The Deception (8 page)

My body thaws by slow degrees, and I finally finish pulling on my last boot. I look at his hand.

Then I take it.

T
o my fellow Indie Authors, because it’s not just about thinking outside of the box. It’s about the box not existing in the first place.

R
oman

My name is Roman Smith, and I’m an assassin. I only kill the scum of the earth, never taking an innocent life.

I shake my head in utter disgust. Still a lie.

My name is Nikolai Romanov, and I’m an assassin. I was barely sixteen years old the first time I killed a man. I hadn’t wanted to take his life, yet I wanted to please my grandfather and father.

Actually, more than anything, I wanted to please my mentor, Viktor Chapeyev. It was under his tutelage that I learned how to take a life with precision and finesse. I learned how to be cold, calculating, and take my emotions—guilt and self-loathing—out of the equation.

“Only the dead have time for guilt, Nikolai.”

Better, but I’m still reprehensible, and Everly—the woman constantly in my thoughts—still has to be kept in the dark.

“What’s wrong with your grandfather?”

Everly’s gentle question jolts me back to the present. I focus on my lap, where our fingers are laced together. Her skin is soft and delicate. A pale gold that I’ve tasted.

I’ve almost taken her. Almost made her completely mine.

Only my bitter self-control keeps me from doing so now. We have been in the air for less than an hour, but it feels like an eternity.

She lies so trustingly against me as the private jet flies toward Paris. We will refuel there, before landing in Moscow. Then, we’ll proceed to my grandfather’s house. 

Her trust is obscene. The way her body relaxes into mine repulses any decency left inside of me.

I don’t deserve it. Barely six months ago, when she first walked into my bookstore, I nearly put a bullet into her head. By design, my shop isn’t welcoming. It isn’t for the general public, because it’s a façade for my real business.

The hint of a tattoo peeks from under my shirtsleeve. Each one represents a job I’ve done. Not a job—a
person
I’ve murdered.

Know thy enemy
. Sun Tzu said this in
The Art of War
. But the men and women I have killed are not my enemies. I am merely the weapon of destruction set into motion by the financier. 

Letting go of her hand, I stand up and begin to pace. Normally, I have a purpose to my walk. Normally, I wouldn’t have Everly on a plane. Normally, I wouldn’t have a damn thing to do with her.

She looks at me, so many questions in her bright emerald gaze.  “We don’t have to talk about him.”

The genuine concern she has for my feelings is yet another reason why I never should have asked her to travel with me. Our relationship is built upon lies.

But this is the only way I know how to protect her. The alternative—her death—is not acceptable.

If only Viktor hadn’t put me in this position. If only I had never allowed my weakness for Everly to show. If only I had never been ordered to take her out on a date.

A bloody date that had ruined everything.

“My grandfather,” I begin slowly, “will be very pleased to meet you.”  In fact, he will. He’ll also be hale and hearty—not a man on the edge of death, with a last request to meet the woman who saved my life from a robbery gone bad, like I’ve told Everly.

Her answering smile warms me a little. “I can’t wait to meet him. What he’s like?”

Manipulative, powerful, murderous, generous, caring, and all about family. A twisted mix if there ever were one. “Like other grandfathers, I suppose.”

Her eyes follow me. “Are you close to him?”

“He’s like a father to me,” I admit. “He raised me.”

Everly’s brow wrinkles. “But you said you helped your mother—”

I slash my hand through the air. “She brought me to him when I was a child.”

“And then she left you?” She frowns.

I stop in the middle of the cabin, thinking of the day my mother had abandoned me at the Romanov compound. There had been tears in her eyes.

“This will be better for you, Kolya. You will get the life you deserve,” she whispers in my ear.

I can’t imagine she wanted this kind of life for me. A life surrounded by riches, beautiful women, and violence. I kill people for a living, for God’s sake.

But in the end, I know the truth...

“She did what was best for me.”

As if sensing my need to change the subject, she smiles brightly and says, “Is this your plane? I forgot to ask.”

