Page 24 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

Kiera

T he familiar knock on my door is soft, almost tentative, leaving no doubt about my visitor’s identity. Zephyr always knocks that way, like he’s trying to sneak into my life without me noticing. I sigh and pat the corpse I’m preparing for a viewing on her cheek.

“Just give me a sec and we’ll make your busted face super pretty, hun.”

When I open the door, Zephyr’s standing there, grinning like he’s the bearer of good news.

His tailored suit hugs his lean frame, and he has slicked his dark hair back with so much product, not a single strand is out of place.

He holds a small folder in one hand, but his eyes are on me, not the job.

“Evening, Kiera,” he says, that smooth voice of his dripping with charm he wrongly thinks might impress me.

“Zephyr,” I reply, stepping aside to let him in. He smells like expensive cologne, something woodsy and rich. It fills the room as enters, heading straight for the small table by the window where I keep a box filled with sweet snacks. He doesn’t ask before helping himself to a Snickers.

I close the door, leaning against it as he makes himself at home. Zephyr always tries to blur the lines between business and whatever it is he wants from me. But I keep those lines sharp.

“So,” I say, folding my arms. “What’s the job?”

He takes a bite of the candy, caramel stringing from it as he savors it like he’s in no rush to get to the point.

“You’re always so direct, Wraith. No small talk, no pleasantries?”

I raise an eyebrow. “We both know why you’re here, Zephyr. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He tosses the folder onto the table, sliding it across the polished wood with a flick of his wrist. “This one’s high-profile. Politician. Lots of security, but nothing you can’t handle.”

I walk over and pick up the folder, flipping it open. Inside are the usual details—photos, schedules, security layouts. My eyes immediately pick out a BDSM club the mark frequents. Perfect. It’s a job, just like any other. But I feel Zephyr’s eyes on me, watching, waiting.

I glance up, catching his gaze. “And?” I ask, fishing for what he’s holding back.

He leans against the table, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And… I was thinking, maybe after this job, you and I could grab dinner. Somewhere nice. You know, away from all this.” His eyes flicker to the corpse spread out on a table. “Just us.”

I close the folder and stare at him. “Zephyr, we’ve been over this.”

“Come on, Kiera. One night. What’s the harm?”

His voice is smooth, coaxing, like he’s used to getting what he wants. But he should know better than that with me by now.

“The harm,” I say, meeting his gaze, “is that I’m not interested. In a date, or you, or whatever fantasy you’ve built around us.”

His smile falters, just for a second, before he recovers, slipping back into that affable grin.

“Marry me and I’ll forgive the debt your husband left you to deal with.”

“I’m already married, and you know what a fun ride that was. Why would I ever do it again? Besides, I’m almost free of the damn thing.”

“You’re tough. But I like that about you. Keeps me on my toes.”

I step closer, letting the distance between us shrink until there’s only a breath of space left. A flicker of hope sparks in his eyes, a glimmer of anticipation.

“Zephyr,” I say softly, but with enough edge to cut. “Stop trying. It’s not happening.”

For a moment, the tension between us fills the room. Then, finally, he exhales, running a hand over his helmet hair. “You’re a hard woman to crack, you know that?”

“Yes,” I reply, stepping back. “It’s better that way.”

He finishes the candy, tossing the wrapper on the floor in frustration, watching me as he swallows, then licks his lips before sucking his teeth. Probably to get the caramel off his pearly whites.

Gross.

“Fine. But the offer’s on the table. Anytime you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

He chuckles, but there’s a hint of frustration beneath it now.

“I’ll see myself out,” he says, turning toward the door.

“Not before you pick the wrapper up and toss it in the trash.”

Sighing, he snatches it off the floor and crumbles it before sliding it into his pocket. He pauses before opening the door, glancing back at me.

“Wraith, you need to get over Blade. Move on, already,”

I give him a small, humorless smile. “Not everyone needs to be in a relationship, Z.”

He nods, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, then steps out, closing the door behind him. I listen to his footsteps fade down the hall before turning back to the folder on the table. Another job, another target. And no distractions. Just the way I like it.

My phone chimes with a text notification. With a sigh, I snatch it off the counter and swipe my thumb across the screen.

Wild: Blackmail. So fucking cute.

The room is dark, lit only by the soft, seductive glow of crimson bulbs lining the ceiling.

The scent of leather and sweat hangs thick in the air, a familiar, almost comforting aroma.

I adjust the strap of my stiletto heel, ensuring it’s tight enough to be functional but loose enough to slip off in a hurry.

Every detail matters when playing games like these.

I assess the woman staring back at me from the mirror.

A black leather corset cinches my waist, pushing my curves into a sharp, dangerous silhouette.

Thick lines of smoky kohl accentuate the predator’s gleam in my eyes.

Crimson lipstick paints a smirk on my lips—an accessory to the mask I wear tonight.

The black curls of my wig splay over my shoulders to fall down my back, brushing against my exposed ass cheeks.

I left Boo sleeping peacefully. Like all mischievous munchkins, he was probably faking it so he could stay home and steal more of Felix’s prized possessions.

Which is easy to do as Fi treats everything he owns as his ‘ precious ’.

It comes from having nothing of value while growing up, then suddenly never having to worry about money again. An affliction we share.

The moment my generous grandparents found me, I shared everything they gave me with my only chosen family member, Fi.

