The elevator doors slowly close. I watch the numbers light up as it carries Camilla to the ground floor.

"Would you like me to fetch her?" Boris asks.

"She's not a dog. She doesn't need to be fetched!" I glare at him as I take a seat by the large window. The city lights of Moscow glitter and glitz, the picture of absolute serenity. Everyone will be starting to wake up, completely unaware of the mounting tensions I've created. Sighing, I raise the glass to my lips in a silent toast to all I've accomplished, and then my view is rudely interrupted by the reflection of Boris stepping up behind me.

"With all due respect..." He clears his throat, his voice slightly wavering, "Sir, it is not safe for the lady to be out."

"She'll be fine," I wave him off.

She's Camilla Estrada, of course she'll be fine.

I sit here, my thoughts whirling in my head as the pink whispers of the pending dawn morph to daylight. As the sun creeps higher into the sky and minutes turn to hours, I half wonder if my little kitty is running back to her desert after all.

My phone rings and I answer it without glancing at the name. "Yes?"

"Ronan," Arnoldo's thick French accent rolls over the line. "I have news for you."

Arnoldo has only phoned me once, when a rat trying to escape the Bratva showed up on his front step without a head, so I know this must be rather exciting news. "Ah, Arnoldo, I can only imagine it's terrible coming from you."

"Oui, there is a man selling your missiles."

"I'm aware."

"Of course you are. He's contacted me, and I have not made the deal...yet. You are my oldest friend and I thought you could use some information on the imbecile trying to fuck you over."

"Ah, and a good friend, indeed. Go ahead and make the deal. We'll trace the money."

"Very well, and what is in it for me?"

Arnoldo's always been one for a deal. "Free arms for your regime, of course, Arnoldo."

"Merci."

The line clicks and I'm left with a smile. What Camilla does not seem to understand is that where she forces people to bend to her whim... I no longer have to force anyone. And what truer power is there than that?

I rise from the chair, swiping a hand over my face when the elevator door slides open and Camilla steps off. "What a surprise, you returned?"

"I almost went to the airport, but then I called my brother and he offered up some interesting information." There's a pinging noise and she pulls a phone from her pocket, smiling as she stares down at it. "I'm going to need a car," she says.

"Why do you need a car?"

"Because I need to drive somewhere, Ronan. It's not like you don't have god knows how many just hanging around." She cuts a hand through the air and drops the phone back in her pocket.

"I'll have a driver take you wherever you need to go."

I snap my fingers and Boris comes dashing out from the hallway. "Yes sir?"

"Take Ms. Estrada...wherever it is she needs to go."

He nods and glances at Camilla.

"Thank you," Camilla says, annoyance lacing her voice. "And Boris, I'm going to need some gasoline."

A deep wrinkle sets between Boris' brow.

"She does not need gasoline." I raise a brow at Camilla.

"I need gasoline." She glances at Boris. "We can stop on the way. I don't have much time." She strides into the bedroom.

Groaning, I shake my head. "No gasoline," I say when I pass by him.

I follow her to the bedroom where shopping bags litter the bed. Clothes are strewn all about. She's already out of her dress and in a set of black lace underwear. She shoots me a fleeting glance, mostly ignoring me as she puts a pair of black jeans on and pulls a tight, black sweater over her head.

"How very cartel of you," I say, hooking a finger under the heel of the black knee-high boot tossed on the pillow.

"You know me; feeble cartel princess," she says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and tugging the boots on.

She pushes to her feet. Dressed in all black from head to toe. Red lipstick. She looks ruthlessly savage like this. My cock swells and I make no qualms about adjusting myself. "You look like you're going on a murdering spree."

"Aw, you say the sweetest things." She kisses my cheek. "I'll be a few hours."

"I see." I walk to the closet and grab a tie. "I think black is appropriate." I loop the tie around my neck and knot it. I catch her glaring at me from the corner of my eye. Oh, she's bristling. "Oh?" I turn to face her. "Should I go with red instead?" I flash a smile as I grab my wool coat from the closet.

