Creteil, France

  The one thing the safehouse did possess was a bed, and while it was not high quality, nor did it have pillows, it served its purpose.
 The taxi had dropped them off two blocks away and Ashtyn had almost sprinted back, not caring if Jean was on her trail.
 A part of her wanted to run as far away from him as she could, but she could not help but realize that he had saved her life and her dignity on Khan’s yacht, and then saved her again by keeping her from going back to find Viola.
 There was no reason for the man to keep her alive, especially when she had tried to end his life earlier. But she read something in his eyes which told her that he was not going to harm her.
 And you could use an ally, no matter how little you trust him, she thought, her strides quickening.
 The exhaustion, both mental and physical, was more than she could bear and all she wanted was to go to sleep, curled against Xander’s broad, protective chest. Wait just a second, Ash! Where the hell did that thought come from? She chided herself.
 She burst through the front door, falling onto the bed, her mind whirling with the beginnings of a plan.
 Her turquoise eyes closed but she could not relax.
 She kept envisioning her sister, trapped on the yacht, waiting for death.
 No one saw me board the boat, she thought. Did anyone see me while I was unconscious? Do Khan’s men think I had something to do with his death? How did Xander manage to disarm and kill them both? And what was he doing there?
 She had no way of knowing, but it gave her a glimmer of hope that he had saved her. Perhaps she had figured him all wrong in the first place and he was not after her. But then, how did he keep turning up wherever she was? Although he wasn’t the one that had tried to harm her.
 Guilt filled her as she thought about injecting him with the syringe full of heroin. If she had been wrong about him, and it wasn’t Khan that had sent him, then what had she done? Guilt continued to flood through her. He could have killed me already, but instead he saved me. Twice.
 And he certainly can’t trust me after what I did to him, and yet here he is… She felt warm as she thought of the way he had carried her off the boat after killing Kahn and Jacques.
 She forced herself to think about her sister, the most pressing issue.
 If no one else had witnessed her on board and both Khan and Jacques were dead, there would be no reason to kill Viola. They wouldn’t suspect she had anything to do with it…would they?
 It was all too confusing, too much to handle and Ashtyn threw her eyes open, suddenly realizing that Jean had not followed her inside the house.
 Apprehensively, she sat up, peering at the open door, heart hammering.
 Shit, did I underestimate him? Is he about to burst in here and kill me after all?
 His shadow appeared and when he showed himself in the doorway, Ashtyn gasped aloud.
 Blood was dripping from his hand as he sucked on the gash in his forearm to stop the bleeding.
 “What the hell happened?” she demanded, flying toward him. “I just left you alone for two minutes!”
 He shook his head as he continued to apply pressure to the deep laceration.
 “Did someone follow us? How did that happen?” she insisted, her voice raising an octave.
 He wrenched his shirt over his head and sighed.
 “I did it to myself,” he confessed and she gaped at him.
 “Why?” she demanded, snatching his wrist into hers and peering at the damage done to his arm. She kicked the door shut behind him and latched it, still clinging to his blood-soaked hand.
 “I had a GPS chip imbedded in it,” he replied. “I had to remove it before coming in to your safehouse.”
 “You removed it out there?” she cried, shaking her head as she led him toward the miniscule bathroom at the back of the shack. “How the hell did you do that? You should have gone to a hospital.”
 There was only a powder room, no place to shower or bathe but it was all they needed for the time.
 Ashtyn ripped open cupboards, pulling out odds and ends left behind by the previous tenants. She sighed in relief when she located some alcohol and bandages.
 “I used a sharp piece of metal that I tore off an old bike frame,” Jean he replied. “Not the most sterile instrument, but it did the job. And now the chip is on its way to wherever barge the garbage truck I dropped it in takes it.”
 Ashtyn didn’t reply, even though hundreds of questions were flying through her mind.
 Carefully, she dabbed the alcohol onto his cut, cleaning away the blood as delicately as she could.
 Her guest registered no emotion on his face, but Ashtyn thought she recognized a flash of pain in his eyes as the sting of the alcohol hit him.
 A wry smile formed on her lips, despite the direness of their situation.
   Did that hurt? She thought, but she said nothing as she wrapped his hand, the bleeding at least slowing for the time.