Before I can answer, the jet drops and the pilot’s voice fill the interior of the cabin. “Mr. Smith, you and your guest need to buckle up. We’ve hit a patch of thunderstorms. It’s going to be a bit rough for the next hour.” The jet drops again and again, as if to prove his words true. I grab on to the back of the sofa, barely maintaining my balance.

My stomach rises and falls right along with the turbulence.

I turn, intent on sitting in one of the chairs closest to Everly in case she becomes frightened or needs me in some way. I can’t help myself, even when I’m trying to do the right thing by distancing myself from her.

Everly shoots to her feet, bumping into me.  Her face is a pale shade of green. The jet drops again, and she slams her hand over her mouth.

Without saying a word, I immediately take her by the arm and lead her to the nearest bathroom. She lurches inside, slamming the door behind her.

I lean against the opposite wall, fighting to stay upright while wondering if there is anything on board to calm her stomach. I ring for the cabin attendant.

He appears in no time, and after explaining Everly’s problem, he quickly obtains a glass of water and some pills. “It will settle her stomach and make her drowsy. I’m sure the pilot won’t mind if you take her into one of the bedrooms.”

It doesn’t matter if the pilot minds or not. The damned jet belongs to me, and Everly’s needs are my highest priority.

As if on cue, the door opens and she stumbles out. Her face has gone from green to white, her dark eyes huge. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’ve never been in turbulence like this.”

“Don’t apologize.” I hold out the pills. “Take these, and then we’ll get you settled in bed.”

She takes a deep breath and then swallows the pills, chasing them down with the water. I take the glass and hand it to the attendant, before leading her to the bedroom across the hall. Gently, I ease her onto the bed.

Her eyes close as I remove her shoes and socks. “Any better?” I ask.

“Not sure.” She shrugs helplessly. “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.” I toe off my shoes and join her on the bed, careful not to bounce her around. 

Another deep breath leaves her, and I touch her face. “Lights on or off?”

“Leave them off.”

The attendant gently shuts the door, and the room goes dark, the small windows offering no light. Everly rolls into me, her face pressing against my chest.

“I bet this isn’t how you thought our night would end,” she says softly.

I run my hand down her back, and then back up again. “I don’t know about that. We
are
in bed together.”

I can feel her smile. “I like it when you tease me.”

“Because I do it so often,” I point out.

“That’s what makes it special. It’s what makes
you
special to me,” she says and my heart beats funny. I’ve never been special to anyone in my entire life.

The jet shakes, but, mercifully, it does not drop. Everly tenses, and I keep stroking her back, working my way under her sweater and undoing the back clasp of her bra. God, the way she feels under my palm—so soft.

And mine.

She
feels
like mine.

I banish the thought away and concentrate on what I can do for her. “Do you need assistance to the—?”

“I’m fine,” she says. However, the tightness in her body has transferred to her voice. “If I breathe through my nose, I won’t puke again.”

She begins to shake, and I press a kiss into her hair. “Relax,
solnyshko
. Relax.”

“
Solnyshko
?”

Damn. I hadn’t meant to let that slip. My nickname for her was to remain private. “It’s Russian for sunshine. My little sunshine.”

“Kind of like the song?”

“There’s a song?” I ask. My knowledge of American pop culture is sorely lacking.

She laughs a little. “There’s always a song.”

I consider this. “When you feel better, you can sing it to me.”

“When I feel better,
you
can sing it to
me
,” she counters.

With a grunt, I reply, “I don’t sing.”

“You will for me.”

Yes, for her, I would.  “Perhaps.”

Her fingers travel up my chest to touch my face. “You don’t have to, Roman. You know that, right? I’d never ask you to embarrass yourself for me.”

“I thought we were teasing one another,” I say lightly, though everything inside of me wants to take her away from all of this. Everything inside of me is screaming for me to tell the pilot to take us anywhere else but to my grandfather.

“We are,” she says, her voice adorably sleepy. “It’s unbelievable, but we are.” She blows out a breath. “I can’t wait to meet your family, Roman.”

