Page 19 of Stalk (Assassin’s Kiss Duet #1)

Ren

C leo ends up staying at my place until late in the evening. It was nice to decompress and spend time with my best friend for a while. These kinds of nights make me feel relatively normal compared to how I feel in my everyday life.

After hugging Cleo and walking her out, I head back inside to clean up the remnants of our discarded snacks and beverages in the living room. Once the trash is put away and the dishes are loaded, I lean against my kitchen counter and take out my phone for the first time in several hours.

Eventually, without dwelling on it too much, I go back into my office to retrieve the card Mattia gave me.

Cleo did a very good job of convincing me to reach out to him.

She’s always made me go out of my comfort zone ever since we grew close in high school.

Sometimes, that makes me feel uneasy. But more often than not, her gentle pushes end up leading me to where I need to be, so I’ve learned not to question her advice all that much anymore.

I don’t want to call Mattia, but I will send him a text.

I’m not a fan of making phone calls unless absolutely necessary, and I don’t particularly know why.

Unless I’m face to face with a person, I guess I prefer to text.

Something about only hearing someone’s voice on the other line makes me anxious.

After typing in his number into a new chat, my eyes glaze over as I stare at the screen. Mattia said it’s his burner phone, but I still can’t give away too much information. I have to keep my message as vague as possible.

I don’t know how long I stare at the screen, but after a while, I finally type out the text and hit send before I can chicken out. I save the number to my contacts under the name “Matty,” just to air on the side of caution. It’s close enough to his real name. I guess.

Ren: It’s R from the Mexican place. Can we meet tomorrow?

After sending the text, I lock my phone, turn out the light, and head to my bedroom. As soon as I slump down onto my bed, my phone vibrates. My nerves skyrocket, and grow more intense when I see it’s a text from Matty .

Matty: When and where? Evening is better for me.

Shit. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Honestly, I kind of assumed that I wouldn’t hear back from him until tomorrow morning—if at all.

Ren: 8 pm at Dorothy’s Ale House?

After sending the text, I find the address of Dorothy’s and send it in the chat. It’s a bar close by that stays busy, no matter the time or day. I’ll feel more at ease knowing that we will blend in with the crowd.

Matty: See you then.

The next day, I keep myself distracted, because I know if I sit still for too long, I’ll chicken out and cancel my plans to meet up with Mattia.

After waking up mid-morning, I hit the gym and do an extensive upper body lifting session followed by an hour of cardio.

Once I’m back home and I’ve eaten and showered, I make a second cup of coffee and sip on it in between scrubbing my kitchen counters, throwing away all the old food in the fridge and all the expired items in the pantry.

Before I know it, I’ve deep cleaned the entire house and done three loads of laundry.

By then, it’s only three in the afternoon, so I take a second shower after getting sweaty from cleaning.

I’m tired, but still buzzing with anticipatory energy, so I leave the house.

After a long walk, I go shopping, because I’m not one to sit down and read a book or watch television.

Hell, I hardly play video games anymore, even though I have an Xbox.

I return home half till seven with several bags from Nordstrom and a few bags from my favorite local boutiques.

One perk to the assassin business is that it pays well.

I got a new shirt for this evening, which is dumb, because it’s not like I’m meeting a friend for drinks.

I’m meeting a man who could very well be plotting to kill me.

That, and Mattia is kind of a total dick.

Not kind of, come to think of it. He totally is.

The way he judged me for not feeling well after he murdered Helena?

He’s the whole fucking reason I despise this line of work.

Mattia is soulless. Cold. Definitely not compassionate or?—

—yet, I bought a new shirt.

Sometimes, I have no fucking clue what goes on in my brain.

I take my time unloading my new clothes and taking off the tags.

My Bluetooth speaker rests on top of my dresser and plays “So Cold” by Balu Brigada.

My head nods along to the beat as I toss the clothes into my hamper to wash.

Well, all the new clothes aside from the forest green V-neck I plan to wear tonight.

It’s pretty. I don’t have a lot of color in my wardrobe.

Primarily, I wear black and gray and beige on rare occasions.

