Desire
Fucking Cleveland. Another two hours behind the wheel.
The monotonous hum of the rental sedan—I took a budget car to blend into traffic—does nothing to stop my thoughts from drifting to Aurora.
I’ve done everything I could: I announced to the family that she’s my fiancée, locked her in my house, and surrounded her with protection so she’d make it until morning.
Now, tonight belongs entirely to my hunt.
And when I return, my prize will be waiting for me, and I’ll fuck her with a winner’s smile.
I turn off the highway just before reaching the city.
My target is a forest motel campground. A dozen old A-frame cabins scattered among the damp trees.
I have Diver’s cabin number, but barging into an enclosed space with a professional killer would be unforgivably stupid. I prefer to smoke out the prey.
Walking over the decayed pine needles, I easily settle into the right working rhythm.
The beauty of these remote Ohio holes is that they’re cut off from city utilities.
No central sewage—everything runs on independent systems. I circle around the back of the cabin, sliding into the deep shadow where the dim light from the porch doesn’t reach.
There, on the exterior wall, hangs an inconspicuous gray electrical panel. Since the terrain is uneven, each cabin has its own grinder pump. A few seconds later, I’ve popped the box open. I kill the pump’s power switch, then press the shut-off valve on the plastic pipe.
The water path is blocked. As soon as Diver decides to flush the toilet or turn on a tap, the system will have nowhere to release the pressure.
By the law of communicating vessels, the filthy, stinking sludge will find the lowest point—the drain in his shower stall.
The basin will start filling up fast. Breathing inside will soon become physically impossible.
He’ll have to scramble outside, choking on hydrogen sulfide and rage.
I’ll be waiting for him. I drop down into the damp ferns in the blind spot around the corner. When that bastard goes to check the pipes or argue with the management, he’ll step into the darkness—and I’ll be there to meet him.
While I wait, I toy with my knife. A gun would be preferable, but bystanders could show up at any moment, so this has to be quiet.
Besides, it’s pitch dark—I can’t aim. Catching him in the light would be a challenge too.
If you shoot someone standing on the porch, the physics of their fall is unpredictable.
The victim could crash onto the creaking wooden steps, take out the railing, or, in a state of shock, crash into the bushes screaming, breaking branches.
A knife lets me get close from the blind spot: one hand locks the victim’s neck, silencing them, while the other does its work. And I silently lower the limp body into the ferns under my own weight.
I’ve been lying in ambush for hours now, and the fucking worry about my princess is gnawing at my brain.
Good thing I left my phone turned off in the car; otherwise, I’d already be lighting up my face with the screen like a complete amateur just to text her.
Back in the car, I checked her phone through the spy app: brother Caleb and Kelsey had already texted her, asking how she was doing.
Caleb was probably put up to it by Eleanor.
That conniving bitch’s dream is to get Aurora under her thumb, but she’s mine.
A noise comes from the cabin. That means Diver has already flooded his room. He’ll be out soon. His nickname is rather fitting.
I grip the knife handle. I had to leave the prince’s white-and-gold mask in the car too—it’s impossible to see anything in the forest with it on, so I’m just wearing a plain black balaclava now.
Suddenly, rustling comes from a different direction. Did that bastard decide not to take the path and slip straight into the bushes? And from the side of the house …. Did he climb out through a window?
I launch toward the crack of branches and rise out of the darkness, cutting off the path of a man holding a knife. So much for sneaking up unnoticed.
“I knew it was a trap,” Diver growls, crouching and shifting his center of gravity. “Who the hell are you?”
I adjust my grip on the knife. Here in the dense thicket, visibility is next to nothing, and the killer wisely chose a silent blade over a gun. So it’s going to be a knife fight.
“Who were you hired to kill in Ohio?” I respond with a question, testing him.
“So you’re him?” He takes the bait. “The fucking Desire Sterling?”
Fuck, that’s unexpected. Did Jefferson put a hit on me? Or …
“Zack hired you,” I say with certainty.
“He paid me to cut off your balls.” The killer shakes his head, his gaze assessing my blade. “I’m afraid I can’t do that live.”
Zack. Well, well, what a vindictive bastard! I guess it wasn’t for nothing that I showed up at his place and took all the heat onto myself, shielding Aurora.
“What did you do to piss him off?” Diver circles me slowly, looking for an opening. I shift in sync, springy on half-bent legs, always turning to face him.
I bare my teeth beneath the balaclava in a predatory grin. “I made his girl so wet he needed a diver so he wouldn’t drown.”
“Ha ha, now I get why he’s so fixated on your balls. I’d like to try that pussy.”
“The only thing you’re going to try is a knife between the ribs.”
Diver lunges at me, and I dodge the line of attack, grazing his side with my blade. Dark blood immediately soaks his clothes, but the bastard doesn’t even slow down. Instead of recoiling from the pain, he uses his momentum and crashes into me with his full weight.
Locked together, we fly into the bushes. My back slams hard against the ground, knocking all the air out of my lungs. My fingers spasm open, and the knife slips out of my hand into the darkness.
Diver piles on top and pins me with his knee in the wet mud, locking my body. He’s lost his weapon in the fall too, so his hands close around my throat, pressing hard on my trachea.
“Zack said to tell you that when I was done with you, he would take his girl back and beat all the crazy out of her.” He grins, breathing heavily right in my face.
My ears start ringing from lack of oxygen, but my mind stays ice cold.
My free hand frantically searches the slick mud and rotting leaves.
One second, two … My lungs are burning. My fingers finally find the familiar ribbed handle of my knife, and I grip it until my joints crack.
With a sharp upward thrust, I drive the blade under his ribs, piercing his lung and shoving the steel all the way to his heart.
“Tell him in hell when he joins you.” I stare straight into his bastard eyes through the slits of my balaclava. “She’s already wearing my ring.”
I twist the handle in the wound, tearing tissue. Diver gurgles, choking on his own blood, his pupils dilating and his hands slipping off my neck.
With a hoarse breath, I shove his body off me. I get to my feet, wiping the bloody blade on his jacket. Job done.
The adrenaline starts to fade. I mechanically touch my stinging side and see the handle of Diver’s knife sticking out of my jacket.
“Fuck. So that’s where you lost it,” I grunt, kicking the corpse.
Carefully holding the wound but not touching the knife, I trudge heavily through the bushes toward my car. I mustn’t pull the blade out. It’s like a plug, keeping the internal bleeding at bay.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I growl under my breath as I stumble out of the thicket and see a black van parked next to my sedan. Standing by the open door is Laurent surrounded by his security.
“You look rough, brother.” He smirks at the blade sticking out of my side.
I grip my bloodied knife, ready for anything. “What the hell, Laurent?” I hiss through my teeth. “You sent me to take out a hitman who came after me. So I’m that person critical to the family, aren’t I?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Laurent snorts. “As you can see, I flew in from New York to check on your progress. Now get in the car. I brought a doctor to patch you up.”
“How fucking brotherly of you.” I grimace and, overcoming the sharp pain with every step, head toward the open doors of the van.