Codename: Nightshade (Deadly Seven Strike Force) (37 page)

I hear laughter ahead of me, followed by the loud lump of bass. Picking up my pace, I find a nightclub with a crowd that looks like clones of the kids from before. I have nothing on me but my coat. No money. No ID.

I’m fucked.

I move closer to the club, weaving through the small groups of people, standing around talking and smoking. The bouncer at the door is huge. I see him turn two people away before I give up on the idea of sneaking past him. I work toward the edge of the crowd, keeping my face down.

The sirens have started up again. They’ll drive by soon.

I watch the street, my heart thumping to the beat of the techno music spilling out from the open door. I catch the glimmer of blue lights in the distance and turn away, slamming into something solid. “Whoa, easy sweetheart.”

That voice.

It stalls my heart. “Nick?”

I look up. Snowflakes land in my eyes, and I shake my head to clear my sight.

Not Nick.

He’s tall, and pale, with dark hair. In the right light, he might be Nick—long ago, long before I knew him. He has the same accent.

I blink a few more times, clearing Nikolai’s memory from my mind, and realize it’s the kid who was staring at me near the park.

He smiles. “I’ll be whoever you want me to be, my dear.”

The siren cuts through the noise from the club, spurring me into action without thinking. I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him. If he’s stunned, or offended, he gets over it fast, throwing himself into the exchange with eagerness. My head spins a little. The adrenaline is still pumping through me, and I’ve been on edge from the second Secretary Williams told me they’d found Vixen’s murderer.

I groan when he wraps his arms around me, deepening the kiss. He feels like Nick. Our height difference makes me feel small in his embrace. He even
smells
like Nick.

It’s been four years. I haven’t even fooled around with a guy since then.

What am I doing?

I pull away from the kiss, keeping my hands around his neck as I try to catch my breath.

“They’re gone,” he whispers in my ear.

“Who?”

He presses his lips to the side of my neck. “The police. I’m guessing you were running from them, right?”

He leans back far enough to look me in the eyes. He’s a cocky son of a bitch. I can tell just from the smirk on his face.

I want to slap that look away.

This is stupid. I fucked up. Not only am I in the middle of a crowd of people, but this kid can also place me at the scene before the shooting, and he can identify me as hiding from the police after.

I need to kill him.

My tactics shift immediately.

I lean my weight into him, smiling that smile that I know always worked on Nick as I ask, “You got a room nearby?”

Junior is even prettier close up, especially when he flirts. His hands slip south of my waist, forming to my ass. He’s got impressively long fingers.

“Just so happens I own the hotel up the road this week.”

He owns the hotel up the road this week.
What in the hell does that even mean?

“Can I request a private tour?”

Of all the agents, I ranked lowest in the art of manipulation by way of flirting. Vixen and Ace tied for most adept at taking down their mark with their charms. I could never pick up the knack for it, but for some reason, the kid agrees to take me to his hotel.

He keeps his arm wrapped around me as he steers us down the block. Thankfully, we escape unnoticed by any of the other patrons. I have enough blood on my hands tonight. I don’t want to add more needless killings on top of it.

It’s going to be bad enough to kill this kid.

We walk in a straight line for five minutes before crossing the street to a small but expensive looking hotel.

“There are only twenty rooms in this place, can you believe that?” he asks as he swipes a keycard at a terminal by the front door. The lobby is empty as we walk to an elevator a few feet from the door. I keep my head down, angling away from any corners that might contain security cameras. “Last time I let my father talk me into coming to Paris.”

I don’t ask him about his father, or why, or
how
he can buy out an entire hotel. I don’t want to know anything about him.

I just need to kill him.

He punches the number three—the top floor. It’s a short ride, made to feel longer by the intensity in his stare. He doesn’t ask me my name. He doesn’t ask to know specifics about what I was doing, or what we’re about to do now.

If I didn’t know better, I might suspect he’s an agent, too.

I follow him to the master suite at the end of the hall.

