Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ELLIOT
Little Crane has turned into my little shadow. It’s only been a few days since I asked her to join me in taking down Mother’s trafficking rings, and she’s got a fight I rarely see in others.
She didn’t even complain when I called for a four a.m. training session this week.
And I’ve been loving it. I haven’t worked on a kill with Diora yet, so today is not only a side mission with the Top Dogs, but a test to see if she can work with the strongest in the Society.
“Okay, boys and… lady… we have an assignment from Logan Lightmore. He wants his competitor Marcus Mikeson dead.”
“Why?” Parker, our knives specialist, asks. But I don’t know why, since Enyo is the absolute last person anyone should ever ask.
“Does it matter?” Enyo asks, shaking his head. “We are hired to kill.”
I might be cold, but Enyo is heartless. My brother doesn’t need a reason to take a life like the rest of us do.
His sunny personality balances his heartless nature. He was left at a fire station when he was a baby, then was in the foster system until Mother found him at sixteen.
He was here when I got here. He was the first Stray to talk to me, and we’ve been banded together ever since.
“Mikeson kidnapped Lightmore’s daughter a few weeks ago and killed her. He wants retribution,” I answer. The fire lights in the eyes of the Dogs and Diora.
I raise my eyebrows and cock my head at Enyo. “See, motivation matters, Big Bro.”
“The location is a boat dock. Parker and Tom, I want you on the surrounding cliffs on watch. Roan, you’re too fucking big to hide, so you’re the front man today with me and Elliot. You act as our bodyguard.” He runs through everyone’s roles, and we all strap up with our gear, getting ready to go.
It doesn’t normally take this many people to kill one fucking guy, but this is a test more than it is an assignment.
“Diora, you are playing our little lamb.”
“Lamb?” she asks, scrunching her brows.
“Yes, lamb. It seems Mikeson likes his woman… unwilling. So, we’ll be giving you to him in exchange for our meeting. Once the four of us are inside, the party is popping.”
“Who’s responsible for Mikeson’s kill?” another Dog asks.
“Now, that is whoever gets the shot.”
The boating dock is empty, of course. We had Parker, our knives specialist, and Tom, the gun lover, clear it out right before we arrived. Jones, Parker, and Tom all watch from various angles to ensure the targets don’t leave this assignment alive.
Diora walks between Enyo and me as we near the boat where we were meeting with Marcus Mikeson. The wood beneath our feet creaks as we step across, the chilling lake air breezing past my skin.
My eyes slide to Diora, who is putting on an act, tripping over her feet and stumbling as I hold her arm captive. As our little lamb, she’s supposed to be scared, trembling at the thought of what’s to come.
I almost feel bad for Mikeson. After this week’s training, she’s no fucking lamb.
“Welcome, boys, please come in.” Mikeson’s voice booms, as he invites us in. He wears sunglasses indoors, he’s a balding man who is too afraid to let go of the little hair he still has.
In a tracksuit, of all things, I watch the man, hiding my disgust at the fucking sight.
This is our target?
Can he even throw a punch?
We step inside his yacht, and it’s decorated as horrendously as his outfit. Red velvet covers nearly every inch of the room, and … are those fucking cheetah print couches?
“Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Mikeson. Here’s the girl, as promised,” Enyo says, handing a “scared” Diora over to Mikeson. I almost forget to let go of her, but I remember before Mikeson catches me.
Don’t want him thinking I’m attached or something. That would sweeten the deal for him.
He’d probably try to hurt her in front of me just because I cared, by the history in his file we had collected.
That thought makes my fucking blood boil.
Shit. It hasn’t even happened yet and I’m heated.
I crack my neck, trying to relieve tension, but it doesn’t help, even as I feel the knots loosing.
This is not the time to find out what I’d do if he hurt Diora.
Sighing, I take a stand across from Mikeson, keeping an eye on Diora from the corner of my eye. I trust she can handle her own. Roan enters, too, sunglasses and a suit on, as if he’s a real bodyguard, standing behind Enyo and I.
“Okay, boys, so what did you want to meet for?” Mikeson asks, and I look over to Enyo, raising my eyebrows.
There are about five of Mikeson’s men here, and four of us.
“We are here to deliver a message, actually,” Enyo says, sliding a piece of paper from his blazer. It’s all for show, of course. The paper is blank. Enyo just likes to be dramatic.
“This is for Logan Lightmore’s daughter,” Enyo says, grabbing his dagger from the inside of his jacket and swinging at Mikeson. He gets a clean thin slice across his neck but it’s not enough to kill him, and Mikeson’s guards are on him in the next second.
Knives are always more fun than a gun.
Roan takes two guards to my right, and Enyo’s on my left with two. That leaves one to me. Smiling, I take my wire saw out and whip it around flying body parts. I use one handle to swing the other end, leaving skinny but deep cuts on anyone who gets too close as I make my way toward Mikeson.
“Fucking do something, you idiot,” Mikeson’s voice yells out as we get closer and closer to him.
The one guard protecting Mikeson by standing in front of him finally comes close to me.
The guard lunges for me, and I dodge a few swings before finally getting his hand trapped in my wire, sawing through it like fucking butter.
The clean up is going to be a bitch, but the sharp slice I get is worth it. I can practically taste the clang of the metal as the swish of the wire going through his wrist sounds throughout the room.
