10. Noah
Noah
“ Y ou what?”
Did he just say he came here to kill Cillian? I think I misheard him.
“I’m here to kill Cillian.”
Oh... um. “Okay... what do you mean by that?”
“What do you think I mean, Vixen?”
Vixen? What happened to Rainbow Bright? Oh... my hair. I dyed it. That clever fucker.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m a hitman.”
“What?”
He’s not. He can’t be. He’s been living next to me for two months. I’d know if he was a contract killer. Right? I mean, what are the odds that two contract killers move in next to each other?
Something’s not adding up here.
“This was my mark.” He points at Cillian, still dead on the floor.
“That’s insane,” I say and slowly back away.
I need a weapon. The knife I killed Cillian with is still in his chest. My other knife is in my clutch, which is discarded on the floor at the side of the bed with my dress.
If Del’s telling the truth, and he’s a contract killer, then he might try to kill me for claiming his mark and cashing out on the hefty pay day.
“Why are you backing away from me, Noah?” he asks, holding a hand behind his back, surely ready to grab a weapon.
Fuck. He knows. He’s figured it out.
“Tell me why you killed Cillian. What did he do to you?”
I say nothing, and he narrows his eyes at me.
“Are you in trouble? Is that why…” His thoughts are moving a mile a minute. I can see him silently working through everything. He suspects what I am, yet his brain won’t let him accept it. “I can help you clean this up. I’ll make it look like an accident.”
His eyes search the room as if taking stock of every drop of blood and all the things I touched.
An accident? He can make a knife in the chest look like an accident? The only person I know who can do that is…
I gasp. “Marionette?”
His head jerks up to mine. “What did you just say?”
“You’re the Marionette.”
“How do you know about that?”
Wait. He’s not just any contract killer. He’s my rival ?
He stalks toward me, his eyes darkening with something that should terrify me, but it’s turning me on instead. Which confuses me because I should hate him. He’s the one threatening my title as best contract killer in the country—maybe even the world, but who’s keeping track?
No, I don’t hate him. I’ve been dreaming about this moment. Will he want to play with me?
His large hand clutches my chin. “Tell me, Kevin. How do you know who I am?”
I’m back to Kevin? It’s my least favorite of his nicknames. I was starting to love Rainbow Bright. Even Skittles was cute. And Vixen? Fuck, I’m wet just thinking about him calling me that a few seconds ago.
I slam my elbow against his arm, forcing him to release his hold. He stumbles back, his eyes wide. When he starts for me again, I kick him in the stomach and send him crashing into Cillian’s wall of mirrors. Shards of broken glass fall to the ground on top of him.
While he’s down for the count, I run to the side of the bed and lift my discarded dress, finding my clutch underneath.
By the time my knife is in my hand, and I turn around, Del is in front of me.
I slice him across the forearm before he knocks the weapon out of my hold and grasps my hair at the nape.
Tugging my head back, he digs the tip of his own knife into the side of my neck.
“Who are you?” he snarls.
I whimper as the sharp blade breaks skin, causing blood to trickle out. He’s not being gentle and instead of scaring me, I’m so fucking aroused, my panties are getting soaked.
“I’m Noah,” I whisper. He hasn’t secured my hands, so I rub them over his muscular chest, then slide them down his stomach.
He pushes the knife’s tip deeper before I reach his cock and tightens his hold on my hair. He narrows his eyes when I moan.
“Tell me. Who. Are. You?”
I arch my body, brushing my front against his. He loosens his grip on my hair enough that I’m able to lean in.
“I think you know who I am.”
He shakes his head and lowers the knife.
“No,” he says and takes a step back.
“Colpa Sicario.”
“No!” His voice booms in the quiet room.
“What’s wrong? Too scared to kill me now?” His shoulders hunch in defeat and when his blue eyes meet mine, they’re full of confusion... of betrayal. My heart responds to this side of Delancy because I’ve only known him to be grumpy and void of all other emotions.
Now? He almost seems heartbroken.
Because he was planning to kill Colpa Sicario. He just didn’t know it would be me.
He slowly walks back to where I stand, dragging his feet like a zombie.
Once there’s only a few inches between us, he lifts his hand and caresses my cheek. He runs his thumb over my lips, and I stop myself from snatching it between my teeth.
Such compassion from a man who kills for a living.
I breathe in deeply, consuming his sweaty, woodsy scent: cedar wood with hints of tangerines.
His fingertips skim along my jaw and down my neck before snaking around to grip my hair again.
Then he crashes his lips into mine.