 “Are you laughing at me?” he asked, cupping her chin with his thumb and forefinger. The motion sent a shiver down her spine as their eyes locked.
 His eyes were a sea green, almost hypnotic, as she gazed into them, lost in the ethereal coloring.
 She shook her head slowly.
 “No,” she mumbled, wanting to look away, but she could not pull her eyes away from him.
 He’s going to kiss me, she realized and it seemed like such an daring move for him to make, but she didn’t stop it from happening.
 It was a welcome distraction from everything else which was happening around them in that minute and she could not deny that she had thought about their episode on the train dozens of times, in spite of her intentions at the time.
 But when his lips met hers this time, something was different.
 Gone was the almost violent undertone he had possessed on the train.
 In its place was a tender, almost loving yearning as they stared at one another through their kiss.
 Inexplicably, Ashtyn had no desire to run, despite the danger this man might represent.
 She wanted to allow herself this fleeting time to forget about her troubles, about the fight in which she had engaged for over six years.
 Ashtyn fell into him, wanting his strong arms to encircle her waist and he seemed to sense the urgency in her conflicted body.
 Without hesitation, he wrapped her against him, their embrace growing warmer, his mouth slipping along her cheek to nuzzle and taste her skin.
 Ashtyn sighed, closing her eyes as she felt his hardness growing against her crotch.
 Instantly she was brought back to the train, a memory she had relived several times that day but the reality of it happening again sent a shiver of heat to her core.
 While she had been half expecting it, she still gasped as he swept her up and carried her to the dilapidated brass bed, laying her gently onto the squeaking mattress with ease, his lips never leaving her body.
 “I don’t know what it is about you,” he murmured. “You’re like heroin. I know you’re so bad for me, but this will feel so good while we have it.”
 Ashtyn tensed at his analogy but he instantly pressed his mouth to hers again, his hands roaming beneath her shirt to cup her breasts.
 His erection was growing more solid, pressed against her thigh and she pushed away her doubts, permitting him to pull the shirt above her head, his sea colored eyes glowing despite the dusty dimness of the house.
 When he looked at her, she felt her body quiver slightly, his irises boring into her before he swooped his head down to find her nipples with his tongue.
 Her palms splayed over his head, rubbing the rough surface with her fingertips as he dropped lower.
 Each flick of his tongue sent shivers through her and suddenly there was no doubt; she wanted him, no matter how wrong it was.
 She guided his head lower as his hands continued to play with her large, firm breasts.
 One hand slipped off his hair to undo her pants, his teeth nipping at each inch of skin as it was exposed. 
 Her pants made their way onto the floor and he propped her creamy thighs upward, kisses littering the path from calf to core.
 He inhaled sharply as if trying to get high off her scent and Ashtyn propped herself up on her elbows to watch him as his tongue slowly made its way toward its target, with agonizingly slow laps.
 Her legs were thrust over his shoulders as his hands tore away the lace, shredding the delicate garment, but she did not care. The need to feel his mouth against her throbbing clit was becoming unbearable.
 “Please,” she begged, sensing his need to tease her, but she didn’t think she could wait.
 He didn’t look at her, his lips surrounding her already wet center and Ashtyn fell back, realizing he was going to give her what she wanted.
 She moaned quietly, relishing the tickling sensation as it shot up her abdomen, his tongue strong and skilful.
 Her fingers curled into the sheets of the thin mattress, her back arching as her ankles locked behind his head.
 Deeper he explored, hands gripping the flesh of her rear, drawing her closer as if to taste every inch of her womanhood.
 Slowly, his fingertips worked their way to her core, making her beg him to fuck her.
 Rhythmically, her hips rose and fell with his strokes, her climax building.
 Her breaths came out in short gasps, the heat surging through her solar plexus, a rush of sensation exploding through her body, causing her juices to escape onto his tongue. 
 “Oh God…yes!” she breathed and Xander chuckled, thrusting his tongue into her core to taste her sweetness. 
 Another spasm shook her as he tortured her sensitive clit with his fingers, and she couldn’t wait to have his cock deep within her any longer. 
 “Come here,” she pleaded, reaching for his muscular shoulders. He had dropped his shirt somewhere along the way and for the first time, Ashtyn realized he was ripped with abs of steel.
