CHAPTER 5 FAE
FAE
Fluffing up my hair, I take one last look in the mirror. It sounds arrogant, but I know I look good. I have always wondered if my dad waited to see if I would be conventionally attractive before he pushed me into this role, or if this was always going to be my destiny.
The muted steel blue dress clings to me like it was built around my body.
The structured corset pulls my waist tight and forces my hips into a fuller, exaggerated curve.
The ruched fabric drapes diagonally across my stomach and hips, sculpting everything to look smooth and intentional, while the deep slit exposes one tanned, toned leg.
The neckline lifts my breasts just enough to feel sexy and the long train trails behind me, turning my silhouette into something unapologetically commanding.
Silver strappy heels complement the diamonds scattered across the train. I add a diamond heart necklace and matching earrings Felix got me for our eighteenth birthday to complete the look.
It’s showtime, baby.
God, I fucking hate this job.
The only difference between me and an escort is that I get to kill the fucker at the end. I also highly doubt an escort went to university to learn the tricks of the trade. It was probably more of a learn-on-the-job vibe.
Grabbing the vial of poison, I quickly distribute it into an old lip gloss. Mixing it together, I pop it into my bag, double-check that I have the antidote, and make my way into the living room.
Roman sits with his legs wide, like the arrogant tosser that he is. I know, as women, we are meant to be annoyed at this position. We even have a name for it now, manspreading. But I can’t help it. Anything Roman does makes him look sexy.
“Ready?” I ask.
Roman’s head jolts up like he wasn’t expecting me, his eyes doing their usual murderous perusal. One day I am definitely going to ask him how many times he has fantasised about killing me. Clearing his throat, he slowly stands and Jesus Christ, even that is sexy.
“Ready,” he nods, licking his lips. “Here, I got this for you.”
He reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a lipstick. I can’t help but frown and make no move to take it. Even from here, I can see it is my favourite brand. I wonder if he knew that or just took a wild guess.
“Go on, take it,” he taunts, shaking the Dior gold-plated lipstick in my direction.
“Um, thanks.” I lean over, taking it from his hands. His fingers brush mine and even the lightest graze of his fingertips awakens something electric in me.
Thank God this guy hates humans, because if he gave me even the smallest hint that he wanted me in the bedroom, I would use every skill I have learnt to rock his world.
“Open it,” he commands.
Still weirdly apprehensive, I open the lipstick and frown when I see something shiny inside. Twisting the base, the sharpest scalpel I have ever seen slides out. My head jolts up as I look at Roman.
“We can’t leave you unarmed now, can we? They won’t think to confiscate that.” That signature smile takes over his face, highlighting the dimples in his cheeks and his bronzed skin.
“This is actually pretty cool,” I mumble. “Did you make it?”
“Of course I made it. Do you think I’d give you something from another man?”
I scoff, shaking my head and ignoring that comment as I make my way to the door. Roman follows without any instruction, beating me to the car and opening the passenger door for me.
“A gentleman. Who would’ve thought it?” I tease. He hums low in the back of his throat and leans over to do my belt. I try to hold my breath so I’m not overwhelmed by his delicious smell, but as he pulls back, his hand grazes my breast and my breath hitches.
“Only for you, Tink,” he whispers, so low I almost feel like I imagined it.
Jumping into the driver’s seat, Roman turns the car on.
‘I Wanna Be Yours by Sofia Karlberg’ plays through the radio as we sit in silence.
The drive to the hotel should only take fifteen minutes, giving us just enough time to slip into the mindset all killers settle into before a job. No mistakes can be made today.
The charity ball is being hosted for disadvantaged children and as I remember the file I got for Mr Langford, my blood starts to boil.
He has a wife at home who has been in hospital more times than I can count, yet each time the police get involved, the case is mysteriously dropped.
Beating a woman is one thing, but what enrages me even more are the files upon files of sexual abuse claims against him.
From the very children he claims to support through his charity.
The sad reality is, I know The Company isn’t sending me in to kill a paedophile. Not when half of the founding members’ moral compass sits firmly in the black zone of the grey area.
No, the reason I am being sent to end Mr Langford is money. He has finally pissed off the wrong person and I am now the executor. What sort of world do we live in when money trumps children’s safety?
