Page 24 of Stalk (Assassin’s Kiss Duet #1)

Mattia

I wake up much later than I should the next morning with a hangover from the depths of hell. We’re supposed to move into our rental house today, and I should have been up hours ago, stalking my next hit.

But here I am, in the same position I fell asleep in last night right before Ren left, with a thunderous headache and nausea rolling through me in violent waves. My phone rings beside me, and I answer it with a rough groan, my throat dry and a little painful.

“Ciao?”

“Buongiorno, bella addormentata!” Marco greets with a snicker.

“Vaffanculo.”

“Heh. Verrò a prenderti tra quindici minuti.”

Great. I have fifteen minutes to get my ass up and get all my shit together so we can go to the new place. I hang up the phone and toss it back to the side, screaming internally and cursing myself out for overdoing it last night.

Ren probably thinks I’m a drunk and a dick now.

Only one of those things is true, and I shouldn’t care what they think of me, anyway.

I only drank as much as I did because listening to him— them was stressing me the fuck out.

How could Ren not look into all of this before I brought it up?

I know they aren’t stupid, but they sure as fuck act stupid sometimes from what I can tell.

I force myself up onto my elbows. Moving is painful, but I have to get up. My body feels like it’s been crumpled up like a piece of trash and thrown into the street only to be run over by a nasty dump truck.

Even though I was drunk, I remember the important parts of last night, at least. I also pleasantly recall pushing Ren off of the bed and them getting all pissy about it, and that makes me grin wider than I probably should. They should count themselves lucky I didn’t fuck with them more than that.

I move slower than usual, but manage to get my ass up, take some Advil, wash up and brush my teeth, and then pack.

I make sure to grab the names of Ren’s parents from the notepad on the bedside table, and tuck it away for safekeeping in my kill bag so I can research them later when we’re settled in the new place.

I’ve just finished packing up all my shit and putting my shoes on when Marco knocks on the door.

“Sto arrivando!” I bark.

I grab my shit and walk to the door, feeling lightheaded. As soon as the door is open, Marco is there, grinning at me from ear to ear.

“Someone had too much fun last night, eh?”

“Shut up,” I mumble as I struggle to get my suitcase over the lip of the door.

Marco shakes his head and grabs the suitcase from me. “Pathetic.”

“Hey, now. You wouldn’t talk to Zìa like that, would you?” I quip.

He chuckles. “No, but Zìa wouldn’t get drunk like you, either.”

“You should see how wasted she gets on Christmas Eve,” I grumble.

Less than an hour later, Marco and I are fully settled into our new home for the next couple of weeks.

It’s a lovely Victorian-style house which seems to be quite popular here.

The inside is nice and spacious, with plenty of natural light.

I like it much better than the hotel because it has a patio in the small backyard with several chairs.

Now, I can smoke and be outside in nature without feeling like I could fall off a small balcony to my death.

Marco takes a bedroom on the third floor, and I take one on the second. It’s not the largest bedroom, but it has a lot of windows and an attached bathroom that must have been updated fairly recently, if the nice walk-in shower tells me anything.

It doesn’t take me long to unpack. I toss my hanging clothes into the closet on the rack, then dump my folded clothes into a couple of drawers in the mahogany dresser that rests across from the king-sized bed.

After that, I put my computer bag and kill bag on the antique desk that sits in one corner of the room and put my toiletry bag in the bathroom.

I sit on the bed and let out a rough breath of exhaustion.

Marco was right. I definitely overdid it last night.

The gallon of water I’ve consumed and the Advil has barely eased the violent pounding in my temples.

I know I need to work. I’m supposed to carry out my next assignment tomorrow, and I’ve honestly done the bare minimum, but I’d really prefer to take a nap.

Maybe I can rest for an hour and then get down to business.

After I take off everything but my boxers, I close the curtains, throw back the duvet, and slide into bed.

The mattress could be better, it’s a little too firm for my taste, but it’ll do.

As soon as I close my eyes, I groan in frustration.

What is it with Americans and their weird obsession with fucking top sheets?