He removes his coat and drops it on the floor of the entryway. “You thirsty?”

I really wish he’d stop speaking with Nick’s voice. He stands next to a well-stocked bar, holding a bottle of Grey Goose in his hand.

Vodka. Of course.

I don’t feel right as I stand here, nodding for him to fix me a drink. Maybe it’s because I got rid of the gun. I look around the room and assess at least six different ways I can kill him with just the tools in my immediate surroundings.

It’s not the lack of a weapon that has me feeling off.

It’s me. It’s my emotions. They were already on the surface because of the importance of this mission. Because of what I felt this mission might help me get over.

Junior takes a big swig from his glass as he walks mine over to me.

“Damn,” he says with a cringe. “That shit’s harsh without something mixed in it.”

I take my glass and toss the contents back with one swallow. It burns all the way down to my uneasy stomach. “It’s not so bad if you shoot it quick.”

He nods, taking a small sip from what’s left in his glass. “I prefer to let things linger.”

I don’t have words for the sensation that flares inside of me as he smirks and takes another sip. He’s teasing me.

And I like it.

Kill him, Poppy.

I walk past him, shoving him a little so I can refill my glass. “Don’t you know lingering leads to misery?”

He shrugs. “I have a pretty high tolerance for pain.”

I slam another shot. I’ve come to appreciate alcohol in the past six years. It deadens the rest of me to match my heart. I
never
drink on the job, though. And that’s what I am, right? Still on the job. But this kid inspires me to sin a little. My head’s already growing fuzzy, my shoulders relaxing.

High tolerance for pain.
Nick used to tell me I confused pain for pleasure.

Nick’s dead.

This kid should be dead already, too.

I refill my glass again, walking away from the bar. Away from him.

My eyes continue to sting. I thought avenging Vix would ease this ache in me—the need to find the one who took
him
. I hoped killing that guy out there would help me move on.

No, Poppy, you hoped it would bring me back.

I’m standing in front of a large window, watching the snow fall, and I catch the sight of his reflection in the glass.

He’s not Nick.

He’s not.

But he is.

“Whatever it is,” he says. “Whatever you’re running from, I don’t care.”

“You should.”

I hear him set his glass down. I test the weight of mine in my hand. If I brought it down with enough force on his head, in the right place, I can knock him out, maybe even do some real damage. I could choke him with his tie after he’s unconscious.

Warmth seeps into my back as he steps behind me. His hand closes around my glass, and I relinquish it to him.

I’ll find another weapon. The glass would’ve been too bloody, anyway.

He steps away for a second, and I’m cold until his warmth returns. I don’t recognize the
me
I see in the window. She’s relaxed and calm—complete opposite of how I feel inside.

I’m all chaos and fear.

Those long fingers of his work the front of my coat open as his lips tease my neck.

“You got a death wish, Junior?” I don’t mean to say it out loud. Until he stops what he’s doing and glances at me in the window, I’m not sure that I did say it out loud.

“Maybe.”

He sucks on the skin just below my ear, his hand sliding into my coat.

It’s been so long since someone touched me like this. So long since I let anyone get close enough to
try
to touch me like this.

He’s not Nick.

He is Nick.

I don’t care anymore. I just
need
Nick.

I let him take my clothes off. I don’t stop him when he gets naked. We stand there, in that same spot. I’ve turned to press my back to the glass of the window.

Not the best way to go unnoticed, Poppy.

“You okay with this?” he asks, standing a foot away from me in all his naked glory.

My eyes travel down and back up every toned, virile inch of him, lingering on his erection. “More than okay.”

We fuck. It’s not what I’m used to. There’s no emotional connection between us. There’s lust… God, yes there’s plenty of that. But it’s hard and deep. He shoves me against the glass with a force that takes my breath away.

Nick was always gentle with me.

He never got like this.

I lose myself, lose focus of what I’m supposed to be doing here. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m saying I’ll kill him after. I’ll break his neck. I’ll drown him in the bathtub.