It is another reason I will never bring children into this life. Monsters come in all shapes and sizes. Politicians, royal families, Lords, Ladies, celebrities, entrepreneurs, hell, even your average neighbour could be a paedophile and you would have no idea.
My door opens abruptly, pulling me out of that spiral as I realise we have arrived.
“Stay put!” Roman barks, jumping out of the car to come to my side.
Chucking the keys at the valet, he reaches in and grabs my hand, pulling me close so that I am flush against his body. I still have to tilt my head up slightly to look at him, even in my five-inch heels. When we make eye contact, he gently squeezes my hip bone and throws a small smile my way.
The eighteenth-century building looms over us, its red brick facade darkening into near black under the night sky.
The pale stone trim catches the moonlight like an old cobweb and the windows rise in rigid symmetry.
A soft glow spills faintly from within as we walk up the concrete steps.
It is grand in a restrained, institutional way, much like the charity we are here to support tonight.
Roman gives our names at the desk and we are escorted into the ballroom.
High cream walls and detailed plasterwork glow under strings of warm fairy lights that are draped along the ceiling and tall windows.
The chandelier shimmers gently above the open floor as the light reflects off polished surfaces.
A sleek DJ booth sits at one end of the room. Along the opposite wall, a bar stretches beneath the windows as expensive bottles of alcohol catch the twinkling light. The air is scented with flowers, alcohol, and overpriced perfume.
“Drink?” Roman asks as he guides me over to the bar.
“Get me a non-alcoholic fizzy wine. I need to keep up appearances.”
Roman grunts, repeating my order and ordering himself a whiskey. Taking our drinks, we weave through the crowd and take our seats. Roman pulls my chair out before sitting down, brushing his knee against my thigh as he does.
“You look beautiful tonight, Tink.”
“What?” My head snaps in his direction just in time to see his lips twitch.
“You look beautiful tonight, Tink.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be feeling okay?” A deep wrinkle forms between his eyebrows as he frowns.
“You… you just gave me a compliment.” I stutter, pointing at him. “I don’t think I have ever heard you give anyone a compliment in your life.”
“Well, you haven’t known me my whole life. We only met three years ago.” His deadpan expression makes me believe he is not joking.
“Augh, you don’t need to take everything someone says literally, Ro…”
“Why not? Why speak if it is not the truth? That makes no sense to me.”
Against my better judgement, I chuckle at the seriousness of his voice. “You are something else, did you know that?”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Hmm, sometimes.”
A commotion pulls our attention to the back of the hall. Charles Langford walks in with a woman who is not his wife on his arm.
The fucking audacity of these men, honestly.
I still cannot work out how he even gets one woman, let alone multiple. He is the same height as me, his once-brown hair now grey, his hairline so far back it looks like he has a five-head rather than a forehead, and the back of it is thinning.
What makes it worse is that he always looks like he is sweating. His beady eyes scan the room as his stomach enters before him.
“Showtime,” Roman mutters.
Spinning around to talk to him, my breath catches as I realise he has leaned forward. His face is so close to mine that if I move even a fraction, our lips would graze. Our breath mingles and for a split second I swear I see desire in those beautiful, haunted eyes of his.
Roman licks his lips as I track the motion and my heart pounds at the thought of his tongue on me.
Neither of us move. The moment stretches until the tension feels like it physically hums. Roman’s hand shifts slowly and deliberately as it comes to rest on my thigh, where the slit in my dress has fallen open and his gaze drops to where he is touching my warm skin.
The touch is light, almost reverent, but it still sends a sharp pulse through me, and heat curls low in my stomach as his thumb presses down on my inner thigh.
I feel like I’m hallucinating at the unchecked lust reflected in his eyes. The whole world stops as he leans forward, as if silently daring me to match it.
I do.
My mouth barely grazing his, as I touch his pillow soft lips…
“Is this seat taken?” A sickly-sweet female voice cuts in, the tension snapping as I jolt back like I have been electrocuted.
Turning around, I take in the woman before me. Her yellow silk dress flows against her curves like water and her bleach-blonde hair looks like it could use a good conditioner. Charles’ mistress stares at us with a haughty look as I try to come back down to reality.
“Please, sit,” Roman states, saving me from fumbling over my words.
I take a deep breath, glance at him, and then smile demurely at the woman.
