Page 3

CHAPTER 3

HERA

Waking up next to my naked lover in Paris sounds so storybook, but here I am. Me… the stone-cold handler who once popped an assassin on the mouth for making a run at her. How far I have fallen…

The sun is barely starting to peek up from Germany.

Cupid is lying on his back, limbs sprawled out vulnerably. He needs to leave now . And yet, I can’t help but take a moment to watch him. I count scars. I even let myself trace a few with my fingertips.

My body still hums from the things he did to me.

I feel better than I have in… well, ever. Even with the stress of potentially being found out by Olympia and killed for it. It makes me want to stay in bed and explore every thick muscle Cupid fucked me with last night.

But we don’t have time for that.

I slap him hard across the face. “Get up.”

Cupid snaps awake with killer's eyes before he realizes I’m the one who hit him. Suddenly, his cock stiffens.

“Well, good morning.” He rolls over and sweeps his arm around my body. “I could get used to waking up like this. Hit me harder next time, would you?”

This man is deranged.

I hate that it turns me on…

“Enough.” I lurch out of bed, scrambling around for anything to throw on.

Cupid lies lazily on his side, watching me as he touches himself.

I sigh and shake my head. “Stop that.”

“You want me to leave? I can’t exactly climb down the balcony with this thing in my way.”

“You don’t need the keycard to get down the stairs,” I say, finding a tank top. “You need to get he hell out of here. Now. ”

I pause and stare at him.

Cupid doesn’t budge, slowly stroking his thick, curved cock. He holds my gaze, waiting for me.

“Fuck…”

I throw myself at him like a wild animal. My thoughts are explosions, left without reason or logic in all the noise and force. As I take him in my mouth, nothing else seems to matter.

How is this even possible? Before him, all I cared about was the job.

One kiss turned me into some teenage girl risking getting caught by her parents. Except my parents will literally kill me.

But, damn, does he taste good…

Cupid lies back, moaning softly and pressing my head down deeper. I choke a little, but don’t stop. The pain makes it better.

“Don’t fucking stop,” he growls. “Faster.”

I obey him. God, it feels so good to do as I’m told. Last night, I let him take control, and I’ve never felt such freedom.

He pours cum down my throat.

I kick my feet and welcome it, moaning onto his cock.

As soon as he’s done groaning and pumping into me, I gasp and slap his thigh so hard he bucks. “Now, get out.”

“Is that an order?”

“If it gets you to move.” I leap up and throw him his pants. “Yes.” He watches me lick my lips; I savor the salty taste that lingers on them.

Cupid rolls out of bed, laughing as he gets dressed. I ripped his stitches open last night while I was… riding. No time to fix him up. He’ll be fine; besides, he’s the one who fucking stabbed himself.

“Let’s meet later,” he says, buttoning up his shirt.

I’m already throwing clothes into my suitcase. I unload the Glock and hide it in the floor panel where Olympia had hidden it for me. “No. I’m taking the next flight back to the States. This shouldn’t have happened, Cupid. And if I stay, I can’t ensure it won’t happen again.”

“Enjoyed yourself, did you?”

His stupid accent crests as one thing and crashes as another. It soothes me like a sedative—it’s dangerous.

I look him in those mischievous eyes and smile. “You know I did.”

“When will I see you again?”

“Our next assignment. You did well, Cupid. Olympia will be happy that we’re a good match.”

“Better than good .” He steps toward me, running his teeth over his lip. “They’ve been worried about me, haven’t they? I’m out of control.”

“I can’t speak to that,” I shudder as he lifts my chin. “But, yes. You’re clearly out of control.”

“It’s because of you .”

“Not according to Olympia,” I whisper a breath away from his lips. “You’ve been spiraling for some time.” For whatever reason, I ask something I shouldn’t ask. “What’s been going on with you, Cupid? What’s wrong?”

He pauses.

Just like when he grabbed me at the café, his demeanor changes and something in him slips. His lower lip bounces erratically before he speaks, “Nothing. They’ve just never sent a handler that can actually handle me.”

“Is that what I’ve done? Handled you?”

“Careful,” he hums. “You’re turning me on again.”

We kiss like we shouldn’t.

And if we’re smart, it’ll be for the last time.

Stateside again, but I feel like I left something in Paris. My heart? How cliché.

This isn't like me—I don't get hung up on one-night stands. Is it still a one-night stand after what we did the next morning? What happened between Cupid and me can be nothing more than that. A one-off. An admittedly amazing night that can never be repeated.

He's all I could think about the entire flight over the Atlantic.

Even now, as I march out of the terminal in Raleigh International, I find myself looking for him in the crowd. I hope that he's watching me with those trickster eyes.

Someone is watching me.

We're trained to pick up on these things—people that look too regular, heads turning just as you look at them, someone trailing you even as you take a roundabout path—and all my senses are alerting me to danger.

It's not Cupid.

I walk through the long-term parking garage and feel their eyes on me. I know what's about to happen, and they make their move just as I reach my Lexus.

Tires screech.

Men dressed in plain clothes grab me.

The black bag is fitted over my head.

"Don't fight, Hera." The voice is familiar, though, I've never seen this person's face. Is this his only job?

"I know the drill."

They load me into their van, and we get rolling.

“Did you at least get my suitcase?” I ask. “Olympia gave me some fine clothes, this time.”

“We have it.”

The agents will say nothing more to me. No point in asking any questions.

