Page 12 of Assassin: Part 1

I look back at Oleg who looks confused himself. Shit.

I quicken my pace then stop as I step into the large space that we use for our interrogations. The sight that hits me has me impressed and infuriated. Though, right behind it is a new kind of anticipation. The kind I’ve been waiting years for.

I hold my hand up for Oleg and Zakhar to halt. “What the fuck?” Oleg hisses, shock clear.

“Surprise!” the woman standing between the two people suspended from the ceiling yells.

The voice I hear every night in my dreams. Screaming, begging, pleading. Sometimes, I kill her; sometimes, I fuck her until I wake with her name on my lips and my cum soaking the sheets. It’s maddening. Especially since I’ve vowed that if I ever saw her face again, I’d make her pay for shooting and escaping me.

I still have no idea what her name is. The woman is a ghost, and not even my men or connections have been able to locate or find out anything about her. Even my allies have come up empty. An impossible feat, and one that has me on high alert.

She’s changed her appearance, but there’s no doubt who she is. You can’t hide that look in your eyes.

Standing at five ten instead of the five seven she was the first time, she’s lost a fair amount of weight. The last time I saw her, she had delicious curves that filled out the clothes she was wearing. Now, her breasts look no bigger than a B-cup, her hips are slim, and her hair is no longer a mousy brown. It’s bright blonde, short, and cut into a sleek bob that gives her a bit of an edgy look. And her eyes are no longer the bright green I stared into while she held that knife to my throat; they’re a mousy brown. Nondistinctive. Does her nose look different? It’s hard to tell from here.

So which version is the correct one? Something tells me neither is. That’s fine, I won’t be letting her slip through my fingers again.

We have a score to settle.

“Did you miss me, pet?” the insane woman purrs, her cheshire grin out of place, considering the circumstances. Or the fact that the two people hanging are bleeding and missing appendages. Most of which are littered on the floor. The smell of urine fills the air. “You know, the moment I found out about this little project and that we might cross paths, I have to admit, I was excited to see you again. And look at you, still all distinguished and sexy. I’m not afraid to admit you played into one or two fantasies in the past two years,” she adds, with a salacious wink.

“Did she just call him pet?” Zakhar gapes.

“This is the crazy bitch that rescued Mila,” Oleg states.

The woman loses her grin and pouts. “Awww, is that what you’ve been calling me? That’s not very nice.” Then she shrugs. “Oh well, I learned a long time ago to ignore name-calling. It’s childish.”

“Let me go, you crazy whore,” Abram screams, kicking and trying to break the chains. I don’t even spare him a glance as I focus on the woman in front of me.

“See? Childish,” she tsks. Then, quick as a flash, she brings up the same knife she had the night at the old diner and slashes his shin. The scream is so loud I’m glad I soundproofed this place, or we’d have the cops coming down on us for sure. The blade slices down to bone, and the woman hanging beside him sobs, pleading for her life.

“Jesus Christ,” Zakhar mutters.

“Lisichka,” I say, pulling her attention. “Would you care to explain what you’re doing in my warehouse?” I say it with all the patience I can muster.

“See, I’ve been studying up on my Russian in case I ran into you again, kotyonek,” she croons as she moves to the woman’s other side and slices through her upper thigh. She misses any major veins, but the blood flows freely as the woman screams and thrashes. I vaguely realize just how perfectly she pronounces the word, letting it roll off the tongue with the perfect inflections.

Is she Russian? Interest piqued, I let that stew, focusing on her instead.

“And I find it sweet you call me a little fox. If you had called me something silly like kitten, I’d have been put out. Especially since it suits you so much more.” She winks then strides over to the table full of instruments. She picks up a blow torch and tests it before she sets it aside and grabs a pair of sheers.

This woman is certifiable. There’s no doubt about it. Why do I find that enjoyable? Why am I letting her get under my skin?

“Did she really just call him kitten?” Oleg asks Zakhar, as if he’s certain he hasn’t heard right.

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, turning to pin the two of them with a glare. Oleg has the smarts to do as ordered, but my brother shakes his head and stares at the woman walking back to the man, snapping the sheers as she goes. “Would you care to tell me what the hell you’re doing here?” I demand, done with this back-and-forth.

How does this woman keep getting the upper hand?

She snaps the sheers again as she walks forward until she’s standing between the two swinging people. The sheer terror on their faces has them fighting and straining against their chains, but we all ignore them. The only thing I care about is answers.

“Well, you see, pet, your guy here, he’s got a thing for young boys,” she explains, losing her smile.

Here, here is the true woman she’s hiding underneath the disguises. A mixture of admiration, shock, and desire courses through me, but I force myself to pay attention to what she’s saying.

“Boys as young as five years old. Boys he has repeatedly abused physically and sexually over the past couple of years. And this lady right here, she’s the one running the underground trafficking ring right under your nose.”

I stiffen, rage rushing through me. What the fuck? I glance at Oleg and Zakhar, and their expressions match mine. They definitely didn’t know about this either.