Chapter 4
ISEULT
Who the hell was that stranger, and why can’t I stop thinking about him? He just kept staring at me, like he couldn’t stand the thought of doing anything else.
I felt his eyes the whole time I stood on that stage, being auctioned off like a piece of goddamn meat.
Unfortunately, I had no choice in the matter.
When he practically ripped some guy’s throat off for whistling at me, I felt a tiny bit vindicated, though I’m pretty capable of ripping throats myself.
The intensity behind those deep, dark eyes had me forgetting for a moment why I was at this event in the first place. I have a mission to accomplish, or Daddy Dearest will be quite pissed off, and I only piss him off in small doses at a time.
It was easy to fake an identity, and it was even easier to get an invite to this event. Flash some cleavage, throw on a pretty smile, and these men eat right out of your palm.
One of the tech guys who works for my father got a copy of the guest list. So I followed one of the attendees—some bigshot surgeon—to a bar last night, and when I passed his table, I “accidentally” knocked off his drink and spilled it all over his lap.
And by accidentally, I mean completely on purpose.
I offered to buy him another, and instead he was buying one for me. Five drinks later, and I was getting an invitation to this event. I made him believe I was a trust-fund baby, and that’s all he heard before he asked me to join him. These people are so easy to con.
Once I got here, he got a call about an emergency surgery, so I was left to entertain myself, which is exactly what I wanted.
I knew about the auction before I followed him, and I knew that to get what I wanted, I had to participate. And they were more than thrilled to accept my offer. It was the best way to get Carl alone. He has a thing for redheads, and I knew he’d want me.
Then I kill him.
It’s simple, really. Lure the sucker into his room, let him grab my ass once or twice, and when we’re on his bed and he thinks I’ll let him fuck me, I’ll stab him with my lipstick.
Well, it’s not a lipstick, exactly. More like a tiny needle that’ll shoot him with enough sleeping meds to put him out for days. Can’t really kill him while he’s conscious. Last thing I need is for him to scream and have his bodyguard find me with a knife to his master’s throat.
Can’t just stick him with a lethal dose of something, either.
Wouldn’t want to risk a toxicology report picking something up.
But that wouldn’t be an option anyway. Daddy wants to make this personal, and that means blood.
That way all his friends know he died brutally for what he’d done, and that’ll make them think twice about ever doing the same.
I do enjoy getting my hands dirty. It’s kinda my toxic trait. And I’m perfectly okay with it.
Carl snakes his grimy arm around my lower back, his fingers deepening into my hip like he owns me, while I wonder how fast I can murder the man.
I throw on a fabricated smile while he talks to some hedge-fund guy, treating me like his personal arm candy.
It’s okay, though. I’m used to being underestimated by men. My goal tonight isn’t to impress this rat of a man.
The faster we can be done here, the faster I can leave New York City behind and return home to Massachusetts. Where I can easily forget that attractive man from earlier who’s presently poking holes into my back. I can practically feel his eyes following me everywhere I go.
Just to see if I’m right, I discreetly glance over my shoulder.
And sure enough, there he is, thick black hair perfectly styled back, eyes as dark as the midnight sky, yet glistening like two stars.
The muscle in his sculpted jaw tics as his eyes sink into mine, and I hold them for long, breathtaking seconds, wondering why I haven’t turned back around.
His black tux fits him like a glove, and I bet all the hidden muscles beneath would feel firm under my fingertips.
My eyes rove down his body, and his mouth curves up deliciously on one side.
Geez, does he have to smile at me like he’s already thinking about all the different ways he wants to fuck me?
Quickly, I whirl back around. What the hell am I doing? I really shouldn’t be staring or thinking about riding him like a dirty cowgirl.
Yep. I’ve gotta get laid. It’s been a while since I got some, not that it really does anything for me.
For some pathetic reason, the men I seem to attract don’t know how to fuck for shit.
It’s why I don’t have orgasms with any of them.
Don’t even know why I bother sleeping with men anymore.
Most of the time, I’m lying there thinking about the logistics for my next kill.
My work is a lot more exciting. I go where I’m sent. It’s the job of an enforcer. Never imagined that I’d not only be the first female enforcer in the Irish Mob, but also the first female instructor at Caellach Academy. But here I am, paving the way for women everywhere. Real fucking trailblazer.
Took some time to convince my father to give me a shot, but it was pity.
He blamed himself for what happened to me all those years ago.
So, of course, when I begged to join the academy at eighteen, he couldn’t refuse.
It’s where kids turn into killers, and I’m one of the people who help them get there.
My father would give me almost anything to atone for what I went through.
But after I graduated from the academy, he admitted that he didn’t think I’d ever pass.
See, my father runs our underground assassin school, which is what the trainees like to call it, and the last thing he wanted was his daughter joining it. Sexism and all.
He thought I’d give it a shot, fail out, and that’d be that. He never actually thought he’d have a daughter who kills people for a living. Well, it’s the family business after all, and I’m quite good at it.
