand when it comes to the Processor. But I’m not.
I’m just…here.
The situation is tense as it is, and I’m not one for sentimental shit.
Something irreversible passed between us last night, something that I’m sure will change our entire dynamic.
We don’t talk about that, pretending this—us being almost naked in my kitchen, drinking morning coffee—is as normal as they come. Until we do.
Did I have to tell him about my contracts? Probably not. But I wanted to.
He needs to understand who he’s getting in bed with, what I am and what I do. Killing someone allows me one of the very few emotions I can feel, and I’ll be damned if any man will take that away. Nor do I plan to hide myself under false pretense.
I also don’t particularly care what Azrael has to say regarding this. It’s the life I’ve built for myself and the life I want. He will only be an addition to it, not the axis of my entire existence.
When he finally leaves, I lock the door behind him and stand there, pressing my forehead to the cold wood, letting everything that happened finally sink in. Fuck.
I should feel victorious. I got the Professor exactly where I wanted him to be, in a place where I’m what he wants and needs.
“Tory, what the fuck have you done?” I ask myself, hoping somehow the universe will suddenly solve this mess I’ve gotten myself into, but there is no answer. I guess even the universe is recovering from the catastrophic event that happened last night.
For the rest of the day, I go through the motions, sticking to my routine in a frantic attempt to reclaim a life that no longer feels like my own. My body moves, but my mind is stuck on a loop, replaying him, his touch, his words.
My thoughts are pulled away by the phone that buzzes on the table.
Alex. For once, his name doesn’t bother me that much. I honestly need to get into action as soon as possible, before I open the ‘Azrael’ fan club.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says flatly, his tone not matching the words. He’s all business.
“Skip it.”
“I have news about our mysterious kill. But it is not enough. I don’t even have the target’s first name yet. The guy keeps on feeding us potatoes without providing any useful information. But hey, I know the target has dark hair and green eyes.”
“Great, just like the other 3 percent of the population. So you just called me to say you have nothing for me? Why the fuck do I keep you around?” I shoot back.
“You are a gentle soul? And I am fucking good at my job.”
“Charming,” I mutter. “So you have nothing.”
“Yet.”
The silence stretches. He knows I hate that word.
“But I’ve got something else, if you think you are up for it.”
Great. Until Plan B, he’s never had to ask. There was no reason to doubt I would kill without blinking. But now? Even Alex heard it in my voice, saw it in the way I could not execute the basic planning I had in place. He sees me as compromised.
“Send the details,” I answer. “Let me do what I’m good at.”
Because he knows me. Or at least, he used to.
There’s a pause before he adds the most random thing ever. “By the way, you’ve got a letter downstairs. The doorman sent a message. Maybe something from the Professor, you should ask him.”
What the fuck? Azrael wouldn’t do that…would he? Feels good not having to deal with mundane activity, but maybe I should stop asking Alex to monitor my deliveries.
“Probably not. Send the details.”
The message comes in less than three seconds after I hang up.
INCOMING: NEW CONTRACT
Target: Alice
Age: 27
Last seen: Paris, FR
Payout: $380,000
Preferred window: 9 days deadline until Saturday, June 13th.
Client insists: “Short distance.”
Fucking Toronto guy. Again.
Third time in six months. Three contracts out of seven this year. I start to feel like I’m on retainer. $380,000—the price is not low, but everyone knows I am the fucking best at this. And honestly, if you want someone dead but can’t pay, you probably don’t have a good enough reason.
My price is not just for the job itself. Killing is the simple part, but my team also makes sure the client goes to bed peacefully at night, and nobody except them knows one person died because they wanted them to. That’s not only killing money but also shut-the-fuck-up money.
But still…how can he be this pathetic? Most of my clients want to eliminate one, maybe two people. He, on the other hand, wants half of Canada gone because he’s shitty at doing business. His family owns like half of the buildings in the country, yet he’s still bleeding his father’s wallet dry.
But money is money.
If the little fucker wants the bitch dead, I’ll just do it.
Plus, I need to somehow prove to myself that what happened last time was just the aftershock of a too-good session with the Professor.
And since the circumstances have changed—he himself said to forget about the goddamn rules—everything should be okay.
Yes, the mission will be a success, just like almost every other mission before. I just need to prepare for it like I always do.
This is the point when my brain switches from noise to silence. When I turn from being just a woman to a walking weapon. Except tonight, I feel like both. I’m carrying her—the part of me that tasted something beyond desire—into the kill zone.
I close the file, not ready to focus on it.
I open it again. Too late.
The letter I received from Azrael is so cryptic, but only he would do such a thing. Maybe it’s payback for my little escapade the first time in his office? I shoot Azrael a message, wondering how he got so cheesy all of a sudden.
Victoria: “I’d burn for you”? Really? The nineteenth century is calling, they want to inform you we have digital messaging now.
Azrael: What are you talking about?
Victoria: The letter? Oh, it must be from one of my other admirers then…
I tease him, but the reality is I have no fucking clue what this is if it’s not from him. I bet this is just a mistake. It has to be. I decide to disregard it, tossing it straight into the trash.
I grab a random bottle, a Malbec, from the wine column—always a bad sign. Half-finished and at room temp, I don’t even bother to pour it into a glass. I just tilt the bottle to my lips and let it burn its way down.
Wine doesn’t fix things, but it makes them softer around the edges. I will never be stupid enough to believe the answers are at the bottom of whatever I’m drinking, but once the bottle is empty, I’m not even looking for answers anymore.
Another long sip, but it still doesn’t help. The bottle clinks as I set it down on the living room table harder than I intended, which makes me wince and apologize to the table.
This is what I’ve become.
Assassin by day. Emotional liability by night.