He screams as his hand flops on the floor, and I fly forward, not giving my opponent a moment to think before my wire is around his neck. I turn to face where Mikeson and Diora are.
I bring my handles together and back, slicing the guard’s head off. As his body drops to the floor, I see Diora standing on the couch behind Mikeson. He’s crying, and she looks toward me. Her hair falling in front of her face as she leans forward.
She grabs one of his shoulders and quickly brings her dagger to his neck, stabbing it clean through. She stabs deep, until the skin of his neck meets the hilt of the knife, and this woman fucking smiles.
Oh fucking hell.
Her deep brown eyes shine bright as blood splatters over her face. Watching her eyes is like watching the rebirth of an angel realizing they’re damned to hell … and they’re excited. Finally, feeling normal in one’s skin. It’s the satisfaction of finally doing what you’re meant to do.
It’s absolutely beautiful.
Mikeson drops dead, and so do the guards that Roan and Enyo were fighting. My Little Crane stands with a spray of Mikeson’s blood on her clothes, standing like a fucking angel over his body.
That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“Mission accomplished?” she asks, tilting her head with a victorious smile on her lips.
“Mission accomplished, Little Crane.”
“Alright, we’re done here, Dogs,” Enyo says as he and Roan step off the yacht. I remain frozen as Diora slinks to me. Her blood-covered hands land on my chest, and I feel the heat radiating from her body.
“Good job, Crane.” The words fall off my lips as if I’m in a trance, and I can’t break free. Her eyes peer into mine and I’m stuck.
She pushes me to sit on the sticky couch, and I let her. She looms over me, breathing heavily as we come back down from the high of killing.
“Thank you, handsome.”
“Handsome?”
“It’s my nickname for you,” she says, her dirty hands playing in my blond hair. “It’s the first thing I thought of when I first saw you. My handsome boy.”
Her round plump lips beg me to ruin them. To smear them with my touch and feel them under the prick of my teeth. Shit.
Her chest rises and falls faster now that she’s looming over me. Maybe she’s noticed how close we are. So close I could reach out and grasp her slender neck and feel her breaths in the palm of my hand.
She peers down at me through her lashes, and I feel my chest cramp with need. She could be my kiss of death and I would take the risk just to feel her lips just one time.
“Diora.” Her name rumbles in my chest, and I watch as she raises an eyebrow.
“Are you gonna kiss me or not, Elliot?” Her words settle like clouds around my ears. I’m listening through the fog of my want, my desire to feel those annoyingly pouty lips on mine.
I smirk as my hand reaches for her neck, my palm lightly squeezing the side, as I pull her torturous lips to mine.
Soft. Delicate. Mine.
I lean forward, one hand caressing her neck and the other scooping her body to sit on mine. Get closer. She straddles me, her lips never leave mine. Harsh exhales from her nose shower over my skin, and I press her lips harder. Rougher. I need more. Crave more.
Fuck.
I taste black tea and roses on her tongue.
Her core grinds against mine. Her lifted skirt leaves her thin panties as a barrier between my pants and her sex, and fuck, that’s not a lot of fabric.
A hardening I’m all too familiar with builds in my pants.
Shit. Like a damn schoolboy, I jerk as she moves.
“Calm down, cowboy,” she mutters and giggles, before meeting my lips again. Her hands grip the front of my shirt, pulling me closer.
Since when does she take control? My face flushes as she curls into my body.
“Diora, please.” The words slip past my lips. I can’t think. I can hardly breathe with Diora this close.
I’ve never had urges like this. Not to this level. I’ve kissed other women, but this … not this. Not this kind of desperation. An animalistic need to devour the crane in my hands.
She breaks away from me with a pop. Leaving me a heaving mess as she smiles. She presses a much more simple, quick kiss to my lips. I try to chase her lips but she leans back and damn. The words rush out of me, my mind completely entrapped by her and the fresh kill.
“Go to the Morrígan Society ball with me,” I ask. I run a hand over her hair. She doesn’t move away from me, and I’m grateful.
I’ve never begged for a fucking thing in my life, and one taste of her lips has me desperate for more.
“The ball? As in the ball? Go with you? As your date?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have anything to wear.” She shakes her head as her eyes drift away, but I drag her gaze back to me with a hand on her jaw.
“I’ll take care of it.” I don’t care if she wants a six million dollar dress with jewels the royals wear. I’ll spend every dime I have if it means she’ll make that night a little more bearable.
I’ll spend everything to make her stay by my side.
Her eyes search mine. They bleed hesitation.
Worry. I should be the kind of man that soothes all her worries.
Encourage her, shower her with compliments, tell her how much fun it will be.
How it’ll be a once in a lifetime opportunity.
A chance to see Paris, France. Convince her it’s every woman’s dream.
I don’t want to do that with her. I wanted her to say yes because she truly wants to. I want her to choose me. To go to Paris with me. Not because I coerced her, persuaded her, convinced or manipulated her, but because she wants to.
I sit silently with her in my arms. Waiting like the patient man I never have been.
“What do I tell Juliet?” she says with a small smile. Her pretty little eyes fill with acceptance, and I chuckle.
“That there is a wedding job from Sadie’s in Paris, France and she needs all hands on deck,” I say, bringing her closer to me. She leans her forehead on mine, and I can’t get rid of the fucking smile on my face.
“Then we’re going to Paris together.”