11. Delancy
Delancy
“You know bikes?”
“Not at all, but I looked yours up online.”
“Stalker,” I say with a laugh.
But my laugh fades as I see her wince with every big move she makes. Her pain has lessened, thanks to some pills she told me she stole from Cillian. But I know she’s still hurting. She’d never admit to it though.
“Actually, I think I need to call us a car.”
“What? Why!” Noah whines.
“Your injuries…”
My motorcycle is a smooth ride but what if I hit a bump and her wounds open back up?
She scoffs. “Fuck that. I’ll be fine! I always wanted to be someone’s pretty little backpack.”
Pretty is such an insignificant word when it comes to Noah McAllister. She’s beautiful. Gorgeous. She’s a word that has yet to be invented to describe how exquisite she is.
Before we left Cillian’s penthouse, she slipped on the dress she wore to the club and braided her hair, letting the tail fall over her shoulder. She put herself back together, but I’d love nothing more than to destroy her again with a night of sex and worshiping.
This new obsession of mine is both terrifying and exhilarating. I want to run from these feelings but at the same time, embrace them… embrace her… and never let go.
“Okay, my pretty little backpack.” I hand her my helmet to put on. “I’ll take you for a ride.”
She giggles at the innuendo while securing the helmet’s straps underneath her chin.
“Wait,” Noah says as I climb on. “I can’t go back to my apartment.” Before I can ask why, she continues. “I’ll explain later. Just... take me to one of your safe houses.”
“How do you know I have—”
“Safe house, Marionette .”
Of course she knows I have safe houses.
What about her?
She just moved back not too long ago. Maybe she hasn’t secured any safe houses yet.
Or she doesn’t want me to know where they are.
Noah’s arms slide around my torso, and she squeezes hard enough that I almost can’t breathe. Her front smashes against my back, and I close my eyes at how intimate this is.
Not as intimate as our kiss.
How she whined as if begging for my taste. How she melted into me as the kiss deepened.
Then I stabbed her.
I had to. Payback for the loud sex. For being Colpa Sicario.
For driving me mad.
When she begged me to do it again, that might have been the moment I knew I could never let this woman go.
Once I’m certain Noah is secure, we take off. She yelps and squeezes me tighter.
I take us across the Brooklyn Bridge, heading to Flatbush. The ride is quick since traffic in the middle of the night is scarce.
At some point, Noah gets comfortable. She loosens her hold around me, and her balled up hands flatten on my stomach. My cock jerks as she smooths her palms up and down my abs. As if she can’t get enough of me.
I can’t get enough of her. I remember how devastatingly deadly she looked nearly naked and covered in blood while straddling Cillian.
Her small hands wrapped around the knife’s handle with the blade embedded in his chest. How wonderful she smelled when I cleaned and stitched her up: jasmine and hints of citrus.
It felt wrong to touch her, clean her, while she was passed out, but I couldn’t risk bringing anyone in to mend her injuries.
My eyes are heavy. I’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours.
It was worth it to see Noah in action. I’m not even pissed anymore that she’s Colpa Sicario.
Which means Guilt Killer or Sin Killer in Italian.
How could I be angry? She’s perfect. I want to ask her what her plan was after she killed Cillian. How was she going to frame it?
Her kills are passionate. She’s not concerned about making a mess or posing it as an accident. But at the same time, she’s careful enough not to leave evidence behind.
I pull up to a two-story building where I rent a loft above a pizza place.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, locking up my bike in a narrow alleyway.
“God yeah. I want a slice of pineapple and ham. And cheese sticks.”
“I should kill you right now. Pineapple does not belong on pizza.”
“Wrong, Puppet. Just for that, I want two slices of pineapple and ham.”
I wince at the nickname. “Seriously? Puppet?”
“It’s cute! Come on!” She laughs, then blanches from pain.
“Fine. I’ll grab the slices.” I toss her my keys. “You go upstairs... behave yourself.”
“I hope you have wine,” she yells as I turn and walk inside the pizza shop.
“ Y our place is amazing,” Noah says the moment I return.
She’s changed into one of my tank tops and a pair of my sweats. They’re both too small for her, but I quite like how the fabric clings to her body, allowing me to see all her wonderful curves.
She walks around the massive living room, snooping through my stuff.
I have a line of bookshelves along one of the brick walls, and she’s reading the spines of every book.
I don’t have many. Maybe three dozen. Once in a while, she scrunches her nose, letting me know she found a genre she’s not a fan of.