"Depends. Where are you going?" She reaches inside one of the bags, retrieving a shiny gun before she tips a box of bullets out onto the satin sheets. The clip releases with a click, and she quickly loads it. She's quite resourceful, I'll give her that.

"Hunting it seems." I step toward the door and hold out an arm. "After you, savage."

She violently slams the clip back inside the gun. Oh, I love to wind her up. "You're not coming with me."

I ignore her and walk into the living room. "Boris!" I shout, and he appears from the kitchen, shoving the remnants of a doughnut inside his mouth.

"Warm up the Jaguar."

"Yes," he mumbles, crumbs falling from his mouth as he calls the elevator.

Camilla steps into the room, pulling her long hair into a ponytail. " I said no." The elevator pings and Boris excuses himself. Camilla is seething, the rage literally radiating around her. "You have made it imminently fucking clear that I have no part in your business and am simply your favorite fuck doll. This is my business now, so you are not invited."

I stare at her, my lip slightly twitching as I press the button to the elevator. The doors open and I step in, holding the door.

"I'd rather lose the fucking mark." She backs up, staring at me with cold disdain as she folds her arms over her chest.

We're on a pendulum that swings between anger and sex, and somewhere in the middle is our sense of normalcy. I hold my palms up as if surrendering. "I won't meddle, I simply want to bask in the bloodshed." I smirk. "Is that too much to ask of my little kitty?"

She glares. "No, you want to control me, Ronan. Like a fucking pet on a leash. That's all this is."

"You wound me." I reach out, taking her hand in mine and yanking her into the elevator. "Wild things can't be tamed, Camilla. I'm not a fool."

She pulls away from my grasp, putting as much space as possible between us. "If you interfere, I'm done, Ronan. I mean it."

I simply smirk because she is wound up so tightly, and of her own doing. If I had to guess, she fears she's losing control, and I do understand the sickening feeling that comes with that, I do, but I will make her no promises. The elevator opens into the lobby. Several businessmen stroll about with their young mistresses—such is the way of the wealthy and powerful. Camilla's assassin attire garnishes a few rather interested looks as we walk to the waiting car.

As soon as Boris climbs in, Camilla leans over the seat. "I want my gasoline." She arches a daring brow at me, and I lean back against the seat, flippantly waving my hand through the air.

"Fine, stop at the station and get her some gasoline."

The car pulls into the cheap motorway parking lot, slowing to a stop beneath the sign. I glance out through the window at the rusted letters that have come lose and are blowing in the breeze.

"Stay here," Camilla says as she throws open the door.

Smoothing my hand over my shirt, I open my door and step out into the cold air.

Camilla rounds the back of the car with a groan, then moves in front of me. "Really?"

My breath fogs between us.

"It's the middle of the day. Ergo, no bashing down doors. I'm going to get the key, okay?" she says, slowly stepping back. I pull a cigar from my breast pocket and light it, leaning against the side of the car. "I'll be two minutes." She sighs before walking off toward the small office attached to the building. Through the window, I watch the man at the desk look up when she walks inside. She leans forward, flirtatiously brushing her hair over her shoulder while she runs a finger down his chest. My jaw sets and I blow cigar smoke through my nostrils. Within minutes, she's crossing the parking lot, her hips swaying while she dangles a key between her fingers. "Grab the gasoline, please, Ronan."

I toss the cigar to the ground, grab the gasoline, and follow her underneath the rusted breezeway of the motel, the smell of urine and cheap liquor more than offensive. Camilla stops in front of the last door, brushes her hand over her shirt, then knocks on room 214. "No interfering," she says with a hiss, pulling the gun from the back of her jeans. "Housekeeping," she calls out and shoves the key in the door without waiting for a response. The hinges squeak when she pushes the door open and steps into the dimly-lit room.

The sound of running water creeps from underneath the closed bathroom door.

Camilla moves through the room, searching through drawers and luggage. She drops to her knees beside the bed and slides a hand under the mattress, smiling before pulling out a gun.

