Chapter 12 #2
Stepping slightly to the side, I focus on the girls. They both wear tight jeans hugging perfect asses. Both in cute little shirts showing off their petite frames and sneakers on tiny feet. For them, it’s another weekday. Just Rune’s two accountants out for a day of shopping before Christmas.
For me, it’s a heart-thundering risk to be so close to them.
If only I could get close enough to smell them. See their eyes up close. Feel the soft texture of their hair.
Right now, I’m defying the direct order to keep our distance and stay well away from them. To wait, wait, wait until the timing is right.
Delilah stops suddenly, dragging Cora by her wrist into a store. My throat tightens, heart beating rapidly, as the two guards take up position on either side of the door.
Fucking idiots didn’t even go inside.
I debate it for all of three seconds and charge past them, my eyes on my boots. Cold AC blasts across my face, and I mutter in relief as it brushes my skin, then pause just inside the entrance when I spot the girls looking at a rack of clothes.
Delilah pulls out a shiny black dress, holding it up against her body. The enormous diamond on her finger flashes garishly under the store lights. My stomach clenches oddly at the sight of it.
Fucking Dave Sobian. The sack of shit asked our target to marry him earlier this year. How the sick bastard convinced her he was worthy of her is beyond me, but every time I think about it, my gut twists, green thorny vines slicing up my insides.
She’s Rune’s daughter.
His blood.
Our revenge.
The reminder I tell myself more and more every day doesn’t settle as convincingly as it did years ago when we all sat down to review the plan.
It doesn’t settle well at all.
It leaves a cut-up feeling in my chest, and the more I repeat it, the less appetizing our plot looks.
She looks appetizing. Sweet and delicate.
Innocent.
They both are.
“Look at this one,” Cora says, her honeyed voice slipping over me warm and smooth. She holds up a slinky little dress that would barely conceal her curves.
My teeth gnash together, and I realize I’m in the middle of the store, staring like an untrained soldier.
Like I haven’t spent years tracking a target unseen.
I step aside and pretend to look at a display case of sunglasses and those little wallets with the wrist strap women carry all their stuff in.
From the corner of my eye, I watch as Delilah trails a hand over the shiny blue material. “You should wear it to dinner tomorrow.”
The image of the sexy little vixen wearing that dress out in public burns my insides.
Just the idea of men looking at her sprouts another thorn of jealousy.
Because they would. Look and desire and hit on her.
She would likely take a man home in that dress.
Then they would see her slip it off. See her pale flesh and all those little freckles.
Sink their teeth into the delicate skin along her collarbone.
The image of my teeth nipping at her jaw, then Breaker’s, then Striker’s, as Reaper sucks at her bottom lip, nearly takes my breath away.
Shit.
I need to get a grip on myself.
“Can I help you, sir?” A female voice slams into my thoughts. I look up and see a small woman with brown hair pulled into a severe ponytail, leaning over the counter, eyeing me. “Are you looking for something in particular?”
I glance around at all the dresses and shiny little tops and those tight leggings Delilah always wears when she meets Cora for a walk in the park. Panic eats at my chest at how out of place I am.
“Just looking,” I say. My voice draws Cora’s attention, but thankfully Delilah tugs at her again and they move deeper into the store.
Fuck, I’m an idiot. This was reckless.
I give the clerk a wink and back out of the store, breezing past the two security guards, then stalk down the street.
They should be put down for how easily I accessed the women. They’ve become negligent in their duties. Rune has gotten careless over the years as well. Too confident.
The asshole thinks he’s untouchable.
I wish I could see the sick bastard's expression when he realizes what we’ve done.
Looking both ways, I dart between cars and step up onto the sidewalk.
When I shift my focus back toward where we parked, I spot him.
I shake my head at the fucker’s hypocrisy.
With his legs sprawled out in that arrogant, sexy way, hair shimmering onyx in the daylight, anyone within a hundred yards can’t help but look at him.
Even in jeans and a dirt-smeared T-shirt, he’s so incredibly handsome it should be illegal.
He lifts a hand and waves, then pops something in his mouth and chews. My eyes drop to his lap, and I see the little box.
When I reach him, I snatch up the petit fours from his lap and glare at him. “Why the fuck are you out here? Someone could see you.”
“And someone could see you,” he says, eyes locked on the storefront down the street.
“Yeah, but”—I gesture to his face—“that mug of yours is pretty distinct.”
He points to himself. “This face?” he smirks. “I can’t help it. I was born with this face.”
My retort dies on my lips when the two women step out of the store and head back this way. From this distance, I can make out their features, and my chest does that stabbing thing again. Reaper shifts, leaning forward and propping his forearms on his thighs.
“We’re just training her, right? Not touching?” I ask. “And just Delilah?”
They pass us, guards at their backs, completely unaware of the predators watching them from across the street. When they disappear into another store, I glance at Reaper.
He drops his head and leans back on the bench, crossing his arms but doesn’t answer my question.
We can look, but we can’t touch.
Except not touching feels harder and harder with each passing hour.