I can, for a thousand years if necessary.  I wish she wasn’t meeting them at all. “Are you getting drowsy, love?”

“A little, but don’t stop teasing. Don’t stop talking,” she says, her voice full of affection I could never earn.

Once more, I press a kiss to the top of her head and begin to speak of my grandfather’s home, of the horses he raises, and the massive hounds that run the place. Of the food and the rich land that surround his estate.

Despite the easy flow of my words, a sort of dread settles within the pit of my gut. I know, without a doubt, that Everly and I are heading towards death.

But whose death is the question.

My half-brother, mine... Or worse, Everly’s.

THE DECEPTION

B
y the time we land in Paris, Everly is sleeping soundly. She’s curled up around me, her legs tangled up in mine.

Although I know it is futile, I wish for mornings like this.

This is the hardest part of getting involved with Everly, because now I know the feel and taste of her. I know
her
. Before, I only knew her scent and smile, not her inner thoughts. Only what she chose to share with me each Wednesday.

When she is safe, and I leave her, I know what misery awaits. The bleakness and emptiness that will consume my soul, without the sunshine she provides.

I take a sustaining breath, drawing in her scent.

It’s a pity the room remained shrouded in darkness during our flight, because I would have liked to watch her sleep. I would have enjoyed memorizing the way she looked while dreaming.

Perhaps she is still dreaming. Perhaps she dreams of me, of our time together, and what happened between us, before we were so rudely interrupted.

My dick grows hard at the memory of her perfect breasts, her hand stroking me, and her intoxicating kisses. With a grimace, I adjust myself and endure my painfully hard erection.

In any case, I allowed myself to sleep for a short period of time. It has to be enough for what we’ll face once we’re at my grandfather’s. He is not one to tolerate surprises, not even from a favorite grandson. Though, he has a taste for beautiful women. The one lying in my arms certainly fits the descriptor, but more than that, she’s beautiful on the inside.

So, there is a chance that he
might
allow us to come through the heavily guarded gates and into the house unharmed.

As I rub my eyes, it hits me. Vladimir—my father—needs to be told as well. Perhaps I should meet with him, before we travel to my grandfather’s. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I send him a text, asking to meet, and then slip it back in place.

Everly burrows into me, her cold nose pressing into my neck.

With a thick exhale, I extricate myself, leaving the warmth of her embrace to put on my shoes, and check the cabin. My Glock is secure under my shirt, in the waistband of my trousers, and I feel a modicum of security.

The main cabin is empty, and the door to the plane wide open for us to disembark to a private lounge for drinks and food, if we so desire.

The fine hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I carefully pull out my gun.

“Nikolai,” Viktor says as he walks inside, arms loosely hanging by his sides. The bastard isn’t remotely afraid of me, of my gun, or what I might do to him. But then, has the teacher ever been afraid of the student? “How fortuitous to run into you in Paris.”

I flatten my mouth and cross my arms over my chest, keeping my gun visible. The position is not exactly a threatening one, but it does let Viktor know I do not trust him.

“Always the conversationalist.” He scans the room, his black gaze noting the purse Everly left behind. “Where is she?”

“In bed.” I take a step to the right, fully blocking his view of the hallway that leads to her.

He laughs. “The Monk has shed his robes.”

An insult if there ever was one, coming from a man who prides himself on how many women he’s fucked, and never shuts up about it. For years, I overlooked this and his need to embarrass me, because I had thought it was to make me stronger. But now... now, I refuse to be humiliated by him or anyone else.

“I remain the same,” I say softly. “Why are you here?”

Viktor’s laughter dies away. His gaze is appraising as it runs over me. “The same, yet slightly different.”

He’s right. I am a man
slightly
changed by the friendship of a good woman. But how could I remain the same once I’d felt the warmth of Everly’s smile? It was like asking a bear to forsake the sun to hibernate after spring had fully come.

“Why. Are. You. Here?” I ask again.

He shrugs. “Do I need an excuse to see you,
Kolya
?”

My jaw works. He only uses my childhood nickname to remind me that I am beneath him. “I won’t ask again,” I say pointedly.