Page 50 of Reaper's Desire

"I can explain—"No, I can't.Fucking a target is stupid, but as long as they end up dead after, excusable, so long as DNA isn't left behind. But this… in my world, this has absolutely no excuse. Whatever I feel for Isabelle, whatever has apparently severed my ability to make any kind of logical decisions when it comes to what to do with her, has no place in this world, and never will.

"I'm not interested in explanations." Maddox cuts me off, his tone still maddeningly calm. "I'm interested in solutions. And fortunately for you, I've negotiated one."

My teeth grind together. "What kind of solution?"

"The kind that might save your life." He lets that sink in for a moment. "You have twenty-four hours to complete the original contract. Kill the girl. Provide proof of death. If you do that—if you finish the job you were hired to do—there's a chance we can salvage this. Your reputation will take a hit, but you'll survive. The family might even be willing to overlook the delay if the job gets done."

Twenty-four hours. The number echoes in my head, impossible and final. "And if I don't?" I already know the answer, but I need to hear him say it.

"Then a contract goes out on you one minute past that. One million dollars for your head. Every assassin in Europe will be hunting you, and unlike the girl, you won't have anyone trying to keep you alive." Maddox pauses. "You're good, Julian. One of the best I've ever worked with. But you can't run forever. Not from that kind of money. Not from that many hunters."

One million dollars. It's more than enough to bring plenty of professional killers and every desperate amateur out of the woodwork. More than enough to ensure my death within days, maybe hours if the right ones decide that the figure is worth their energy.

"This is your only chance," Maddox continues. "Twenty-four hours to make this right. After that, you're on your own."

"And if I complete the contract? If I kill her?" The words taste like poison in my mouth.You could do it. She's sleeping right now. She could be dead before she wakes up. All of this could be over.

"Then we move forward. The family gets what they paid for. You get to keep breathing. Everyone wins." He pauses. "Except the girl, of course."

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the impossible choice pressing down on me. Kill Isabelle and save myself. Or refuse and die knowing I protected her for as long as I could.

And she'll die anyway.

"I need time to think," I say.

"You have twenty-four hours to think. Use them wisely." Maddox's voice softens slightly, the closest thing to sympathy I've ever heard from him. "For what it's worth, Julian, I'm sorry it came to this. You're a good operator. One of the best. But business is business, and the mafia doesn't tolerate failure."

"I understand."

"Do you, Julian?" Maddox pauses, and I can practically hear him thinking. "It seems like you've developed some feelings, Carros. And feelings make you sloppy. They make you weak. They get you killed."

"I don't have feelings for her."

"Then prove it. Twenty-four hours. Don't waste them."

The line goes dead.

I remove the SIM from the burner and destroy it. And then I sit in the darkness, feeling like the floor has dropped out from under me. Twenty-four hours. One day to decide, once again, whether I'm going to kill the woman sleeping in the next room or die trying to protect her.

The rational part of my brain knows what I should do. I should walk into that bedroom right now, put a bullet in her head while she's sleeping, and be done with it. She'd never know what hit her. I could be on a plane out of Croatia within the hour, back to my life, back to being the Grim Reaper who never fails a contract. In time, the shadow of my temporary break with reality will pass.

But the thought of it—of pressing the gun to her temple, pulling the trigger, and watching the life leave her eyes—makes me physically ill.

I can't do it. Even knowing what it will cost me, even knowing that refusing means my own death, I can't kill her.

Which means I have twenty-four hours to figure out how to save us both.

Or twenty-four hours to say goodbye.

—

I throw myself into work with desperate intensity, pulling up every contact, every lead, every piece of information I've gathered over the past week. The laptop screen glows in the pre-dawn darkness, casting harsh shadows across my face as I dig deeper into the network of assassins hunting Isabelle. The list is longer than I expected, and worse than I feared. Just from the information I can dig up through my resources, I figure out at least three who are close on our tail, one of whom is ex-special forces from Russia, and another who is a former cartel. Three of the best killers in the business, all converging on the same target. All hunting the woman sleeping in the next room.

And that's just the professionals.

I pull up another screen, scanning through the chatter on the dark web forums where freelancers and amateurs trade information. The bounty on Isabelle has been increased again, and I count at least a dozen confirmed hunters, probably twice that many who haven't announced themselves yet. She's the most valuable target on the continent right now. And I'm the only thing standing between her and a bullet.

My phone buzzes with an incoming message. Encrypted, from one of my oldest contacts in the network.Heard about your situation. Price on your head is one mil as of an hour ago. Every operator in Europe knows you're compromised. Watch your back.