Page 12 of Stalk (Assassin’s Kiss Duet #1)

Ren

W hat the FUCK? What in the actual fuck?

The second I muster up enough courage to get this assignment over and fucking done with , a hand clamps down on the front of my neck, hard enough to crush my Adam’s apple and make me bite my tongue.

My eyes bulge out as I reach out in front of me, trying to grasp at the wall.

But my eyesight hasn’t adjusted to the dim light yet, so instead, I flail about like a goddamn fish out of water.

In seconds, another very strong hand puts an end to my embarrassment, trapping my arms up by my chest with a single forearm.

Again. What the fuck? What is happening?

I can feel my heartbeat in my ears and in my throat as adrenaline and fear consume me. When I’m completely trapped, my body falls back as I’m dragged backward and off into the kitchen.

I don’t know if I should be more ashamed that someone snuck up behind me so easily or that I was pinned down in seconds without a fight.

I guess all of Catherine’s training was practically useless, after all.

To put it simply, I’m mortified. And pretty fucking pissed off, too.

This is not how tonight was going to go, and now I’m going to have to report all of this to Cathe?—

Once again, I’m jostled around. This time, my assailant flips me around in one fluid motion that I’m weirdly envious of, then shoves me against the wall. In a quiet manner, of course, because Helena’s still asleep in the other room. At least I hope she is.

The person holding me captive is quick to replace the hand that was holding my neck back against my throat as soon as I’m plastered to the wall. He doesn’t bother holding my arms down, at least. Small miracles, I guess.

I can barely breathe with this guy restricting my airway, and I honestly don’t know what I’d say or do if I was free, anyway.

If he wasn’t paralyzing me in place, my anxiety surely would.

The lack of oxygen forces a little bile up my throat, and a wave of nausea rolls through me.

When I choke, he loosens his hold on me, but not by much.

The guy gets close enough to me that we’re nose to nose. I still can’t see him. Is he someone I know? Shit. Is it Helena’s boyfriend?

“Listen to me,” a deep, rugged voice whispers in the air between us.

I can’t help but notice that he speaks slowly, enunciating his words carefully, more than likely because of his very apparent accent.

“I will release you, but only if you promise not to freak out or blow our cover. Nod if you understand.”

His demanding voice makes goosebumps pop up all over my body. After I suppress the urge to shiver, I manage to nod.

“You better not be a liar,” he mutters under his breath.

I roll my eyes, unable to help myself. Who the hell is this asshole?

Right when I’m starting to doubt that he’ll actually remove his heavy hand, he slowly lets me go.

Immediately, my dominant hand comes up to where his hand was to rub soothing circles over the tender skin he left behind.

I need to cough, but I can’t, so instead I swallow roughly and force a small breath.

“Who are you?” he asks.

I glare daggers at him. “Who am I? Who the fuck are you? ” I retort.

I hear him exhale roughly through his nose, then he reluctantly takes a small step away from me. That’s when I really see him for the first time. It’s still pretty dark, but with the small light from the oven nearby, I can see him well enough to stop breathing. Again .

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to drop my jaw or gasp, because—is this dude real? He looks like he should be on the cover of GQ, not creeping around in some woman’s apartment on the bad side of town.

He’s dressed in all black, like me, but he definitely wears it better.

Even in the semi-darkness, his extremely toned body tenses and bulges in all the right places.

But his body has nothing on his face. Holy fucking hell.

I know I should be pissed right now, and I don’t even know who this person is, but the chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, wavy black hair, and the hint of a smirk that’s threatening to pull his full lips up into a smile make my knees go weak.

“I asked you first,” the mystery man says, pulling me out of my trance.

I shake my head. “You’re the one who attacked me and crushed my airway. You go first.”

The stranger mercilessly stares at me with his arms crossed. It doesn’t escape me that he’s sizing me up, too. His gaze flitters to what I’m wearing, back to my face, down to my shoes, and then back up again.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“What are you doing here?”

He scoffs. “Testardo.”

I know whatever he just mumbled is more than likely an insult, and I’m mad that I’m not affected by it. If he didn’t have that pretty accent, I’d probably feel differently.

I don’t know who this guy is, but by the way we’re practically dressed the same, and how we both came into the apartment without belonging here, I figure he has to be in the same line of work as me, or he’s a drug dealer who needs payment. My hunch tells me it’s the former.

“I think you and I both know why you’re here and why I’m here,” I whisper.

He quirks a thick, dark brow. “Why is that?”

I would groan as loudly as possible right now if I could. “You have business with Helena. I have business with Helena.”

The guy looks like he’s about to deny it, but he concedes with a simple nod.

“Drug related or something else?” I ask. I have to be as vague as possible given my line of work, because if he’s not what I think he is, and I give too much away, I’ll be fucked.

“Not drugs.”

“Okay. So?”

“So?”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “You and I are both being weirdly secretive and paranoid and it’s not going to get us anywhere if we just stand here like a couple of idiots. I’ll tell you if you tell me, okay?”

He stands there, mulling my words over before responding. “Fine.”

“You already saw my knife,” I say when I realize he must have. Come to think of it, where…

He reaches into his back pocket and hands me my blade. I take the handle in my palm and stare.

“Drugs?” he asks.

It takes me a minute to understand he’s asking me the same thing I asked. I shake my head. “No.”

“You are here to execute Helena.”

