Page 22 of Stalk (Assassin’s Kiss Duet #1)

That does make hi— them laugh, and I huff out a breath. The second the elevator opens up on my floor wide enough, I dart out and head to my room, not caring if Ren is keeping up behind me or not. When I stop at the door, they come to an abrupt halt beside me.

“You’re the one who told me you wanted to talk in private,” they remind me.

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “Don’t remind me.” I unlock the door, turn on one of the smaller lights in the entryway, then make a beeline for the bar. Suddenly, I’m feeling way too sober. And pissy . “Drink?”

Ren hovers beside me, and it makes me want to shove them away. Or strangle them. Yeah. That sounds therapeutic.

“Uh, I guess I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

There they go again, acting squirrely and unsure of themself. The urge to throttle them increases, so I busy my hands by making us two things of gin and tonic. I wish there were fresh limes at my disposal, but oh well.

When I’m done, I hand Ren’s drink to them a little too roughly, the liquid threatening to spill after they grasp the glass. “Um, thanks.”

I nod. We stand there awkwardly beside the bar, and it makes me antsy. “Do you smoke?”

“Like, weed?” Ren asks with an obnoxiously quirked eyebrow.

I take it back. Ren still annoys the fuck out of me.

“No. Sigarette.”

Ren shrugs. “Sometimes, I guess?—”

“Great,” I say quickly, cutting them off. “Join me on the balcony for a smoke, then we will talk.”

“I still don’t understand what else we need to discuss…” Ren mumbles.

“Hold this,” I demand, handing over my drink to them.

Ignoring their statement, I walk over to retrieve my pack of American Spirits from the bedside table.

If I’m in America, I prefer less additives in my tobacco, so they’ll have to suffice until I’m back home.

After I’ve got my pack and my lighter, I head back over to Ren and unlock the sliding door that leads to the very small balcony.

There’s just enough room for two chairs, luckily.

The outside air smells like greasy fast food and faintly like cigar smoke.

Once again, a pang of homesickness hits me as I think about Venice.

Ren joins me seconds later and places our drinks on the ground.

I waste no time in lighting up, then pass the pack and lighter to Ren before slumping down into one of the chairs and taking a heavy drag.

I haven’t had a cigarette since yesterday, and the nicotine hits me all at once, making my head feel lighter and easing the tension from my shoulders and neck immediately.

Ren lights their cigarette, then coughs after taking the smallest inhale. I smile darkly, amused at their weak lungs. Ren hands the cigarettes and lighter back to me, then sits across from me.

“I lied,” they admit after a long stretch of silence. “I’ve never actually had a cigarette.”

That piques my attention. “Why did you lie? You didn’t need to have one. You could have said no.”

Ren shrugs. “I don’t know.” They pause. “Are they supposed to make you feel all light and floaty?”

I can’t help but laugh. “At first, sure.”

By the time I finish my cigarette, Ren has only taken two or three puffs. I reach down for my drink, throw half of it back, then light up a second cigarette.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

I blow out a plume of thick smoke into the night air. “Do you have your phone in your pocket?”

Ren nods.

“Put it inside. Just in case.” I left mine on the bar as soon as we arrived.

“Oh, right. Okay.”

Ren takes a small puff from their cigarette and blows out the smoke before wobbling to a stand, sliding open the door and tossing their phone from their back pocket inside and on to the bed.

“Are you sure it’s safe to talk here?” they ask as soon as they’re seated again.

“Yes. I have a feeling my company is not as paranoid as yours is.”

Ren takes another drag. “Okay. So, talk.”

Just to piss them off, I don’t respond immediately. I smoke more of my cigarette and take another sip from my drink, which is already almost empty. Ren’s knee bounces, and their nerves please me and irk me all at once.

“You said your mother was killed. Do you know how?” I ask to open with.

Ren shakes their head and looks off into the night. “All I know is that it was on the job.”

“What about your father? Where is he?”

Ren shrugs, takes one last pull from their cigarette, then snuffs it out on the railing.

“I was very young when he left. Four or so. I only have a couple of memories of him.” Ren takes a sip from their glass before continuing with a pained expression on their face.

“My mother told me he just got up and left one day, but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. From what I remember, he did leave, but it was something for work.

I remember my mom leaving the country and leaving me with a babysitter for a while so she could go visit him.

It wasn’t long after she got back from that trip that she started telling me he left us whenever I’d ask when he would come home.

” Ren shakes his head and stares down at their lap.

“But… that memory could be wrong, you know? Kids remember things wrong all the time.”

“True,” I agree. “But your mother also lied to you about her profession.”

Ren groans. “Yes, but she had to. It’s in our rulebook, and you especially can’t trust children to keep something like that a secret.”

Ren may have a point, but I’m not convinced. Something about their family history doesn’t sit right with me. “Tell me about your mother.”