Chapter 12 Nina
NINA
I take the long way back from work.
No reason.
Okay, a big reason.
The app for Paddington Station notified me that there’s a new package. My stomach flipped when I saw the little flag.
Probably I should be nervous, but I rush through the process of getting it this time, picking up the heavy package. I sigh with relief when I find that my brother is out when I get home.
This is another, unsafe thing I’m doing, and it’s thrilling.
Hopefully it’s not a bomb. That would serve me right, and Aaron would be so annoyed. And upset.
My heart races as I take the package to my bedroom. I don’t want Aaron accidentally walking in and seeing anything that’s private between Blake and me.
Wait.
Is there an “us”? A Blake and me?
Maybe it’s a figment of my imagination… But okay. It’s a really nice fiction. My favourite story to tell myself.
I open my phone, and consider what to say. This parcel he’s sent me reminds me even more of the fancy book promo boxes you see unwrapped on social media, which gives me an idea.
Do I dare…?
BunnytheKiller
Should I do an unboxing video for you?
The dots bounce immediately. Then stop. My stomach swoops with disappointment.
Then the phone vibrates, and excitement explodes in me again.
Blake is calling me.
My hand shakes as I press accept.
Blake’s face appears on the screen, and in the shock of seeing him, I just stare. His salt-and-pepper hair is messy, his cheek dark with stubble, and he’s wearing a pale-grey suit, white shirt, and forest-coloured tie.
His pale-green eyes gleam. “Bunny.”
I’m gazing into his face.
And at that moment, I realise he must be looking at me, too.
It’s a two-way video call to my selfie camera, not the forward-facing camera pointing at the box. I didn’t even think.
I squeak and smash the button to switch it around, so all he can see is the parcel he sent me. This is supposed to be anonymous.
In my eagerness to talk to him, I totally forgot to ensure I was on the correct camera. I’ve lost my whole mind.
“So, what have we here.” My voice is only audible to dogs as I try to ignore that I just showed Blake my face.
“Not half as pretty as the previous view,” he rumbles, his brows lowering with disapproval.
A blush heats my cheeks. Is he saying I’m pretty? Do I like that?
“Especially if it’s a severed head,” I say lightly.
“I think you’ll enjoy this authentic mafia experience, Bunny.”
“Mmm.” The sound is sceptical. His assurance makes me even more wary. “I have lots of mafia experience,” I lie as I run the scissors along the tape that holds the box shut.
“You haven’t had this, I promise,” he replies with laughter in his voice.
Inside, there’s tissue paper again, and a small box laid on it. It’s sturdy, with the weight of luxury as I lift it out. This man is rich, I remind myself. A mafia boss, used to having his own way.
It’s not heavy enough to be ammunition, or a gun, or anything really dangerous. So I take a deep breath, and lift the lid.
I gasp. My stomach lurches.
Laid in delicate tissue paper are fingers. The bloody, cut off fingers of a man. Five of them, including a thumb.
It takes me a long, horrifying second, to realise they’re not real.
They’re chocolate, skilfully shaped into fingers and painted, complete with some sort of red dyed chocolate at the joint that represents blood.
“You sent me severed fingers!” I’m caught between disgust and thinking they’re awesome.
“The full mafia experience, Bunny,” he says wryly. “You deserve no less.”
“Way better than the real thing.” I examine the chocolates. Each one is unique, complete with tattoos, lines for the knuckles, and fingernails. “Are these handmade?”
“You think I’d send you boring chocolates?” he drawls.
“All chocolate is great. But the poison needs to be added by hand, right?” I half-joke.
“An aphrodisiac isn’t poison, Bunny,” he croons.
“You’re mixing up fingers with oysters,” I reply lightly, but this has gone way, way beyond a situation I know about.
“Both go in your mouth,” he points out.
I run my fingertip over the chocolate digits. They’re extraordinarily detailed. The little finger even as a slash of a white scar on it. And that, along with the tattoos, are somehow familiar.
It takes me a second to place it, then I look back at the screen, which shows his face. Amused, a spark of anticipation there.
