Chapter 2
Victor
The bride isa warm bundle in my arms, if not exactly willing. Her feet drag, but she doesn’t put up a fight as I bundle her into the backseat of the waiting car. This job came with a driver, but there’s a divider between him and the backseat. I’ll have plenty of privacy to play with my new toy.
She settles into the car seat beside me, filling the space with mounds and mounds of white satin. A bride on her wedding day, representing love and innocence and purity and all the things I’ve never experienced. All the things the world withholds from a soulless man like me.
But now I have her in my clutches. My blood heats, and I have to force myself to slow down, remain cool and in control. She is a prize like no other. A triumph I wish to savor as long as possible.
The car pulls away from the curb, and the bride’s back hits the seat. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, making the delicate silver chain around her neck ripple. The necklace caught my eye in the church, the charm unusual—a tiny weapon. Too long to be a regular dagger, too short to be a sword. An old-fashioned poniard.
I extend a finger and brush the toothpick-sharp tip of the blade and, with it, her skin. Her chest prickles with goosebumps, and my prize’s breath hisses behind the veil.
She’s not unaffected by me. Her slight reaction is a blood-bright flag unfurling before a bull. Adrenaline pounds through me, and my cock stirs. My palms itch to unwrap my gift.
I grasp the edge of the veil and lift it. My movements are slow and tender, a mockery of what a groom’s should be. Once again, she surprises me. She doesn’t fight me, doesn’t slap my hand away. She holds still, her chest moving faster in her tight bodice.
She has the loveliest eyes, dark and velvety. She’s striking rather than pretty, her jaw narrow but strong, and her nose sharp as a stiletto. Her makeup is subtle and perfect, except for those bold, blood-red lips. Not a hair of her sleek updo is out of place. For a witness to a knifing and a victim of kidnapping, she’s the very picture of calm.
I want to crack her apart. I killed her groom in front of her, and she made no sound. I thought she was in shock at first, but she’s remained calm.
Who is she? I researched the wedding but focused more on the layout of the church. The target was a civilian, a nobody. At first glance, his wife-to-be and guests were the same.
But this woman who wears a mini knife around her neck is more than who she seems.
I relax in my seat, letting her speak first. The car turns down an alley, weaving through the city and making its way east.
“Why?” she finally asks.
I cock my head. “Why what?”
“Why did you kill him?”
“It was a job. Nothing personal.” A disappointing target, who didn’t even fight back.
She snorts. “A knife to the heart? A bullet would have been easier.”
My brows raise. With each passing moment, she’s proving herself an enigma. Is she dangerous, like me? I hope so. Conquering her will be the sweetest challenge.
“I prefer a blade. It’s more intimate. Respectful.” I pat my jacket lining, where my preferred killing knife is secured.
“So you’re a psychopath.”
My gut kicks with an unexpected laugh. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“I guess it’s useful in your line of work.”
“My line of work?”
“You’re a hitman. You said it wasn’t personal.” She sounds impatient, as if she knows I’m being deliberately obtuse.
I was prepared for hysterics. Messy tears, blotchy skin, panicked thrashing. Even a mafia princess would lose her cool and make threats or pleas for her life.
Her controlled reactions are unexpected and so much more delicious.
“And what about you? I killed your groom in front of you.”
“I’m in shock.” She does not sound like she’s in shock. She sounds like I interrupted her lunch.
What will she look like with her lipstick smeared from my kisses, her hair wild?
Soon I will know. My groin tightens at the thought. The monster in me roars, ready to roam free. I keep him leashed a little longer. My prey is close beside me but still wary. I want her fiery and fighting, as desperate for me as I am for her.
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to sample a bride on her wedding day. To touch her, feast on her, make her moan. My work offers me many depraved delights, but I’ve never experienced this one.
But now I have the chance. The fact that this bride might hate me only tempts me more.
I seduce her, on her wedding night, mere hours after slaughtering her betrothed.
And I will make her enjoy it.
Her veil tumbles over her brow, and she shoves it up again. I brush her hand away. Slowly, carefully, I remove each hairpin, holding her gaze.
After three pins, she looks out her window, but the red staining her olive cheeks isn’t from her makeup. Finally, a reaction.
I separate the veil from her head, roll down my window, and let the wind snag the filmy white fabric. It blows away, dancing in the car’s wake like a ghost. “Better?”
