My jaw tensed, but I kept my breathing even. “Wings.”
“What does it mean?”
I’d killed in front of her. I’d covered up evidence. I’d committed a dozen crimes she could sink me with. I’d come inside her. Not once had I hesitated with any of those decisions.
But now I was hesitating.
No one asked me what the ink meant. Not even the tattoo artist.
I could lie. I could withhold information like she’d withheld what all the fuck Fedorov had done to her. I didn’t owe her shit, but I stupidly wanted to tell her.
Goddamn it.
“They’re kills.”
She turned in my arms and looked up at me with disbelief. “What?”
I wanted to remember this moment. I wanted to remember the scent of her body, filled with my seed, as she lay in my arms. I wanted to remember the look on her face before it turned to fear. I wanted to remember the trust in her body language as she lay in my bed with her head resting on my arm and her white-blond hair floating around me like innocence.
I wanted to remember all of it because I was about to lose it.
“They’re all my kills.” I held her colorless gaze that made me feel like there was still purity in the world and I threw away the tenuous trust I’d built with her. “Every feather represents a life I’ve taken.”
She didn’t blink. “There are hundreds of feathers on your back.”
I inclined my head once. “Two hundred and thirty-seven.”
“You’ve killed two hundred and thirty-seven people?”
“No.” Fuck. “Two hundred and thirty-eight.”
She stared at me. “How many of those were when you were in the military?”
“Does it matter?” She knew the truth of me now.
“I could be carrying your child. I think I deserve to know.”
Every muscle tensed, my expression locked down, my heart rate betraying me, I studied her for a reaction she should’ve had but didn’t. “One hundred and ninety-six,” I admitted.
“How long have you been out of the military?”
“Three years.” Four months, twenty-seven days. I didn’t know why I counted.
Her eyes drifted for a few seconds then came back to me. “That’s a kill a month.”
More. “Yes.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“I get paid for it.” But I didn’t need the money. I had enough for five lifetimes.
“What kinds of people do you… kill?”
“Bad ones.” Not that I was in any position to judge, but I had my parameters.
She stared at me a moment. “Why?”
Because I was on watch when a sniper in Afghanistan took out three of the men in my unit, because I never got the fucks who blew up our Humvee, because the first leave after my Dear John letter, I didn’t even punch the asshole who’d fucked my ex-wife. Take your fucking pick. I didn’t have one reason, I had too goddamn many. The world was a shit place full of evil, and I only knew how to do two things after the Marines. Kill and fucking survive.
“Call it exacting a balance.” A balance that would never bring back my fallen brothers, but one I kept trying to fucking compensate for.
“Are you going to keep doing it?”
“Yes.” Fedorov and any of his guards who got in my way were fucking dead. After that, I didn’t know what the fuck I was going to do. I’d never thought about it. I’d never had to. But now she was making me wonder just who the fuck I was doing this for, because the dead didn’t need balance.
“I didn’t mean Viktor.”
I studied her, but she wasn’t reacting at all how I’d thought she would. “I have no other contracted jobs.”
“If you did?”
If I did, and she asked me not to, I wouldn’t. “I deal in absolutes, not speculation.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Rephrase the question if you want a different answer.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Do you do it for money?”
I smoothed the skin between her eyes with my thumb. “I used to.” I didn’t know why the fuck I did it anymore. I was losing my edge, and that would get me killed.
“Who are some of the people you’ve killed?”
I fingered a strand of her hair. It was the softest thing I’d ever felt, next to her pussy. If someone had told me a week ago that I would be talking about this shit to a woman in my bed, I would’ve shot them on principle alone. I stared at my downfall and gave her the truth. “Drug dealers, murderers, kidnappers.” I didn’t hold back. She already had enough information to get me the chair.
“What’s going to make you quit?” her voice casual, she slid the question in like a pro.
“Your stomach swollen with my son.” I was only half kidding.
A faint smile touched her lips. “Not a daughter?”
I took my first full breath since she’d asked about the ink. “That might make me kill more.”
Ethereal and soft, she laughed. “Very funny.”