And if I’m being honest, it’s the one thing in my life that helps me forget. All that ugliness I endured is still there, hiding behind the shadows, waiting, hoping to take me back there every chance it gets.
What he did to me? It’s imprinted in the marrow of my bones, branding me with an unending hit of poison. His poison. Every day, I wonder if I’ll see him again. If I’ll get the chance to end him.
Until then, I imagine that every single man I kill wears his face.
I don’t fear death. I don’t fear anything except solitude. When I’m alone with my own thoughts. With the nightmares that come. With the panic that seeps into my waking days, infecting me with the past.
And every time it comes, every single moment I’m taken there, I fight those thoughts like it’s my greatest threat. But sometimes I lose. It’s the only time I ever do.
My three brothers—Tynan, Fionn, and Cillian—are just like me. Fighters. Killers. But my baby sister, Eriu, on the other hand, isn’t. Which is a good thing. She’s far too innocent and sweet to ever do what we do. She couldn’t even hurt a fly.
Unless that fly was trying to hurt someone she loves. Then she’d do what she had to. It’s in our blood, whether we want it to be or not.
I’d do anything for that girl. The nine-year age difference didn’t stop us from being close. She may only be seventeen, but we’ve always had a great relationship. I practically raised her when our mother died.
I was fourteen when it happened, and I was forced to grow up fast. Our father was too busy blaming himself to worry about a five-year-old girl. He was hungry for revenge against the Russians for killing our mom, and it consumed him until he got his vengeance.
Then tragedy hit once more, and this time it came for me. Once again, his blame ate him up, and I don’t think he ever recovered. Not fully. Years have gone by, and we all pretend it never happened.
Including me.
But how long can you pretend before it eats you alive?
It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. No one can take me back there.
But he can. He’s still out there. He can find you, and he can make you pay for what you did.
Do you remember how loud you screamed? How much you cried?
My heart races.
My vision grows out of focus.
No. Not here. This can’t be happening here.
Breathe. Just breathe.
In. Out. Repeat.
I inhale slowly, trying to still my climbing pulse.
He can’t scare me. Not anymore. I’m not that little girl he remembers.
“So, Izzy, are you enjoying yourself?” Carl drawls, his voice like an echo.
I bite down, forcing myself to concentrate on his face, even as my heartbeats pound in my ears.
He hands me a glass of something red, his accent even thicker now that he’s had more to drink.
I take a pretend sip and smile. It’s what men like him enjoy. Pretty women who grin at them politely, while keeping their opinions to a minimum.
“Oh, yes, it’s so lovely to be here to support such a worthy cause.” I finger my hair, grinning from ear to ear like a fool.
“I couldn’t agree more.” His eyes snake down my curves, not missing an inch.
God, I hate this dress. It’s too tight. I can barely move. Why did my friend Kora make me wear it? I feel like a high-priced escort.
I can just hear her voice.
It makes your ass and tits look like you paid good money for them. He’ll want to eat you alive. He won’t even see you coming.
“Thank you for my drink,” I tell him just as his fingers slide out and run down my shoulders.
The crinkles lining his hazel eyes deepen as he stares at my tits like he’s about to make a meal out of them. Too bad for Carl, he won’t be eating much of anything after tonight.
“I have quite the collection of the finest wine in my suite,” he tells me. “And since it appears as though the party has come to an unfortunate end, let’s continue upstairs, shall we?”
He gestures toward the exit with an outstretched arm. Doesn’t seem like he’s offering me much of a choice. I guess no one taught Carl not to open the door for strangers.
“You’ve read my mind.” My mouth tilts up as I lower my glass on a nearby table, the drink still full.
But Carl doesn’t care. He just wants me naked.
Sorry, Carl. Not tonight. Or ever, for that matter.
He hooks his arm through mine, and his bodyguard follows close behind. He’s tall, built like a linebacker, and looks at me like I’m Satan. I guess he has to look at everyone like he hates them. Part of the job.
As we start to slip out of the ballroom, I pivot to find that handsome stranger still staring at me, glued to the bar.
A chill scurries up my spine.
He isn’t even checking me out like most men do.
They look right at my tits or my ass, but not him.
Not from where I stand. He’s gazing right into my eyes like he’s wondering who I am.
He did the same when I was up on that stage, when he was bidding on me.
I swear if he won and ruined all my plans, I was going to kill him.
I’m unable to peel my eyes off of him, even as my feet force me further away. The man has this aura about him like he knows how to have a good time, but mess with him and he’ll show you just how fun things can really get.
Maybe that’s what drew me in. The danger lurking in those obsidian eyes. It’s what I’m addicted to, isn’t it? Danger?
Doesn’t matter, anyway. After tonight, I’ll never see him again.
Men are not to be trusted. Especially good-looking ones.
His gaze lowers to Carl’s arm, still perched around the small of my back, and the intensity brewing in his eyes would scare any other woman.
But not me.
Men don’t scare me.
Least of all him.