I don’t know what got into me earlier, but once I started shopping around, I felt the need to add some color to my life.

When I’m in the worst shape, and the cloud of gloom hovers above my head everywhere I go, it’s easy to see all the darkness in life.

I admit that I’ve been lost in that gloom for a very long time.

Maybe adding some color will help me see the bright side more often.

I could really use that. Sometimes, I feel like having hope comes back to bite me in the ass when things turn out worse than before.

Like I’ll jinx the future by trying my hand at optimism.

Maybe I’ll try out being hopeful again, though. It’s been a while.

Once my clothes are laid out for me on my bed, I go into the bathroom and shave, wash my face, and put a little product into my hair to make it look less flat. Then, I change into my new shirt, a pair of dark wash jeans, and an old pair of Converse.

I’ll still get to the bar twenty minutes early, but oh well. Maybe I can find an open high-top or a couple of open seats. I’d rather be early than awkwardly on time. Or late.

When I get to Dorothy’s, I’m shocked to see Mattia sitting at the already bustling bar table with an open barstool beside him.

I don’t know why I figured I’d be the only one getting here early, but seeing him twists the calm demeanor I had up until that point into tight balls of anticipation in the pit of my stomach. Suddenly, I find it hard to breathe.

He doesn’t notice me. Not yet, anyway. For a moment, I stand off to the side near the door and observe.

Mattia sips on a glass of red wine, delicately gripping the stem of the glass as he does—which amuses me in a way I can’t really explain.

I guess I figured he would be more into whiskey or something.

I don’t know. A man like that drinking wine at a dive bar seems almost girly, and Mattia is not feminine.

At all. Then again, I’m sure that’s just what society has molded me to think.

Instead, I shift my outlook and decide that instead of looking “girly,” he looks sophisticated.

There I go, already overthinking, but that’s okay.

Ever since I came to terms with my being non-binary not that long ago, I’ve tried to look at things in a different way, because my outlook or opinion can’t always be definitive.

One thing I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older is that we’re all different.

We all think of and view the outside world through our own eyes.

Sometimes, viewpoints need to shift to understand others.

Mattia stretches his muscular arms behind his head and nods at the bartender, probably ordering a second glass.

He wears a simple black T-shirt which looks way too nice on him.

I don’t want to stare and be fucking creepy, so I snap myself out of it.

I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and walk over.

He catches my eye almost immediately once I start moving.

He doesn’t smile, but he does send me a small wave.

Better than having his fingers in a death grip on my throat again, I guess.

I’m still a little sore from the last time.

I sit down beside Mattia, already avoiding eye contact. “Hey.”

“Ciao, Ren.”

Damn it. That accent makes it hard to remember that he’s an asshole.

The bartender comes back with a bottle of Merlot and tops Mattia’s glass off. “Would you like anything?” he asks.

“I’ll have some of that, I suppose.” I’ve never had red wine, but whatever. I’m down to try it.

Mattia cocks an eyebrow and smirks into his wineglass as he takes another sip. The bartender grabs a clean glass for me from underneath the bar, sets it on the table, then pours until it’s two thirds of the way full.

“Thank you.”

“You enjoy wine?” Mattia asks after a moment.

I stare at the crimson liquid. “Don’t know.

Guess I’ll find out.” I feel his dark eyes on me as I lift the glass up to my lips.

At first, I hate it. It takes a lot of effort to allow more into my mouth and swallow it down.

It’s bitter on my tongue and in the back of my throat, but once it’s down, there’s a lingering aftertaste that’s semi-sweet and tart.

I nod my head. “Could be worse, I suppose,” I admit.

Mattia chuckles, and the sound raises the hair on my arms. “Well, you’re the one who called this little meeting,” he points out. “I take it you have something to discuss?”

I set my glass down and turn slightly in my seat to face him. “Did you talk to your higher-ups?” I ask.

He blinks. “I did. You?”

“I did, too.”

“And?”

“And… I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

He laughs again. “You and I received the same orders, then.”

“Did they… did your boss or whoever tell you that you should have, uh, gotten rid of me?” I don’t want to say any word that could insinuate murder, and sadly that’s the best phrase I could come up with.