I open my mouth to let his tongue lash my own. I groan and the sound only intensifies this kiss. My hands fist his shirt as I pull him closer to me.
I need more.
He’s devouring me with his magical mouth, and my hands are frantically working to remove his shirt when a pain rips through my right side.
I break the kiss and look down.
“You stabbed me?”
He pushes the knife in deeper.
“You asshole!”
His mouth twists into a wicked smile, proud of himself.
“You missed some vital organs, Marionette.”
He pulls out the knife, and I grunt at the stinging, biting ache. I hold the wound as blood begins pouring down my hip and leg.
“I know exactly where the vital organs are, Vixen,” he says, stabbing me again in my upper left arm. He wipes my blood from the blade on his black cargo pants. “Maybe I want you alive so I can play with you. Torture you.”
His eyes roam my body as if picking out another spot to impale, and it’s enough of a distraction to make my move.
I head butt him; blood immediately starts gushing out of his nose, then I hook my foot around his leg, knocking his feet from underneath him.
He falls to the ground on his back—still clutching the knife.
“Joke’s on you,” I say, straddling him. “I get off on pain. Stab me again. Make me come.”
He doesn’t hesitate and sinks the knife into the meat of my right thigh.
Fuck that hurts. I love pain, but not this shit. Still, I put on a show, mewling and closing my eyes as I grind my hips on his crotch. His cock grows hard underneath me.
“Yes, Delancy,” I moan, then slap him hard enough his head ricochets to the side.
He growls and slices the knife across my stomach. The wound isn’t deep enough to cause internal damage, but blood starts leaking from the cut.
My palms flatten on Del’s chest as I continue to move my hips in a circular motion. He leans his head back on the floor, closing his eyes.
“Does that feel good?”
He nods and drops the knife so he can smooth his hands up and down my thighs, spreading blood in streaks. I’m not sure if it’s my blood or his. Probably both.
I slap Del again, harder than last time, forcing his lip to break open.
“Noah!” he roars and flips us around until my back hits the ground.
I kick out my leg, hitting him in the nuts. He falls off me, grabbing his injured jewels.
I scoop up his knife and fall to my knees. With the cuts he gave me on my stomach, arm, and thigh, I'm close to passing out.
Not until I fuck him up some more.
I slam the blade into his thigh, and he cries out in agonizing pain.
“Here we are,” I say, swaying. My vision is starting to blur. “Number one and number two.”
After composing himself from the nut kick, Del rips the knife out of his thigh. He doesn’t even flinch as blood spurts out and onto the floor. My aim must have been shit, and I didn’t cause enough damage.
That’s a shame.
The cut I made on his forearm, however, will definitely leave a scar. Blood continues to trickle out down to his knuckles.
He matches my stance, on his knees before me as he takes in my body. I'm still covered in splatter from killing Cillian and now my own… I’m sure I look like a horror show. A murder victim. Or a murder suspect. Still, heat and desire stare back at me.
“Finish the job. Kill me, Delancy.”
Before he can respond, dizziness claims me. There’s a sensation of falling before I’m delved into blackness.
I wake up in an unfamiliar bed, sore and barely able to move.
“Careful, Vixen, you don’t want to tear your stitches.”
I swat my arm towards the voice, attempting to smack the man, only for his warm hand to stop me from making contact. When my eyes finally focus, I see Del smiling back at me.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
“Don’t fucking call me sweetheart, asshole.
” I rip my arm out of his grip. I hate pet names and even though him calling me sweetheart makes that organ in my chest flutter ever so slightly, I'd never tell him that. If he knew I liked being called all his silly nicknames (minus Kevin), he’d never do it again. “Where am I?”
“Cillian’s guest bedroom.”
I glance around the space and sit up, wincing at the throbbing pain.
“How did I get here?”
“I carried you.”
“How? I’m nearly 300 pounds.”
“And?”
My eyes move to his arms. Fine. I suppose he is fucking ripped. He smiles, the cocky bastard, seeing me checking him out.
“How long was I asleep?”
“About three hours. It’s three a.m.”
“You stabbed me. Four times.”
“You told me to.”
“It was the blood loss. I wasn’t in my right mind.”
“Oh yeah?” he chuckles and pinches my nipple through the fabric of my bra. I gasp and try to hit him again. “Is that why these are hard right now? I can basically smell how wet you are.”
“Nice bruises,” I say, admiring the half-moons under his eyes from when I head-butted him. “Is your nose broken?”
“Nope.”
“Damn.”
I toss the covers off my body.