Isn’t that what the comforter is here for?

I get back out of bed, rip the stupid sheet off, almost trip over the stupid thing, and then crawl back in.

I close my eyes again and force in a deep breath, trying to calm down. It’s just a stupid sheet, but my hangover is obviously making my patience even thinner today than usual.

Of course, as soon as I get settled, Ren pops into my mind.

I think my annoyance might be turning to hatred for them.

Sometimes, I can understand them. Other times, I wonder what the fuck Ren has going on inside their weird, mysterious little head.

Like, how the fuck does your father “leave” when you’re a kid, you don’t believe your own mother about what she says about him, and then years later your mom up and dies “accidentally,” and you also don’t believe that was an accident—and you choose not to fucking look into it?

I’m not heartless. I can understand how devastating the loss of their mother must be. But shouldn’t that make Ren more curious to find out what actually happened? Or are they comfortable living with their doubts? Without any closure?

My knuckles dig into my closed eyes almost painfully.

Just like that, my heart beats faster. I’ve met Ren twice, only had a real conversation with them once, and they make me want to beat the shit out of them and then set them on fire purely out of spite.

I can’t believe I almost found them… attractive.

Then again, they could probably use a good hate fuck?—

“Che cazzo?” I whisper-scream out to the quiet room surrounding me.

One second, I want to set Ren on fire, the next second, I’m imaging what hate fucking them would be like?

I am going fucking insane.

My confusion makes me uncomfortable. I’ve never been attracted to someone with a dick before.

I mean, sure, I can recognize when a man is handsome.

I guess I just like the way a woman looks.

I like their soft features and curves. Ren has nice features, too, though. They’re a little too skinny, but?—

I place the palms of my hands over my eyes in frustration. I despise being confused by my own mind. I don’t usually have any worries about anything. This isn’t only new, but it’s annoying as hell.

Questo è ridicolo.

So, I make a list in my mind of the things I know for sure.

First and foremost, Ren gets under my skin.

They irritate me to my core. Second, when I’m not being driven crazy by them, there are moments where…

I kind of like them. Third, I do find them attractive, and I don’t know what that means or what that says about my sexuality.

I can at least acknowledge that it feels scary, but I also know it’s not something I have to figure out right now.

Lastly, one thing I know for sure, no matter the first few things on my list, is that it’s best for me to see Ren as little as possible.

I’ve already disobeyed Zìa’s orders once.

It’s best not to do that any more than I have to.

I stare up at the ceiling. My head continues to pound and my eyes feel dry and heavy, but at least my thoughts have been sorted. After closing my eyes and tossing and turning for half an hour, I decide I better get to work. It’s not like my next target will get the job done for me.

The next day, the hangover is long gone, and the brain fog has mostly subsided.

Plus, I have an assignment to carry out, which means I’m clear headed and ready to bring my A game.

I’m sure I’ll be confused all over again later tonight when I get the time to look into what happened with Ren’s parents, but until then, that will be the last thing on my mind.

As soon as dusk turns to night, I creep out from where I’ve been hiding, which just so happens to be a long forgotten, rickety treehouse that has made me fear for my life more than once since I climbed up over an hour ago.

It was either I hide in the treehouse in my target’s neighbor’s backyard, or I risk being seen on the side of the house.

Turns out, the kid who used to play in the treehouse is a teenager now, and snuck outside to smoke a stinky joint as soon as his mother left for her evening walk.

By the time the kid is done smoking and hacking up a lung and safely back inside the house, I jump down from the treehouse and land with a thunk on the pristine, fresh cut grass.

From the little I’ve seen of Arlington, Virginia so far, the people here take pride in their homes. Their very expensive homes.

I’ve killed many rich people in my time, but a wealthy widow whose deceased husband had ties to our family is a new one.

I guess he was some distant cousin, or something.

It’s hard to keep up with my large family.

Either way, one of our other relatives suspected foul play, and after the local police department didn’t do anything, we were hired to take her out the old fashioned way.

Can’t really say I blame them, either. I’d be pissed to hell if someone murdered one of my sisters for money.