Page 7 of Kill for a Kiss

She’s running through the vines, with breathless, desperate panic. But I falter, only moving half a step. The part of me that should close the distancehesitates. What the fuck is happening to me?

I’m still watching her. Still tracking every movement. But everything feels wrong now. For a moment, I forget how to breathe. She’s small—maybe five-foot to my six, close to my age—but it’s the curves beneath the black dress that give her away. The way the fabric hugs her full curves, clear even from this angle. The delicate taper of her waist. The shape of her hips as she sprints blindly.

Black tights mold to her legs. Her dress shoes slip awkwardly on the damp grass. Her long, brown hair streams behind her in the ocean breeze, catching the last bleeding light.

The sunset clings to her like a spotlight, chasing her even as she flees. Fromme. She moves like a doe. New to running. Still getting used to her legs, every stride unpracticed. She’s fast, but not enough. Not with the way her dress shoes keep slipping. Not with the way her ankle wobbles when she lands wrong.

She isn’t built for this. She’s built for softer things. The way sheruns…reminds me of something in the past I’ve buried deep. A moment I don’t want to recall right now. Not unless I want it to shatter me.

My first mistake. The thought sinks in heavy, unexpected.

I take a step forward. Then another. I don’t run. I never rush. Sloppy work gets you killed in my line of work, and I don’t make the same mistake twice.

So I walk. Wide, measured steps eating up the ground between us. She can’t outrun me anyway. I know this vineyard better than anyone. And I take my time to take in the sight in front of me. She looks like something the world should’ve protected. Beautiful in the dwindling light. Still sprinting. Still stumbling.

The sun glows around her like it doesn’t want to let her go. It wants to keep her in its grasp a little longer, before night devours her. Something in my chest tightens, low and dragging, similar to a string being pulled taut.

I should’ve stopped by now. Should’ve already decided what to do with her. Instead, I keep walking. Trailing after her. Watching the way she trips again, ankle rolling on the uneven slope, her body jerking awkwardly as she fights to stay upright.

She’s not fast enough. She’s not trained for this. And she’s trapped in the direction she’s heading, between the sloping cliff in front and me closing in from behind. Still, she tries. A gritty little thing. Admiration flickers, unwelcome and sharp. My hands flex at my side. Instinct’s telling me to end this chase, to grab her. But I don’t.

I stalk her slowly, savoring the last sliver of distance she clings to. Because somewhere deep in the scorched ash that used to be my heart, I don’t want this to end yet. Not when she’s so beautiful running from me. Not when part of me already aches for her to look back. To see me the way I see her now, fleeting and fierce all at once. Something to be treasured. Cherished and held like a rarejewel. Something that should never have been forced into a world like mine.

I keep walking, trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with her. WhatdoI do? I have bodies to bury. Targets to finish off. Contracts to complete. I don’t have time for this.For her. She’s a complication. An anomaly.

I should be cleaning up my mess. Silencing this witness. Moving on like I always do. But I don’t. Ican’t. Not because she saw me—no, that part’s simple. I know exactly what should happen because of that. No witnesses. Ever.

But she isn’t like the others. She doesn’t fit. She’s not another drunk, slobbering over their own power. She’s not another rich bastard laundering blood through my family’s empire. She’s not meant to be prey.

My rules are simple. Clean. Ruthless. No women harmed. No children either. I’ve learned my damn lesson. Yet here I am, still moving toward her like some inevitable pull I can’t tear free from. None of it changes the fact that she saw something she shouldn’t have. That if anyone else found out—if anyone else touched her—

The thoughtburnsthrough me. My fists clench tighter. Moving my legs is harder to do. But I keep going. Because she’s still running. Still fighting. Still slipping. Her ankle gives out again. And this time, she falls hard. But she gets up again. Relentless thing.

I should stop watching. I should have a plan already. Should have backup moves mapped out for shit like this. But I fucking don’t. Because I never get caught. Never get thrown off balance. Not since four years ago.

She only makes it a few more feet before she stops so abruptly that my own stride falters. She freezes, standing by the vineyard’s edge. And then I see the slight raise of her shoulders. The way her spine stiffens. The tilt of her head, just enough to betray that herfocus has locked onto something. Something else that isn’tme. A sharp pressure seizes in my ribs, sudden and unwanted, like that wire drawn too tight is slicing into my chest.

I don’t like it. I don’t like how I know, without even seeing her face, that she isn’t even thinking about me anymore. And I’m the danger she was just running from. I don’t like that I’ve been stalking her across this wide vineyard, only to realize she never looked back. Not once.

This entire time, she’s been keeping her back to me. Keeping herself pointed toward something else. Someone else. And for some inexplicable, gut-wrenching reason, thatdevastatesme.

My hands flex harder, my gloves stretching tight over my knuckles. I’m the masked danger behind her back, the one who caught her heartbeat in the hollow of my palm. But her eyes—her mind—aren’t on me. Why? When she should be looking at me. Only thinking ofme.

Her hair, still swept by the ocean breeze, clings to the nape of her neck. I could mark her there. I could leave a trail with my lips. Bite that warm, soft skin until she gasps into the wind.

My body shivers. My control’s clearly fracturing. The thin, brittle string I hold myself together withstrains, ready to snap under the weight of her. I keep walking, until I’m close enough to feel the heat radiating off of her. Close enough that if I leaned in, I could bury my face in her hair, breathe her in, and brand myself into her.

I slowly bring my eyes up to the back of her head, drinking her in. What will she look like when she turns? I want to see her face. I want to see what expression she makes when she finally realizes it’s me behind her. I bet up close is even better.

I take another slow, silent step forward. So close now, I could wrap my arms around her and claim her without even trying.

But then my brows knit behind my mask. Because I hear Damon’svoice.Ugh, god.

My body stiffens, my teeth grinding behind my mask. I inch closer to her. My chest’s almost brushing her back, when I finally catch sight of what her gaze is fixed on.

Damon’s on top of Kayla. They’re goddamn fucking out in the open. It doesn’t matter if this is their wedding day, I don’t wanna see familyfuck.

I scowl so hard it hurts. But the delicate little thing in front of me is utterly engrossed. She’s not thinking about me at all. She forgot she was running. She forgotme. Somehow, that hurts more than if she’d screamed.