 Of course he is, she thought almost wryly, but her focus was much more centered on the huge bulge in his pants and not the full-body tattoo which seemed to overtake every inch of skin on his back and torso.
 He crawled up toward her, snakelike, his hands slipping away from her ass to unfasten and slip off his jeans.
 Somehow, he seemed even larger than he had been on the train and Ashtyn bucked her body upward, her legs still securely around his broad, rippling shoulders.
 “You don’t seem real,” he rasped, positioning himself as he gazed into her eyes and it was only then that Ashtyn realized that he no longer had the French accent he had used on the train.
 She whimpered, slight warning bells exploding in her mind, but they were too far gone. She couldn’t have stopped now even if she wanted to.
 He flowed into her, his unit filling her deliciously and Ashtyn cried out, pulling his face to hers as he deliberately pounded her body.
 Their lips locked again and she tasted herself on his tongue, the sensuality of the thought ratcheting up her pleasure even higher. 
 The battle between them was forgotten, as they were entangled in an almost tangible web of desire, one spun with delicate but deadly threads.
 There was an undeniable connection between them, one which could not be easily ignored, despite their wariness.
 “Fuck me,” she breathed and he obeyed, his movements becoming harder, his mouth opening and his tongue thrusting deeper. 
 Her clit was swollen, sore and growing more tender with each slap of his body, but it only served to bring her to the brink faster.
 His shaft almost seemed too big for her as he groaned deeply and Ashtyn clenched her calves, the strain in her thighs barely noticeable as he plunged forcefully toward his goal.
 The feelings grew uncontrollable in them both, and almost simultaneously, they spilled in unison, a symphony of feral sounds and juices.
 Xander arched into her one final time, sighing as he filled her with heat, and tentatively she allowed her hands to unfurl.
 They were quiet for a moment, as if coming to grips with what had occurred between them.
 He collapsed to her side and stared at her, his strange eyes studying her face.
 “What are you thinking about?” he asked. “You’re staring at me funny.”
 Ashtyn shook her head.
 “I’m looking at your tattoo,” she admitted. “Trying to figure out what it means.”
 He laughed and shook his head.
 “I’ve been trying to figure that out my entire life,” he replied and she peered at him questioningly.
 “What do you mean?”
 He shrugged and flopped onto his stomach, peering over his shoulder to see if she was following his gaze.
 “I’ve been haunted by a nightmare for as long as I can remember,” he confessed. “This dream about being stormed by men in black, violent men with guns coming into a house. In the dream I am a baby, a small child but there are other children there too. There was screaming and gunshots…”
 Ashtyn arched an eyebrow and continued to listen to his strange tale.
 “Sounds scary,” she offered but he shook his head.
 “It’s not just scary,” he muttered. “I think it happened when I was very young.”
 “Really?”
 “My twin brother thinks he remembers something like that in the corners of his mind but then I have to ask myself if I didn’t influence him with all the times I told him the story.”
 “You have a twin?” she asked incredulously. “Identical or fraternal?”
 “Identical. But he loathes me. We sort of took different paths in life.”
 He chuckled mirthlessly.
 She studied the intricate design on his body and realized that it was precisely what he was describing in an abstract Edvard Munch style portrait.
 The haunted eyes of four children, shadowy figures and obscurely, a dining room table.
 “Who is that man?” she asked, pointing at the only adult figure, not cloaked in black and appearing as terrified as the children.
 “I believe that is my real father,” he replied shortly, and Ashtyn could see that he didn’t want to talk about it much more, but as she examined the detail, she realized all the figures with faces had the same sea green eyes.
 That is one hell of a memory, she thought. She wondered what it meant.
 “Who are you really?” she asked pensively, partially to change the subject and partially to learn the truth.
 He looked at her almost blankly, cocking his head to the side as if he was surprised by the question.
 “My name is Xander. Van Hoyt.”
 “Why have you been following me?”
 If possible, he seemed even more stunned.
 “Really? You don’t know why I’m here?”
 Ashtyn shook her head but as she studied his face, she wished she could stop him from answering before he spoke.
 “I’ve been sent here to kill you.”