When they saw their last sunset, I promptly moved him into the family house and, to this day, pay him a shocking amount of money to make sure Blaque’s Family Funeral Home runs smoothly. Which he does beautifully.

With Tini managing the clients, and me in the embalming building making sure those who have seen their last sunset appear to be sleeping angels for the family and friends, we run the place like clockwork. Provided I stay away from the clients, that is.

Exactly when I anticipate it happening, a knock sounds at the door.

I saunter over, each step deliberate, a mix of seduction and menace. I open the door for my mark. His eyes widen, a mixture of excitement and fear flashing across his face. Good. He’s tall, muscular, sexy as fuck. A powerful man in his world. But here? Here, he’s nothing but prey.

“Come in,” I purr, stepping aside to let him pass. He hesitates for a moment, then obeys, his gaze never leaving mine. He’s used to control, to dominance, but tonight he’s handed me the reins. It’s almost too easy.

I close the door behind him, the soft click echoing like a death knell in the silent room.

“Kneel,” I command, my voice laced with steel. He drops to his knees, eager to please, to play his part in this twisted game he craves.

“Yes, Mistress,” he says, ever the good boy.

Little does he know this isn’t a game. Not for me.

I throw a mask at him, one that shows his eyes and has a macabre smile stitched across it, with a silver zipper running through it. I grabbed it from the prop room, unknowingly matching it to the latex harness and matching zippered boxers he wears.

“Put this on.”

He follows my instructions without question.

Fucking moron.

I snatch my camera off a shelf and snap a shot of him on his knees; the mask giving him the appearance of a deranged maniac.

The picture spits out, and I toss it and the camera back on the shelf, excited to take the actual picture I’ll be adding to my photo album I keep as proof in case the asshole from Umber tries to say I didn’t complete my end of the deal.

I circle him, a leather whip in my hand trailing along his back, making him shiver. He doesn’t see the slender blade hidden in the handle, doesn’t see my eyes narrowing as I calculate the perfect moment. Too lost in his own fantasy to sense the danger. They always underestimate me.

“Rip my panties off and eat my pussy until I tell you to stop,” I command.

“Yes, Mistress,” he responds again, the mask muffling his voice.

No sense letting this hunk of a man go to waste when he can get me off. He hurries to do my bidding; opening the zipper, then trashes my panties with one hand, throwing the useless lace scraps over his shoulder. He moves to grab my ass, but I shake my head at him.

“Hands in the air. Unzip your mask. You may only use your mouth.” I bring the whip down on his back and he flinches. “I would advise you to provide a speedy climax, otherwise I’ll kill your useless ass.”

He gasps in surprise at my aggression during our first encounter as I crack the whip again.

His gasp dissolves into pained cries during another five strikes in the same spot, but the lusty moan of a sadist dribbles past his lips like the blood dripping down the strong contours of his back.

Reaching over his shoulder, I run a finger through the bright red blood welling from the sliced flesh we’re both enjoying.

Bending down, I trace the viscous fluid over his lips, then grab his head, a hand grasping each ear, pressing his face against my pussy as I roll my hips into him.

My eyes close as his tongue lashes my clit. The rhythmic rub of the zipper teeth cuts my skin, drawing my blood. When it wells enough to roll down my leg, I grab his hair, pulling his head back.

“Tongue out,” I rumble out on a gasp when my clit twitches. “Good boy, now clean the blood off me.”

A shiver runs down his back, his groan reverberating over my body as he licks me clean.

Stopping his movements with a tight grip, I spread my labia and shove my pussy against his red tinged lips again.

He returns to pleasuring me eagerly, as my mind drifts to thoughts of my bad boy agent fucking me against the wall in my foyer.

How well he gave me the pain and pleasure I’ve needed for so long.

His hot mouth on my needy flesh would feel spectacular.

The image is so vivid, it’s easy to pretend it’s real.

Goosebumps spread out over my body, and I bite my lip to hold back the name playing across them.

My climax hits me hard. My hips jerk against the soon to be dead man’s mouth, gripping his head so my knees don’t buckle as sensations wash through me.

So good, but not quite the relief coming on Agent Wilder’s cock would have been.

The thought revives my frustration and ignites my focus.

I shove Wilder’s stand in away when I’m finished, and he reaches out a hand behind him, spreading his fingers on the floor to keep his balance.

He speaks, some pathetic attempt at submission, but I silence him with a finger pressed to his lips.

“Don’t speak,” I whisper, leaning in close. His breath hitches, the quickening of his pulse flutters beneath my touch.

I saunter around him, then position myself behind him, close enough to strike. The blade slips into my hand, cold and ready.

“Thanks for the climax, fucker,” I moan into his ear, my words dripping with venomous sweetness.

Before he can react, I strike. The blade slices through the air, finding its mark with precision. A gasp, a gurgle, then silence. His body slumps, the life draining from him in seconds.

With a happy sigh, I retrieve my camera, then fall to my knees behind him. Holding his head up and zipping the mask closed so the camera can catch the garish smile matching the one I just created in his throat. Giving a dimple filled cheeky grin, I click the button.

I stand over him, watching as the crimson pool spreads across the floor, matching the color of my lips. Grabbing the first photo I took before un-aliving him, I clean the blade, tuck it back into the whip, and step over his lifeless form as I toss the picture next to him.

As I leave the room, the mask falls away, the dominatrix gone, replaced by the assassin. Another job done. Another soul claimed. And one less murder to pay Zephyr back for the debt Blade left.