Page 6 of Claimed By the Villain

The problem is, I never know what happens next in that fantasy. Do I slap him for never coming to me, not even to say hi? Or do I grab him and kiss him?

I shake the silly thoughts from my head and tell myself that if things stay like this—this giant void between us—and if Lucifer doesn’t come talk to me, and even if by some miracle he does but still doesn’t see me as a woman… then I’ll move on. I’ll give a real relationship a chance. No more of these half-hearted flings I’ve settled for.

Suddenly, that gut feeling—that he’s closer than ever—turns into certainty.

It’s like he can read my mind. Like he somehow knows I made a silent promise to let him go. Like he doesn’t want to let me go.

I’m walking past an alley, pitch black inside. I see a shape—the broad body of a man, arms crossed over his chest—and I know it’s him.

“Lucifer.”

The name comes out as a whisper. I don’t need confirmation.

I know.

I wait, heart pounding, palms slick with sweat from nerves—but several seconds pass, and nothing happens.

I feel anger. Disappointment. Right now, I hate him.

“Ihateyou,” I say, mostly to myself—but I think I see his head move, like he’s about to step toward me.

I don’t wait anymore. I’m tired. And alone. Always so alone…

“Your days are numbered in my heart,” I tell the darkness, then turn and keep walking without looking back.

Chapter 3

One Week Later

Moonless nights are my favorite. I don’t like the daytime. I prefer the shadows.

It has nothing to do with what I do for a living—I just appreciate the darkness.

Tonight, in particular, the streets of this small Mississippi town are as still as a graveyard at dawn, even though it’s just after seven.

I breathe deep, letting the heavy air fill my lungs. It smells like danger—like the kind of night where I might be living my final minutes on Earth.

It doesn’t scare me. It turns me on.

Death is my element. Risk is my routine.

Does anyone in this quiet town have a clue about what happened a few weeks ago at one of its farms? I wouldn’t be surprised if some—or all—of the locals knew. People tend to look the other way when their own asses are on the line, and the son of a bitch I’m about tovisithas power.

Little do they know, their town is about to make headlines worldwide. I wasn’t hired for revenge, not just retaliation, I was paid to turn this death into a message. A warning to all of my client’s enemies.

I drive without any rush. I’ve been here two days and already know this place like the back of my hand. I enjoy studying my target—knowing I control the moment he’ll die while he remains completely unaware.

Just like an engineer surveys the land before building, I never act on impulse. I follow my plans to the letter—but always with a bonus. A signature. A beautiful, unforgettable job. Killing is my art. No wonder my services are expensive enough that every contract could fund an early retirement.

I park about a kilometer from the main house, hiding the car in a cornfield owned by one of the bastard’s neighbors.

I know the only security is inside the property. No external cameras. No guards outside the gates.

I go over the plan in my mind.

Soon, the proud man who once interviewed kings and world leaders—whose family is the richest in this entire state—will be lying in a pool of his own blood.

The reason I’m here isn’t for the first crime he committed. But it’ll be the first one he pays for.