I must admit, this is rather amusing. She's like a small child turned loose in a candy store. My little savage on the prowl. She takes one more look around the room before taking a seat on the edge of the bed and crossing her legs. I raise a brow. "It's rude to interrupt someone's shower," she whispers, a deep grin on her face.

She is something spectacular. She truly is. I take a seat beside her, placing the gas tank on the floor as I watch the door. Waiting. The shower cuts off, the pipes knocking, and she pushes to her feet, positioning herself beside the bathroom door. My pulse thrums with anticipation as I watch the shadow underneath the door. The man's humming, singing to himself, blissfully unaware of the black widow lying in wait to snatch him up. I can hardly contain myself when the doorknob twists. Honestly, I have to stop myself from clapping.

The door swings open and the naked man's eyes land on me right away. Shock ripples across his pudgy face. I arch a brow just as Camilla presses the barrel of the gun to his temple.

"Pedro," she practically purrs at him, nudging the gun against his temple. "Take a seat." The man holds his hands in the air as he shuffles to the chair in the corner.

"Camilla Estrada." He narrows his eyes on Camilla before dragging his gaze over her curves. He shifts in his seat and I can't help but notice the pathetic excuse of an erection he now has. My blood simmers at his blatant disrespect. If I were any lesser of a man, I'd insult him.

"I just threw up in my mouth a little," Camilla says, grabbing a towel from the bed and tossing it at him.

"What do you want?" the man says with a hint of a growl.

"Now, now. Is that any way to speak to a former business associate?" Camilla asks as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed, positioning herself in front of him, the gun still aimed at his head.

How very interesting this is all shaping up to be.

"You've had a lot of my money over the years, Pedro." He continues to glare. "But now, I'd like to know about one of your other clients." He opens his mouth to speak and she holds up a hand. "Ah, ah, ah. Should you tell me what I need to know, I'll leave you alive. If you don't..." She pushes to her feet and bends over in front of him, trailing the tip of the gun down his cheek. "Well, I have very persuasive methods," she says in a husky whisper. "Now, who is The Horseman?"

He grins, revealing several gold teeth. "I don't know."

Camilla rolls her head to the side and meets my gaze. "Sweetie, I'm going to need your tie."

I loosen my tie, slip it over my head, and hand it to her. I'm finding it so hard to contain myself, to not "meddle".

"Hold this." Without warning she tosses the gun at me and I catch it. Using the tie, she binds Pedro's wrists to the arms of the chair. Once he's bound, she walks over to me with a smile. "You wanted blood?" she breathes as she drops her hand to my pocket, fishing out my knife before she turns to face Pedro.

He swallows as she approaches him, a fine sheen of sweat forming on his brow. "Left or right?" she asks, running her fingertip along the edge of the blade. He doesn't answer so she shrugs a shoulder. "I happen to know you're right handed." Shifting to the side, she slams the blade into his right hand. A bloodcurdling scream pierces my ears and I can't help but smile. She grabs the towel from his lap and crams the end in his mouth. "Oh, man up."

"Give me a number between one and five," she says to me with a gleeful smile.

"Three."

"Well," she says to Pedro, "your insult game is going to be considerably weakened." Camilla yanks the blade from the back of his hand before lining it up and forcing it down over his middle finger. Pedro lets out a muffled cry, thrashing in the chair as the finger falls to the floor with a soft thud.

She waits for him to stop screaming and pulls the towel from his mouth. "Now?" she asks. He clenches his jaw and I swear her grin widens. He doesn't say anything and so off the other two fingers come.

Camilla slaps his cheek. "No passing out." She yanks the towel from his mouth and crosses the small room, picking up the canister of gasoline at my feet. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I quickly dismiss it as I watch the blood creep across the carpet. There's a part of me that wants to snatch the blade away from Camilla and dice away like a master chef, but I force that desire away.

