Chapter 10
RAIDEN
The hot Barcelona sun shines directly through the window of the executive suite, and I groan as I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom. It’s a big day, and despite only just getting to sleep at seven this morning, I’ve got a lot of shit to cover today.
I can’t be late.
Keeping quiet, I quickly shower, not wanting to wake up the most stunning woman I’ve ever had in my bed. Last night was . . . fuck. There’s no way to adequately describe how fucking incredible that was.
Kiara St. James truly is a firecracker.
Damn.
She’s got more stamina than I do, and honestly, I’ve never seen that before. She more than put me through my paces, taking me to the edge more times than I could count, but for every time I came, I made sure she came twice as much.
I’ve never been so exhausted in my life, yet I can’t wait to do it all over again. Every fucking position, every surface, every hour. She had me on my knees before she took me on hers. I had her on her back, her side, and with that perfect ass up in the air.
With Kiara, it was different. She wasn’t just some woman I’d met online or at a bar an hour before.
She’s as real as they get, and honestly, the first woman I’ve been with who I’d ever consider wanting something more with.
Not that I would ever whisper those words out loud.
She’d run for the hills if she knew, but there’s no denying it; I will never get enough of Kiara St. James.
Hell, I can only imagine how good it’d be if she actually liked me.
After finishing in the shower, I get dressed and ready for my day, needing to get this contract over the line before being able to enjoy the rest of my time in Barcelona, and now that I know Kiara is here, I know exactly how I intend to spend every moment of this business trip.
The question is, what happens when we get home?
Have we fucked up a good thing? Everyone always says it’s risky getting involved with neighbors.
It’s like fucking someone within your same friend group, it always gets messy, and then the whole group ends up falling apart.
So what happens when Kiara decides she actually can’t stand me?
Hell, what happens when I fuck this up .
. . whatever this might be? Does it get awkward in the stairwell?
Do I have to listen to her getting railed through the wall the same way she’s had to do with me?
Do things get weird and one of us has to move away just to be comfortable in our own homes?
It’s a dangerous game, but now that I know just how good it is with her, I think it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
She’s wild and feisty, everything I crave in a woman, and knowing just how fucking incredible it is, there’s no way I could ever walk away now.
Besides, I’m not attached to my apartment.
I’ll live in a fucking cardboard box if it means getting to have just a little more time with Kiara.
After getting ready, I make my way back to the door of the massive bedroom, looking in at the beautiful woman in my bed.
She’s sound asleep, the white sheets barely covering her perky ass as her long, dark hair is spread out over the pillow.
She has her arms scooped under her head, showing me just the perfect amount of her full tits to leave me begging for more.
I’ve never seen a more stunning sight.
How the hell am I supposed to walk out that door knowing this is what I’m leaving in my bed?
If I’m lucky, I’ll be slipping back inside her within a few hours, but the Europeans aren’t as strict on their schedules as the busy clients I’m used to dealing with in the US.
They make their own schedules, not caring if meetings run long or if they have to cancel at a moment’s notice, just like they did yesterday.
In the US, if you can’t keep a strict schedule, you don’t keep your job.
For my business, it’s convenient, but I can’t lie.
I like the lifestyle out here. There’s a freedom you just don’t find in the busy cities anymore.
Finding a piece of paper on the small desk, I scribble out a note, letting Kiara know that I haven’t just fucked her and ghosted. I spare one final longing glance toward my bed.
Shit. Why is leaving her suddenly the hardest thing I’ve ever done?
Taking the note, I place it on the bed, my gaze sailing over it one last time.
Conference meeting.
Should be back in a few hours.
With that, I get on with my day. The sooner I can get this over and done with, the sooner I get to sink straight back inside her.
Assuming she still wants me. Last night .
. . I’d of course hoped for it, but she’s always been so firm in her rejections.
Telling me to get fucked has been her favorite brand of heroin.
Now that she’s worked me out of her system and knows exactly what she can expect, there’s a good chance that she’ll fold me back inside that little box and close the lid on whatever this could have been.
Not wanting to overthink the situation, I grab my shit and hightail it out of there before I miss my shot at securing this contract.
Within the space of ten minutes, I’m down in the hotel parking garage, my rental car screeching around the corners before coming out onto the main road and heading just out of town.
I drive for a little over an hour before pulling into the small town of Tossa de Mar.
It’s much quieter here, a far cry from the craziness of the peak season in Barcelona.
And honestly, it’s just as beautiful with its medieval walls surrounding the town and the turquoise views of the ocean that seem to go on for miles.
It’s the kind of place someone could come to have peace, and to hide from the eyes of the main city. Perfect for back-room deals and closed-door schemes that can be cleaned up without anybody the wiser.