“Much.”
I shift closer, taking up more than my fair share of the bench seat. She glares at me. I raise my chin, daring her to comment.
For a long moment, electricity crackles between us. I want to push her back onto the seat and claim her now. Only years of reining in my basest impulses allows me to deny the animal attraction that’s making my heart pump faster in her presence.
Judging by the goosebumps breaking out over the mounds of her delicious breasts in the tight, white bodice, she’s feeling something similar. Perhaps it’s simply fear, but as someone who trades in death, terror is a useful tool. It can make a person love or hate you. Or both at the same time. Best of all, the symptoms of fear—the shortening of breath and elevated pulse—are easily confused by the body as arousal.
“What is your name?” I ask.
She presses her lips together before answering. “Vera. Yours?”
I cock my head to the side, deciding if I should tell her. “Do you really want to know?”
I let her think through the implications. Common sense says if a kidnapper lets you know his face and name, he does not intend for you to live long.
She knows this. She hesitates, and licks her lips as she thinks things through. The sight of her tongue sends a stab of arousal through my core. I shift in the seat, needing to adjust myself to relieve the pressure of my pants on my rapidly swelling cock.
“Yes,” she says, and so seals her fate. My arousal is a red haze, rising like the blood lust I usually feel when I kill my quarry.
I can’t stop the cruel smile twisting my lips as I tell her, “Victor.”
She gives the slightest nod. Still so careful, so controlled, just like she was at the altar, where she first caught my attention. Her groom was dead, the wedding guests had fled, and she faced me silently. No screaming, no crying. No emotion. But I could sense her mind working under the veil.
If only I could slice her open, reveal her thoughts.But now is not the time for the knife. I’ll have to use other weapons at my disposal to prise her apart. My words, my lips. My cock.
“You still haven’t told me why you killed him.”
“Your betrothed? That’s between him and Stephanos. I’m just the messenger.”
“Did it have to be in the middle of the wedding?”
“I was told to make it public. A spectacle. A warning not to embezzle from the Greek mob.”
“Idiot,” she mutters, and I know she’s not talking about me. Only a fool would siphon money from Stephanos.
“Is that any way to speak of your intended?”
She bites one red lip. Makes a decision. “We weren’t together that long.”
That explains her lack of grief. My challenge to seduce her just became a million times easier. “Then you’re welcome. For the rescue. You know what they say. . . ‘Marry in haste. . . ’”
She avoids my gaze, shaking her head.
“This dress doesn’t suit you.” I take liberties, grazing a finger over her bodice, letting it swirl over her breast. She glares like she wants to bite me.
I wish she would.
“Are you always so well armed?” I tap the necklace charm and smirk.
“Always.”
I continue my exploration of her body, testing her reactions. The dress really is awful. It must have been a hand-me-down, something old, because why would she choose to wear such a thing? She would look better in armor. Something sleek and silvery. Modern.
Something worthy of the dagger at her throat.
The car reaches a stop sign and, with the barest pause, rolls through. The most important rule of leaving a crime scene is not to break any laws. I’ll have to speak with Stephanos about his getaway protocol. He’s not the most disciplined of leaders. It’s a wonder he’s hung onto his turf for so long.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can be alone.” I pause, waiting for her to fight me. I set a hand on her midriff, caressing her through the stiff bodice. She stiffens, but not before I feel a tremor run through her.
The ice princess is not as frozen as she seems.
I dip my head to nuzzle her hair. Her perfume is complex, something expensive, but underneath is her pure essence. I inhale her scent, greedy for more. I tighten my grip on her, needing to rip off the confining dress. There should be nothing between me and her bare skin. My cock is a steel bar, threatening to rip my pants. Soon I will seek out her damp and secret places, to lick and suck her essence straight from the source.
The car makes its final turn. Up ahead is the bland, five-story apartment building where I make my home. I slide my palm down the curve of her breast, seeking the slight swell of her nipple under the layers of fabric.
She turns from me to stare out the window. Searching for escape? I trace a line from her nipple to the silver chain, pushing the charm aside so I can kiss the smooth line of her neck. Under my lips, her skin quivers.
As the car glides to a stop, my prize asks the question I’ve been waiting for. “Why did you take me?”
“Stephanos told me I could choose my reward.” I touch my lips to her pulse. “I choose you.”