Chapter 7 Burner Isla
Burner
Isla
I’ve never had a man cook a meal for me on a Bunsen burner before. And I try to convince myself that it’s not the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. But I fail.
Mateo swears a lot in Spanish as he cooks.
Granted, it is a little challenging with a Bunsen burner and only one stainless-steel pot.
But he still manages to make linguine and an incredible tomato sauce with garlic and Serrano ham.
And the smile he gives me when I say he should start a Bunsen burner restaurant is frankly adorable. For an assassin, of course.
Rolland shows up with a bag of supplies as we’re taking a break to eat. I catch him roll his eyes and mumble something about “Real suave” and “Just order takeaway, you idiot” before Mateo kicks him out of the lab.
I grin down at my pasta as he returns with a murderous glint in his dark eyes. “Ignore him,” Mateo says, glowering down at the food as he stabs it with his plastic fork. “I try to.”
My smile stretches before I can hide it behind my beaker of wine.
Before long, we’ve finished our meal and start getting down to work.
Mateo knows a little about poison, but just enough to understand he’s out of his depth when it comes to making something complex.
He listens to every instruction I give him.
He gathers materials. Hands me tools. And when he doesn’t know something, he asks.
Sometimes, they’re questions about chemistry, as though he’s genuinely interested in learning.
Others, they’re logistical, such as, “Do I add this to the pot over there now?”
“Only if you want to set our skin on fire.”
And every time I give him a response like that, he grins and says, “Okay, Víbora.”
I never thought I’d be wondering whether a ridiculously hot contract killer is flirting with me by calling me a viper while we make poisonous gas together, but sometimes life takes you in unusual directions.
We work until well after midnight, and I enjoy it a lot more than I should.
“I can call you a car . . .” Mateo says when we’re standing outside, ready to part ways for the night. He seems to stall for a moment, trying to find the right words that won’t be insulting for a fully capable assassin.
“It’s okay. It’ll be good to walk.” I give him a smile, and he frowns before scanning the street. “See you bright and early.”
He doesn’t look relieved when he gives me a single nod. “Okay, Víbora.”
Something warm blooms in my chest as I walk away.
The next morning, he’s waiting outside the lab for me with two coffees in his hands.
Even though I already know what to expect when I look at him, I’m somehow still surprised.
It’s the same way I often feel when I watch a chemical reaction.
I know what will happen when certain molecules collide. And yet, it still feels like magic.
I know the curves and angles of Mateo’s face, or the shades of brown in his eyes, or the way his scar deepens on his cheek when he smiles. But that still feels like magic too.
When we get to work, Mateo has a chance to use his bomb-making skills.
He solders circuitry to remotely release an ampule of ammonia-based poison into a solution of sodium hypochlorite.
He rigs a release valve for the gas. By the end of the day, he has a working prototype.
And when we meet again early the next morning, we’re making the next set of canisters together, sitting so close that our knees touch when we reach for the screws and wires laid out before us.
“Can I ask you something?” Mateo says as we work.
I nod. “Yeah. Of course.”
“Why this life? Why not cooking? You’re clearly talented.”
I can feel him watching me as I shrug. “You know what it’s like.
Once you start, it’s hard to stop, even when you want to.
” Hazy memories crawl from the hole I try to keep them in, a childhood that was stolen when I was far too young.
I swallow, focusing harder than I have to on the work of my hands.
“My parents were in the business. I lost them when I was young. The Juniper Guild took me in, and I’ve owed them ever since. ”
A long beat of silence descends. Mateo’s voice is resigned when he finally says, “You’re right.
I know what it’s like.” We share only a brief glance, but there’s enough pain buried deep in him that I can still catch it in that fleeting moment.
“I lost my family too. And when you fight to survive, sometimes you get a little too good at killing anyone who stands in your way.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Sometimes you do.”
For a long while, we say nothing to one another.
Maybe he’s trying as hard as I am to leave history behind.
But I sense unease brewing in my unlikely partner.
Something scratches at his brain. A few times, he takes a breath like he’s about to say what’s on his mind, but he keeps biting down on the words until my curiosity finally gets the better of me.
“Are you going to ask me something else?” I say, waving my soldering iron in his direction. “Or are you just going to chew your tongue off in broody silence?”
He chokes on a surprised laugh. “I was planning on the tongue-chewing option.”
“Shame,” I say, and wince as a flurry of salacious images clouds my mind.
Mateo chuckles in my periphery. I glance over just enough to catch his smile as he pretends to focus on his work.
My cheeks are burning hot, and I’m grateful he doesn’t look over right away to see it.
And when he does finally meet my eyes, he looks into me, as though searching for something he’s not sure he wants to find.
His voice is a quiet rasp when he finally says, “Why did you do it? Why did you give me the antidote when you could have taken my bounty?”
My gaze unlocks from his, drifting away across the lab. I can feel him watching me as he twists a screw into a steel shell. The motion of his hand is precise. But his attention is on only me.
“It was your honesty. The way you gave up your name rather than die with me believing you were somebody else. And it was the way you closed your eyes. Your voice. You knew you were living your final moments, but it felt like there was so much more you wanted from your life.” I shrug, still not meeting his gaze.
“I guess it didn’t feel right to take that chance from you. ”
This job will encase you. It mummifies you with layers of your sins. Your regrets. Your pain. And when I finally look at Mateo, it’s as though those layers have been peeled back. The real man is still there, underneath. And he feels it. He feels seen.
“I don’t know,” he says, barely more than a whisper. My head tilts, my brows furrowing in an unvoiced question. “I don’t know if I would have done the same. But I would have regretted it if I didn’t. So very much, Víbora.”
My heartbeat stalls. We’re so close that I can count every shade of mahogany in his eyes.
His scent curls around me. Leather and bergamot.
A hint of pepper. I breathe it in as his hand slowly rises, his fingertips grazing my cheek in a featherlight touch as he sweeps a lock of hair from my face.
I’m frozen, perfectly still. Mateo’s gaze drifts down to my lips, and I fight the pull to lean closer, too afraid to shatter this moment.
His phone vibrates on the counter, and the spell breaks anyway.
Apology flashes across his face before Mateo answers the call with a gruff hello.
And then all I see is panic in his eyes. All I catch is Rolland’s single, desperate plea.
Run.
All I hear is an explosion.
And then the world goes dark.