Driving straight into the heart of the town, I park the rental on a back street before grabbing the case that sits beneath the passenger seat and heading out.
The town is easy to navigate, and I quickly find where I need to be before making my way straight up to the rooftop terrace and looking out at the town around me.
I’m surrounded by old stone buildings and boutique hotels lined by narrow cobblestone alleys. It’s the perfect, authentic European town, and I absolutely love it. I’m a few minutes early, and I take the time to feel the breeze on my face before setting up everything I need.
Then, after glancing at my watch, I make myself comfortable, lying down at the highest peak of the rooftop terrace, and looking through the scope of my precision rifle to the private estate across town. I lock in on my target: Javier Rodríguez.
He stands in the dining room of the home he shares with his mistress, and I take a moment to learn the property, glancing through the windows to make sure he’s well and truly alone.
The mistress is supposed to be at the local spa, and from what I can tell, his associates have not yet arrived for their midday meeting.
But they will soon, and in the spirit of getting this done without witnesses and getting back to the beautiful woman sleeping in my bed, I focus my attention on Javier.
He stands by the dining table, papers scattered in front of him, and as he flicks through them, I curl my finger around the trigger, preparing to take my shot. It’s just shy of half a mile, an easy shot, but I double-check everything.
I don’t miss. I have perfect aim. It’s why I’m the best assassin in the world, but you don’t gain that title by being reckless.
You shoot once, hit your mark, and get out of there.
If you miss, you blow your cover, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be sleeping with the fish.
If you’re not, well . . . you might as well take your own life before any of your targets eventually catch up to you.
Any quick death you could give yourself would be a million times better than what any of these men would put you through.
With everything lined up perfectly, I go to take my shot, but something flashes in the dining room window.
In a matter of seconds, a woman dressed completely in black leather, her face completely covered, moves in behind Javier.
She lifts a gun, a silencer twisted onto the end, and takes a clean shot straight to the back of his head.
Javier goes down in a flash, and just as quickly as she came, she disappears.
I try to track her movements through my scope, watching her move in a blur through the small estate. Once outside, she launches over a fence into the neighboring property before taking off on a jet-black motorcycle and speeding through the town.
She’s gone within seconds, and I’m left staring after her.
What the fuck just happened?
There’s another assassin here, and not only is she working my job, she took my fucking kill, and that shit just doesn’t happen.
Sure, it happens to rookies who don’t know what the fuck they’re doing, but it doesn’t happen to me.
I can’t blame her, though. She took her opening, and it was a clean kill.
Next to perfect. I have to give credit where credit is due; she was incredible, while also somewhat wild.
Would I have risked being noticed speeding through town dressed in leather on a jet-black motorcycle? No, but I like her balls.
Disappointment floods me, and I quickly pack up, not wanting to be here any longer than necessary. Within the span of thirty seconds, I’m back in my rental, racing out of town, my gaze constantly searching the streets for that black motorcycle.
Who the fuck was that, and why did she have access to my contract?
The whole drive back to the hotel in Barcelona fucks with my head. I don’t like being bested, and I also don’t like missing out on a five-million-dollar contract, especially when I was only seconds from taking the hit. If I’d just gotten there a moment earlier, it would have been mine.
Perhaps I was off my game. Maybe my night with Kiara has been clouding my judgment. Fuck, it’s no secret that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way her body moved as she rode me or the sweet taste between her thighs.
Shit. Either way, I fucked up. I missed my hit, and that doesn’t sit well with me.
Arriving back at the hotel almost three hours after I originally left, I park the rental in the underground parking garage, and before I know it, I’m back on the elevator, heading up to the eighteenth floor.
There are six other people crammed in here with me, and despite their presence, I can’t help the wide smile that cracks across my face, remembering the remnants of the red lace dress on the floor or the smeared handprints on the dark mirrored walls.
Reaching the eighteenth floor, I swipe my passkey against the door and push into the executive suite to find the bed empty, and a heavy disappointment flutters through my chest, until I see the note that I’d left her, sitting on the bedside table.
The words I had written are now crossed out and replaced with new ones that have that disappointment turning into something entirely different, something raw that fills me with the kind of hope I’ve never felt before.
Went down to the beach for strawberry daiquiris.
Also, fuck you.
A laugh cracks from the back of my throat, and I find myself scooping up the note and folding it into a little square. Before I even understand what I’m doing, I slide it into my wallet, not wanting to risk housekeeping throwing it away.
All thoughts of leather-clad assassins on motorcycles are forgotten, and I lose the business attire before dressing for the beach.
Then, before I know it, I’m standing under the blazing summer sun, my feet in the hot sand as I take in the woman who has made it her life’s mission to fuck with me in nothing but a gold string bikini with a strawberry daiquiri resting in her hand.