For the first time since I’d gotten that fucking Dear John letter on my first deployment, I saw a future. “You think I’m joking.” I smiled.
Her face turned serious and she hesitantly touched the corner of my mouth with the tip of her finger. “I like your smile more than I should.”
“I like you more than I should.” But I needed to tell her the truth. “Irina… there is nothing safe about being with me.”
She dropped her hand. “Don’t you think it’s a little late to be warning me off?”
I added practical to the list of her traits I admired. “I’m being realistic.”
“Which means what?”
“I’m hunted. You will be too.”
“Are we talking beyond tomorrow?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
She inhaled then breathed out slow. Her gaze drifted over my shoulder to the shuttered windows. “I think you need to decide what side you’re on.”
“There are multiple ways I can interpret that statement.”
“You say you don’t do repeats then you knowingly have unprotected sex. You tell me about your… occupation, as if you trust me, then you warn me off.” She turned and gave me her colorless stare. “You can’t afford a casual relationship, and I never wanted one.”
Loving the fuck out of her honesty, I stroked her cheek. “What did you want?” Touching her was my new favorite drug.
Her face softened. “Summer nights and porch swings and little feet running through a house with a screen door.”
It sounded perfect. Too fucking perfect. “You’re missing something.” I ran my fingers through her hair then gripped the back of her neck.
“You’re right.”
She was so unyielding, the corner of my mouth tipped up. “You wanna tell me what that is?”
“Fine.” She sighed like she was put out. “But you’ve surpassed crazy.”
I grinned. “Still waiting.”
“An arrogant, alpha hit man who knows how to fuck might be on the list. As long as he isn’t off killing people the second I have my back turned.”
I sobered. “I wouldn’t do that.”
Her hands drifted to my chest. “I don’t know what you would or wouldn’t do because we don’t know each other.”
“I wouldn’t put you at risk, and you know more about me than anyone living.”
She traced the scar from an old bullet wound. “You know this isn’t normal, right? Most people don’t have the relationship conversation until they’ve been dating awhile, and they definitely don’t talk about killing.”
This conversation was already more real than anything I’d ever discussed with my ex-wife. “I dated my ex for years before we had this conversation. Time didn’t help.” She never would’ve let me fuck her like I’d fucked Irina in the kitchen. “And just to make the distinction, I’m not a hit man. Clients hire me when they’re out of options. Retrievals, hostage situations, imprisoned in foreign countries, security—I’ve had a range of assignments. I’m successful because I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”
“Or get shot.” She traced the bullet wound on my shoulder.
“Work hazard.”
Her fingers skimmed over the burn scars on my right arm and side. Her voice dropped. “What happened to you?”
“IED in Afghanistan.” I turned her, pulled her against my chest and wrapped an arm around her waist.
“Your body is a road map of scars.”
My head was worse. “Go to sleep.”
“It’s just the two of us here. Viktor has a lot of guards. He could send someone else.”
“My security system will pick up anyone approaching the property.” I glanced at the security panel on the wall by the door. The three green lights told me everything was up and running.
“What if the power goes out?”
“It already did.” An hour ago. “The house generator kicked in.” Seamlessly, like it was supposed to. It was the Wi-Fi I was concerned about.
“You’ve thought of everything.” She yawned.
Except her. I never fucking considered having a woman here. But this one had somehow crawled under my skin in a matter of hours, and I didn’t want to let her go. I kissed the top of her head. “Sleep, beautiful.”
“Fine.” She drew her legs up and snaked her hands around the arm I had under her head. Holding on to me, she settled in. “But stop calling me pet names.”
For the third time tonight, she made me smile. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“I hate you.” She snuggled closer.
I chuckled. “I’ll try and remember that.”
She didn’t answer, and within two minutes, her breathing evened out.
Hunter jumped on the bed and lay at her feet. Panting, he eyed me.
“Traitor,” I whispered.
He gave me a look that said he didn’t give a fuck.
I smiled. Then, for the first time since I was eighteen years old, I fell asleep with a woman in my arms.