He pounds into me until I’m a squealing, crying mess.

When we’re done, he steps away, breathing hard. It’s weird… or at least, I think it should be. Nick always pulled me close afterward. He would hold me so tight I’d feel like I was melting into him.

“Wow,” he says. “Where have you been all my life?”

I roll my eyes. “How long have you even been alive, Junior?”

He grabs our glasses, strutting back to the bar without any shame. “I’m old enough, Grandma.”

Grandma?
Why, this little shit…

I stomp after him, stalling when he holds a refill out to me.

“Marko,” he says.

I snatch the glass, glaring at him. “Polo. You weren’t
that
hard to find.”

He snorts as he takes a sip of his drink. “Marko’s my name, not the game I want to play.”

His eyes trail over me as I shoot back whatever’s in my glass. The burn is little more than a tickle now, but the heat of his stare is scorching.

“What game do you want to play, Marko?”

God, his smile is sinful.

What am I doing with this kid?

“How about you tell me your name.”

Kill him. Kill him right now, Poppy.

My thumb slips along the beveled edge of the glass in my hand. I could still do it. I could kill him with this.

“Poppy,” I say, handing my glass to him. “Call me Poppy.”

“
Poppy
.”

The way he says it, the accent… six years instantly sweep away, and I’m with Nick again.

I’m crazy.

I’m selfish.

I’m stupid.

I can’t leave him alive and hope to walk away from this still breathing myself.

His hands are on my body again. His lips. His tongue. I don’t know how I end up in his arms, why I keep giving into this need. I just know he makes me forget. I’m not wound up anymore. I’m not dwelling on the destruction I just caused.

I’m not mourning Nick.

I’m free.

He passes out just before sunrise, and I slip out of his bed, dressing quickly. I don’t debate it, don’t turn around to rethink it. I just leave.

It might come back to bite me in the ass.

It might not.

I don’t care anymore.

For the first time since I lost Nick, I feel like I can breathe. It’s temporary, I know. I doubt it will even last the day.

But it’s what kept me from killing him.

Whoever that Marko kid is, he’s something special.

And for that, I’ll let him live.

14

I remember.

The first time I was kidnapped, I lost myself in the fear. Every time after that, the fear lessened more and more until the last time we ran the drill. I was so clear and calm that they didn’t even make it to my bed. They never laid a hand on me.

I neutralized the threat long before I was ever in danger, and I had Nikolai to thank for that.

It wasn’t just that I knew to sleep light, or to put precautions out to warn when someone was close. Those aided me, but they’re not what gave me the upper hand.

He taught me how to read people.

I knew from the way Ace and Claymore sat at dinner that night that they’d come for me later.

I remember smiling when I went to bed that night. Claymore told me I looked like the damn Joker from Batman.

I hit him first.

It’s funny how memories fade and then return at the oddest times. Strange how the mind utilizes moments in your life to throw back at you when you least expect it.

I didn’t anticipate this. I didn’t put down precautions, didn't strategize how I would take apart this threat before it got to me.

Heinrich’s right. Maybe he’s been playing me all along. I don’t know when he started using Nikolai. Maybe Nikolai has been taking part of me hostage since I met him. A part of me that Heinrich knew how to walk right in and corrupt.

I’m not clear anymore.

I’m not afraid, either.

I’m numb. Empty.

I’ve killed Nikolai so many times I’m not sure if he was ever even alive. That time on the run with him and Claymore feels more and more like another one of these tricks.

It’s insane—me, an assassin? I’m Penelope Nobody. My one skill is pissing off my parents. I’m no hero saving innocent lives. I’m no secret agent with a set of special skills.

“It must be Monday,” Heinrich says.

I close my eyes. I take comfort in not seeing his face.

“Subject B is always more morose on Mondays. Interesting.”

“Fuck off,” I say. I’m numb, but I’m not complacent. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to think the things he makes me think.