"Last chance before the truly irreparable damage happens," she says, but Pedro remains silent. "Okay then." She opens the canister and douses the towel resting in his lap. Next, she pulls the fire extinguisher off the wall by the door and takes her lighter from her pocket. "I can put this out at any time. Remember that." She flicks the flint, watching the fire dance before she touches it to the towel. Flames consume the material in seconds, licking up Pedro's torso. And the screams, oh the screams are much like the soothing sound of a quartet. Smooth. Steady. Magnificent.

"Stop!" he finally shouts. "Stop. Stop. Stop!"

Camilla stands in front of him like an angel of fury. The flames reflect in her turquoise eyes, bathing her in a warm glow. "Give me a fucking name!" she shouts, completely without mercy.

"Mario Luca," he cries.

"Thank you." She depresses the fire extinguisher, covering the flames with white foam. Pedro sags into the seat, a relieved sigh slipping through his lips as Camilla pats his cheek.

"Please make it quick," he whispers.

"I'm nothing if not true to my word. I won't kill you." She turns, walking toward me but pausing before she passes. "Although...I do so hate it when people die badly." Camilla's eyes lock with mine. "And you were sent here to destroy the home of Ronan Cole, such things have dire consequences."

My muscles tense. Adrenaline fires through my veins, and I slowly turn to look at Pedro. His eyes widen and he swallows as he wriggles in his seat. Camilla drops the knife to my lap before crossing the room, giving me space. I should not stoop to killing a man in a filthy motel room. The finesse will be lost, however–I glance around, my blood simmering white hot below the surface–there is a certain raw beauty to such a cliché setting. Laughing, I grip the blade and rise to my feet, my gaze locked on Pedro.

"I had art from the Ming Dynasty, Renoir, Monet in that home," I say as I crouch next to him, trailing the pointed tip of the blade over his arm. "But you wouldn't understand the worth of art, would you?" I smirk. "I can teach you, Pedro." I lift the knife to his still smoldering chest, picking at the pieces of towel burnt into the flesh. "I can teach you art."

I draw a large square over his stomach. The noise of his screams and heavy pants creating a morbid symphony. "You see, Monet took great care in each," I draw another line, "tiny," and another, "stroke." The man writhes beneath me, making it all the more difficult to paint the perfect replication of the Charning House Bridge he sent up in flames.

By the time I'm finished, blood coats my hands, my dress shirt and slacks. I wipe at the sweat trickling down my brow, the metallic twinge in the air causing my heart to beat faster. Taking a step back, I admire my work. "You see, each detail is important, Pedro. Art is an expression of love, of anger, of rage." My nostrils flare and I glance over at Camilla.

She pushes off the wall and moves in front of me. "Who knew you were so talented," she says, gliding a hand around the back of my neck and pressing her lips to mine. "I love watching you lose control," she whispers against my lips.

With the knife still clutched in my hand, I fist her hair, backing her across the room. I can't catch a good breath, there's this growing need bubbling inside me like a volcano. Building. Building. Building until—I slip the bloodied knife under Camilla's shirt and cut it, tearing it away from her body.

In a frenzy we shred each other's clothes off, all the while Pedro's dying beside us. The moment she's naked, I slam into her, gripping and grabbing as though I can't possibly get close enough to her. And I can't. Camilla is a life essence in and of herself, something I need to survive, to feel human. Her nails rake across my shoulder blades, slicing into my skin before I bite her neck.

"Ronan," she moans my name, her back bowing from the wall while her hips roll against mine like something possessed.

"Ride me, little kitty," I whisper before yanking her away from the wall and tossing her down on the bed. I lay back before I grab her and drag her on top of me. She takes my hands, sliding them over her body in a bloody trail. The way her lips part for each seductive moan, the way her breasts bounce in rhythm with Pedro's final breaths... it's the most perfect form of art I've experienced. Her cheeks flush pink and she stills on top of me, panting fuck over and over. On cue, my muscles tense and a wave of heat washes over me like an angry tide. I grab her hips, holding her down on me as I come.

When she collapses on top of me, I see Pedro with his head thrown back, lifeless in the chair. And so it seems as she and I reached our pinnacle of pleasure he reached the end of his life. This must be an overture that would make Beethoven proud.