“Thank you,” she sits opposite me, giving me another once-over.
“Are you here on your own?” I ask, pretending like I give a fuck and that I do not already know the answer.
Picking up my wineglass, I drink it in two gulps and place it back down in front of me. I can see Roman’s quizzed expression out of the corner of my eye, but he follows suit and empties his whiskey.
“No,” the mystery lady responds curtly. “My date is just getting drinks.”
Grabbing my handbag, I take out my tube of gloss and start to apply the contaminated product onto my lips. For a moment, I second-guess whether this is the right thing to do. But I have no other option. Go big or die… or whatever the phrase is.
“Oh, who is your date? Maybe we know him?” Roman responds.
“Oh, he’s… there he is!”
Twisting around, I see Charles two steps behind me.
Taking a deep breath, I centre myself. Murder is one thing, murdering in plain sight?
Well, that takes a different level of confidence.
Wiping my palms on my dress, I shoot up and spin around to him.
Charles looks slightly startled, which is perfect for what I want to do.
“Charles,” I crow in the most melodramatic voice I can. “Oh darling, how have you been?”
Taking a step forward, I wrap my arms around him, using the split second he is dumbfounded to plant a kiss on his lips. Grabbing his face, I kiss his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, and then go back to his lips.
“You look wonderful, Charles. How is the wife?”
Charles splutters, his face going red as his brows pull together in a frown and droplets of his ever-dripping sweat starting to bead along his non-existent hairline.
“Faith, darling,” Roman chuckles, standing and pulling me back into his body more aggressively than he should.
His hands grip my hips as he moves my hair to the other side of my neck. Lowering his voice, his breath sends tingles down my spine as he stage-whispers,
“I think you’ve broken Mr Langford.” If I’m not mistaken, he almost sounds annoyed, which I don’t have enough time to dissect.
“Oh.” I drop my eyes to the floor. “S… s… sorry, Charles. It has been so long. Please forgive me, you know I have always been a bit of a live wire.” I force a pretend, awkward chuckle as I look back up.
“Quite alright.” Charles finally gets his bearings, licking the cherry lip gloss from his mouth as a small smile spreads across my face. “It is good to see you have not changed.”
Liar.
I have never even met this man before today and I am certainly anything but a live wire.
“Excuse me for a moment, will you, Mr Langford? I am just going to get my wife and I a drink. Would you like one?” A polite, forced tone drips from Roman’s mouth.
I wonder if it is as obvious to them as it is to me that he is despising this interaction. Roman would make the worst spy. No wonder he took up weaponry.
“No, that’s quite alright, Mr…” Charles trails off, because of course he has no idea who we are.
“Reece. Reece Fernsby, sir.” One of Roman’s hands lifts from my hip as he extends it to shake Charles’. “I love the work you’ve been doing in the tech space. It’s revolutionary.”
“Thank you, young man.”
Roman nods at that, drops his hand and starts pushing me towards the bar. Breaking free from his electrifying touch, I divert and make my way to the toilet. My heart is already beating faster than it should be and a headache starts to build. Maybe I put this on too soon…
Shoving my way through people, not even caring if I knock someone down, I make it to the bathroom and run straight to the sink. Nausea swirls in my gut as I start scrubbing the lip gloss off with soap, water, and tissue.
I desperately try to get the antidote out of my bag, but my hands are shaking so uncontrollably that I can’t open the clasp. A loud bang hits the door and my head whips up, the remaining air in my lungs get knocked out of me as I see Roman enter like a dark, vengeful god.
“Help,” I wheeze.
His mind seems to catch up before his body does.
I see the fear flash across his face as he assesses me with a clinical eye.
Striding over in three steps, he rips the bag from my hand and manages to open it.
Unscrewing the vial, he grabs the back of my neck and pours the liquid down my throat, covering my mouth with his hand so I don’t miss a drop.
My vision blurs as my heart continues to pound.
Roman steps back, grabbing more soapy water.
“In your lip gloss?” he asks and I nod quickly.
“You are an infuriating woman, Tinkerbell.”
His fear mirrors mine as he continues wiping my lips, making sure every trace of poison is gone. He exhales, flushing the tissue before coming back to me, his hand closing around the back of my neck as his thumb tilts my face up.
“Now, what the FUCK was that?” he barks, his eyes blazing with fury.