I read a little bit of everything: mystery, thrillers, horror, non-fiction, and now romance after stealing Noah's smut book.
She reaches a corner where I store my instruments. Her fingers pluck at the strings of the acoustic guitar then press down on the white keys of the keyboard I have leaned up against the wall.
“You play?”
“Not like I used to.”
She frowns but doesn’t ask me to explain, and I exhale a little bit because I don’t want to talk about that part of my life. At least, not right now.
On the right side of the living area is a white couch and matching oversized chair set up in front of the flatscreen television hanging on the wall. Tall windows line the third wall, which I always keep shuttered with blackout curtains.
The loft expands into a dining and kitchen space with small storage space overhead. Previous tenants might have used it as a bedroom, but I hide my weapons up there.
The living area was big enough to build walls for a bedroom since I’m not a fan of open concept, mostly when it comes to sleeping. I’d much rather have a door to close so I can have somewhat of a warning in case an intruder or an enemy finds me.
“Here,” I say, placing Noah’s pizza on a paper plate, adding fake gags.
She flips me off, then grabs the plate and the glass of wine she poured before I returned home, and curls up on my couch, her legs underneath her.
She’s definitely made herself at home, turning on the TV and finding a rom-com to watch.
A sexual groan erupts from the woman at her first bite of warm Hawaiian pizza, and she does a little happy dance in her seat. I toss an accent pillow at her head, but her reflexes kick in and she bats it away just in time. She sticks her tongue out at me.
The brat.
Noah washes down her food with a sip of sweet Riesling that I’ve had on my shelf for years. I’m not much of a wine drinker, but I kept that bottle around for some reason.
“This is heaven.” She sighs and takes another bite. “Can we stay here forever and forget about our jobs as contract killers?”
Yes . I think, refusing to voice my desperation to have her in my life.
She laughs at whatever the actor in the movie just said.
I haven’t been paying attention, instead, I’ve been watching her .
She laughs a lot, and I never realized how addictive that laugh is.
It’s hearty, not quiet in the least. I’ve heard her giggles through the walls of our apartments on many occasions, but to be in the same room as her when she’s so.
.. happy... it’s all too consuming. I’m becoming a glutton for her presence.
“Are you going to stare at me all night?”
I immediately look away, blushing from being caught.
I rarely blush, yet this woman constantly has me flustered.
“The cuts and bruises you had that morning I snuck into your apartment... was that from a hit job?”
She scoffs. “You broke into my apartment.”
“Is it breaking in when you leave your window unlocked?”
“I left it unlocked one time. Besides, those flimsy window latches wouldn’t have kept you out.”
“They didn’t.”
“How many times did you break into my apartment?”
I shrug and she narrows her warm brown eyes. “A few.”
“Did you do it while I was home? Did you watch me sleep?”
“Would that turn you on?”
“I sleep naked.”
“I know.”
Her mouth drops open, her cheeks coloring a lovely red.
Yep. She’s turned on.
“The cuts and bruises, Noe.”
She rolls her eyes but smiles.
“Yes, I got them during a hit. The man wasn’t going to die quietly. He grabbed a kitchen knife and nicked me a few times and got a few good punches in too.”
“What was his crime? How did you kill him?”
“He beat the fuck out of his girlfriend and put her in a coma.
She's brain dead and now her family has to make the tough decision to end her life. I met her sister at the bar where I work. She stopped in to get a drink, to try and escape her life just for a few minutes. We started talking and at the end of my shift, I offered to help. I really enjoyed stabbing the fuck out of that asshole.”
I wonder if she’d let me tag along on one of her jobs. I’d love to watch her work.
“And you just left him there to be found?”
“I ransacked the place and made it look like a deadly home invasion.”
Just like I did Cillian. I guess we’re more alike than I imagined.
“Don’t worry, I made sure to clean up any evidence that could be traced back to me.”
She’s perfect. I can’t believe I’ve been living next to my rival for two months. No wonder I’ve been so drawn to her.
I hate coincidences, but if Noah knew I was the Marionette when she moved in, she would have tried to kill me by now.
Was it fate?
“Tell me how you became Colpa Sicario.”
“Do we really have to talk about this?”
“Yes,” I say, standing to pour myself more wine. I grab another slice of supreme pizza and smile remembering Noah’s nose scrunching at the sight of the olives and mushrooms.
She sighs, preparing herself for difficult memories.
“My mother was murdered when I was eleven.”
“Mine too. Well, I was twelve, but still...”