Just like me, they are told only what they need to know. They are tools completing their task.

They'll take me to Zeus, and then I'll know what this is all about.

As far as I know, Olympia has no headquarters. There is no address or phone number, no email chains or Monday memos. Our safe houses change constantly. I never know where I'm being taken.

The room, however, is always the same.

I’m sitting on a metal foldout chair. The box of a room is four white walls, a white marble floor, and a white ceiling. The white blends so perfectly together that I can’t identify the corners of the room. It’s a void. I could be underground, in the ocean, or in fucking space for all I know.

Always, the bag is pulled off of my head from behind. I'm instructed to face forward and to look behind me under no circumstance. When the meeting is over, the door behind me (whatever it looks like) will open, and an agent will put the bag back over my head and escort me out.

The only other thing in the room is a small white speaker on a white column pedestal. Wherever the light comes from, the pedestal casts no shadow. It feels godly, which I imagine is the desired effect.

As always, I wait.

They took my phone and my watch.

Time blends to nothing, like the tiny, endless room. Even here, all I can think about is him.

Hera, the distorted, booming voice erupts from the speaker. I swear, they put that thing on full blast. The voice shakes me; it bounces a thousand times in the claustrophobic void. Welcome back. Report.

It's not unheard of to be brought in so soon after a job. But I wasn't expecting it. For a handler as experienced as I am, Olympia usually waits until they have another target for me. They know when an assassin succeeds or fails, all I can give them are the details.

I hope they’re just eager to know if Cupid is still viable.

"Target eliminated," my voice sounds so tiny in comparison. I speak as if I'm reading off quarterly financial reports. "Clean. No collateral... Field asset unharmed."

Assessment of field asset, Zeus demands.

A daydream of Cupid's body swims through the white room. My moans bounce off the walls—wherever they are—a million times. I squirm in the chair. Christ, I never thought I’d feel horny in this weird space.

"Erratic. Playful," I sigh. "Arrogant. But highly precise and capable. Field asset is fit for further assignment."

Silence before Zeus echoes, Under your supervision?

Olympia has always given me a choice. If I feel that I'm not the right fit for an assassin, I can make it known. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve extricated myself from handling an asset.

All I have to do is say so, and I'll never see Cupid again.

"Yes: under my supervision."

How is it that even here, in the bowels of whatever Olympia is, with the voice of Zeus vibrating my spine, the last thing on my mind is protocol?

I want to see Cupid again.

I have to.

Zeus seems to ponder this from behind the wall or in his office on the other side of the planet or high up in the clouds on Mount Olympus. When he finally speaks again, he startles me, Amplifying information?

"None," I say quickly. "As I said, the target was eliminated and it was a clean—"

The speaker makes a sound like a thunderbolt being hurled. It crackles and whines so loudly that my teeth hurt. When all that cacophony finally settles, Zeus speaks as softly as the speaker allows, We know what you did. We know everything, Hera. Enjoyed yourself, did you?

I close my eyes and slump back in the chair. Of course, they know. How stupid am I? They probably own the hotel. The whole place must've been bugged.

I wait for a bullet to blow out my skull.

Zeus doesn't give me a chance to admit anything. It's unlike you, Hera. You breathe protocol. It’s no exaggeration to state that you’re our finest handler. You'd throw this all away for a good fuck?

The way he says fuck is tinged with contempt. Does Zeus, whoever they are, get laid? They wouldn’t be worthy of the name if they didn’t…

I bite a smirk down, but it bleeds into my tone. "If you were listening, you know just how good it was." God, Cupid is a bad influence on me.

Quiet, Zeus roars. The only reason you're still alive is because you're a valuable asset, but we will not tolerate insolence. Don’t test us.

Zeus is right. If they've known all along, they could have me killed that very night. If I'm still alive, it’s because they have use for me. Cupid is surely still alive. He's far more valuable than I am and infinitely harder to kill.

Chances are, I'll never see him again. But he lives, and that fills my heart with a defiant joy.

Silence consumes the white room. Without a point of reference, I'm not sure how much time passes. I count my heartbeats until I grow bored. My mouth goes dry. I have to relieve myself, but I don't say a word.

Finally, Zeus speaks, You are reassigned. Relief smacks a breath from my lips. Immediately. A new field asset, and a new target. Lake Tahoe, California. Codename: Ares. Stand by for details. Request repetition when necessary. And, Hera...

I hold my breath.

I close my eyes, wait for the door to open, and a bullet to enter my brain. How spectacular the stain of my blood would look in the all-white room; perhaps then, I’d be able to make out the defining lines of the floor and walls.

This is your only warning.

I'm dropped off right where I was snatched up. Olympia is efficient like that.

I don't turn around until the van’s squealing tires fades. No one is there. No one is watching.

I manage to get my luggage in the trunk, get in the car, and start the engine before I weep.

I almost lost everything. My position within Olympia. My life. Everything I've worked for. And, still, I can't stop myself from yearning for Cupid's touch. That night lives in me like a piece of shrapnel that I never want extracted.

Olympia is letting me keep it. They are letting me live even after I broke their most sacred rule.

Assassins and handlers are not friends. My field assets are not my buddies, or flings, and certainly not my lovers. They are tools, and I let myself forget that.

My next assignment is one they call Ares. The God of War. I won't forget this time.

If they had sent me back to Cupid, I know I would have failed again.

I would've been happy to die in his arms.