“Show me your hand.”
He chuckles, and holds up his left hand. The suit jacket and shirt sleeve expose a strong, square wrist flecked with dark hair and tattoos of skeletal leaves and rose thorns. And on his little finger is an identical scar to the chocolates.
“I can’t believe you sent me your fingers.”
His expression goes cunning. “Only way I could touch you, given you won’t come to me.”
Is that regret that rolls in my stomach as I step away from his gifts? “No can do, Boss.”
Because if I go to him, he can have me followed home. And then he’ll figure it out, anonymous app or no.
I am in favour of the continued existence of my brother, and if Blake finds out who I am, he’ll kill Aaron for this mistake, for sure.
“What else is in the box?” I ask, changing the topic awkwardly as the recollection of why I shouldn’t be talking to Blake seeps back into me. “Is it a head?”
On my phone screen, Blake quirks an eyebrow up.
He’s so absurdly attractive. He probably does this all the time, to any woman he meets and fancies. That thought solidifies in my gut like a cheap, greasy burger.
“Alright, let’s see the skull you’ve sent me.” I need to cut this conversation short, because the longer it goes on, the more likely someone is to get killed. Whether physically or emotionally, I wouldn’t like to guess. Both? Both.
I lift the now-familiar red tissue paper, continuing to angle my phone’s camera with the other, then stop. Because what’s revealed is even more shocking than a severed body part—chocolate or not.
It’s a book.
“Have you read this one?” Blake asks when I still can’t move. Or breathe.
“No,” I reply faintly.
Because this isn’t just a book. It’s a pristine hardback special edition of an iconic wolf shifter series, with the title in shiny gold lettering and a fancy paper wrap over the cover.
These are older books now, but it’s the sort of book that people say, “Oh this is the best, really, I can’t believe you haven’t read it! ”
I reach down, and the paper is smooth and cool against my fingers.
I lift it carefully out, then gasp. It’s an excess of oxygen and I swear I’m lightheaded as I blink at the gorgeous sprayed edges.
It’s truly stunning. A swirling pattern of green, blue, and purple with two painted wolves that wraps around the pages.
“So beautiful,” I murmur.
“Yes,” Blake agrees softly.
I tear my gaze from the book and back to my phone’s screen, where Blake has a soft expression, which I can barely comprehend.
And as I lower my hand holding the book, my eye is caught. “There’s more.”
“Mmm.” Blake’s face gets bigger, as though he sat forwards.
There are four more books beneath, each just as beautiful. I turn each of them over in my hands, examining the details and line them up. The edge designs combine to make one big picture.
My heart does some weird thing. Squeezing and pulsing. He sent me books. He wouldn’t have had those lying around, would he? But he’s filthy rich and utterly gorgeous, as well as older and experienced. Out of my league.
“This was really kind, Blake,” I say eventually.
“It’s purely selfish, I assure you. I thought we could read them together.” He shifts the camera until I can see his desk. And on it, there is a matching set of books.
“Oh!” I melt. “You want to read them too?”
“They might be inspiring.” His eyebrows flick up.
And that’s when I remember that they’re spicy books. My cheeks burn.
“And when you visit me, Bunny, we can go shopping for more.”
I’m silent for a moment, choked up, not sure what to say. Embarrassed, and desperate to have this perceptive man as my own. To meet him. Touch him. Whisper secrets and listen to anything he wanted to tell me.
“I’m shocked there are no weapons or sex toys in this box,” I joke to lighten the mood away from the seriousness we’ve fallen into. “Did you run out of supplies sending them to other assassins?”
His smile goes dark and feral. “Ohhhh Bunny. Your jealousy is wonderful, if unwarranted. The only thing you’ve received from me that I’ve sent before to someone else, is money.”
I bite my lip to prevent myself from smiling, even as my body floods with relief.
“But if you miss the sex toys, we can pretend,” he purrs. “If you want to.”
“Maybe.” Yes. Desperately.
“But only if you show me your face.”
Oh. God.