“So are you.”

Finally, he admits it. But not before exhaling a long sigh. “Yes.”

“Okay, then.”

“Are you local?” he asks.

I nod. “I take it you aren’t?”

“No, I’m not.”

We stand there for what feels like a million years. I don’t know what to say, and I’m sure he doesn’t either. Eventually, he looks away and swallows roughly. I can’t help but stare at the span of his neck as he does so.

“Has this happened to you before?” he finally asks, looking back at me.

I laugh under my breath. “No. Why? Is this a normal thing where you’re from?”

He glares. “It’s a first for me.”

Well, at least he’s just as spooked by this as I am. “So. What… what do we do?”

This time, the handsome stranger looks at me like I’m an idiot, and it actually gets my blood boiling. “We do what we came here to do.”

My pulse quickens. Suddenly, my clothes feel suffocating, and the air in the small kitchen feels thick. “Shouldn’t we… consult with our bosses first?”

He blinks. “No. We were given assignments. Therefore, we should follow through. At least, that’s how it works in my country.”

What a cocky asshole. If he wasn’t so pretty to look at, I might actually get pleasure from sucker punching him in his stupid, perfect face.

When I don’t say anything, he cracks his neck. “I’ll do it,” he says simply.

Now, I’m really mad. Because one, who the fuck does he think he is?

Who put him in charge? And two, I hate how he can already tell I’d rather do anything else than kill Helena.

Maybe I’m thinking too hard about it, but from the way he looks at me, I can’t help but think he sees me as weak.

And I am weak. I’m not cut out for this shit.

But how dare he ruin my evening, fuck up my plan, and then take charge when I don’t even know where he’s from or why he’s here?

As soon as he turns to walk out of the kitchen, I realize that he more than likely doesn’t know that Helena is in withdrawal. I mean, he might, but he seems more like the come in, stab a few times, get out kind of killer. Like most of them.

“Wait!” I whisper scream, darting forward and gripping him by his annoyingly rock hard bicep.

His face snaps to the side to meet my gaze. “What now?” Annoyance is written all over his face, and I couldn’t care less.

“She’s withdrawing.”

“So?”

“So—I don’t know what you had planned, but?—”

He looks at me with a cold, blank expression on his face. “I’m going to suffocate her with one of those couch pillows. Can I go now?”

He moves again, so I tighten my hold on his arm. “Christ, will you just wait a minute?”

“We’ve wasted enough time. I need to take her out so we can leave.”

I blink at him. Never once have I ever considered any of my assignments in such a detached way. Hearing him talk about murdering Helena in such a professional manner almost makes me recoil, but I stand my ground.

“I have to tell my boss I was the one to do it,” I blurt out without thinking.

Confusion washes over his features. “I am no liar. You do it, then.”

“No!”

Now, he’s really agitated. His head droops down as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. “So what you are telling me is you want me to execute the target, but you are going to tell your boss otherwise.”

“Uh… yeah.”

He shakes his head then straightens up. “Whatever gets us out of here the quickest.”

“Take the needle. You have it, right?” I ask quietly. “It’s a lethal dose of meth. Just in case the, uh, pillow doesn’t work.”

He sighs. “It’s in my pocket. Now, let me go. I have work to do.”

He rips his arm away from me then walks away, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I wait a few seconds, and then tiptoe behind him into the entryway beside the front door. From there, I watch.

I watch as he places calculated steps onto the brown carpet, moving slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. Helena remains in the same position she was in when I got here, laying with her back against the couch cushions.

The mystery assassin walks to the other side of the couch and picks up a stained throw pillow.

Then, he walks back around to the other side where Helena’s head is, around the coffee table.

With both hands, he grips the pillow, raising his arms to his chest as he hovers above her.

He concentrates on Helena for about ten seconds, then inch by inch, brings the pillow down over her mouth and nose.

At first, she doesn’t move, but as the seconds tick by, she twitches. Then, her hands come up to her face and sluggishly claw at the pillow. Within a minute, she’s screaming and clawing at the guy's hands, her body convulsing with whatever fight she has left in her weakened state.

He tries to hold her down, but Helena is much stronger than I ever would have thought.

Eventually, he gives up. He removes his dominant arm away from the pillow, pushes all of his body weight down on the other arm, then retrieves the needle I brought with me from his back pocket.

With his teeth, he takes off the cap of the needle, then spits it out.

Instead of going for the jugular like I would have done, he holds Helena down just enough to find a vein in her arm.

One that she’s probably used to shoot up before, if I were to guess.

Despite the situation and obvious horror I’m bearing witness to, I can’t help but feel a little impressed.

No coroner will proceed with an autopsy if an overdose is that apparent, and though addicts shoot up all over their bodies, we both know Helena primarily smokes her dope.

Shooting her up in the arm is a much better way to make this look like an accident.

After struggling for a while, he finally gets the perfect spot and injects the contents of the needle, all while still holding the pillow in place.

It’s not long before she goes limp. He waits a while, keeping the pillow on her face, then removes it and tosses it to the other side of the couch.

After that, he reaches into his front pocket and puts on a glove.

His fingers feel around for a pulse on her pale neck.

“It’s weak,” he says at normal volume, making me jump. “Let’s clean up while we wait, then check it again in five minutes.” He wipes at his brow. “The sooner we get out of here, the better. I need a drink.”

Who the fuck is he?