Last Hit (Hitman #1)(22)
Author: Jessica Clare

"No way, man," he protests. His legs kick futilely at me. I lower him to the ground and turn his foot to the side with mine. Three swift kicks to his Achilles tendon has rendered him unable to stand.

He cries out sharply.

I muffle it with my hand and lean him against a wall. "See what I can do to you with just my boot out here in front of God and everyone? Think of what it would be like alone. Maybe I will come after you one night as you are walking home. What could I do to you then?"

He cries then. "Okay, enough, enough. I didn’t even want the f**king bitch."

I kick him again for disrespecting Daisy, and then I let him crumple to the ground. Daisy is watching me, because what else is she going to look at? Her hands are covering her mouth. I tell myself she is horrified at how close she came to being hurt instead of about how I maimed this stranger. Lie.

"He’ll be fine," I say brusquely as I take one of her hands and lead her out of the alley.

"How’d you get here so fast?" she asks. "I just texted you."

I felt it, but I hadn’t looked at my phone, too intent on following Daisy outside. I’m tired of lying to Daisy, so I don’t answer. I’ve parked down the street in another rental, something else I will have to explain to Daisy. So many lies piling up. I hear the click, click, click of her heels against the pavement and realize I am walking too fast. I slow down immediately.

"Nick, talk to me." Daisy pauses. "Did I offend you again?" She sounds as if she’s ready to start crying again.

This makes me stop. I turn to her, seeing her upset, unhappy little face staring up at me with hurt clearly evident in her eyes. "No, Daisy, I am the offense." I search her eyes. This is truth. Can she see me?

Her hand brushes lightly against my cheek, a tentative offering.

I close my eyes and turn my face into her hand so she is cupping my jaw and my lips are touching her fingers.

"I thought maybe I interrupted something when I texted you."

She’s so kind to me, so trusting. I feel like I’ve been given a charge to protect her because she cannot protect herself.

"I am durak," I say against her hand. "Stupid. Come, let’s go to car, and I will tell you everything." Not everything, but perhaps enough.

I hold the car door open for her, and then I drive. I do not return to our neighborhood, but instead I take her out to one of the many lakes that are scattered through the city. The moonlight is reflecting off the lake’s surface, and I know that this peaceful spot is the right place to make my confessions.

"Daisy," I say and ask for her to look at me. "I must tell you that I have not been honest with you, always."

She looks back at me with sad eyes, so old in her innocent face. "I know, Nick."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do. I mean, you’re not a terribly good liar, and a lot of times you’re contradicting yourself. Are you…" she swallows, then asks, "married?"

"Married?" She asks this like it is the worst thing ever. It is one truth I am grateful to give to her. "No, never." I hold up my hand like I am swearing an oath to her.

She sighs with relief. "Then what is it?" I weigh how much to tell her, and she can see it. "No, Nick, tell it all to me. Don’t pick and choose."

Inwardly I grimace. I cannot tell her all, but I tell her some. "I am from Russia, born in Ukraine, but I grow up in the streets of Russia. In a Bratva. Do you know what that is?"

She shakes her head no, so I explain. "It is a family of sorts, but not a good one. We don’t like each other."

"Sounds like a real family to me." She gives me a shy smile.

"Maybe. But this family is bad, so I leave the family, and I do odd jobs around the world, and then I come here for another job."

"Doing what?"

"Computer work." This is not a lie. Much of my work is done on the computer today. She accepts this because she can see it is the truth, even though it is only parts of the truth.

"I do not live in your apartment, Daisy. I live across the street."

"I remember you told me. Why did you lie about that?"

I had forgotten. What lies have I told her and lost track of? I am mudak. "I had no excuse for being in your building."

She does not push me further, but simply seems to be meditating on this. "Do you lie to me because you think I’m naïve?"

"No!" I am startled. She thinks the worst of herself, as if there is anything about her freshness that could be bad. "I think you are a wonder, Daisy. A wonder."

My words make her blush, and the moonlit pink in her cheeks heats my own blood. But, I am not an animal, and I remain on my side of the car. "I have no real roots. I rent cars and an apartment. I am glad that you did not come over. I have nothing there."

"It’s not like I have much." Daisy admits. "I just feel out of my element with you. It’s like, because I’m a virgin, I just don’t get what is going on."

We both startle at this admission. Daisy claps her hand over her mouth, and even in the dim light, I can see she is bright red. Her confession changes everything and nothing for me. I knew, from the moment I saw her touching herself, that she was innocent. Or maybe I had hoped. But to hear the truth from her made me dizzy with pleasure.

I cannot bite back a groan.

"It’s bad, isn’t it?" She sounds ashamed. "You don’t want a virgin. No one does. I’m such a loser."

"How can you say that?" I pull at the hands she has pressed to her face. "If the entire club knew the truth, I would have had to fight every one of them to take you out of there untouched." I pull her to me, not willing to have any distance between us, and her lax body allows it. "Your innocence is precious."

"Is that what you like then? That I’m innocent? And when I’m not, you’re done? Poof? Out of there?"

"Nyet," I bite out. How can I fix this? "You could be with a hundred men and still be innocent to me. I’ve done so many bad things in my life." I pause, feeling winded. How to explain? I want to hit myself. What would Daniel do? He’d have counseled me to have practiced more, but how could I have anticipated this? "I feel like I am not worthy of you."

"Me?" She lets out a small huff. "I feel like I’m not experienced enough for you." She smiles like we are a pair of fools.

And we are. I curve my own lips upward. "You are just right for me." I look down at her hands and then into her eyes. "Am I right for you?" I hold my breath.

"Would you teach me?" Daisy asks.

"Teach you what?" I am hearing her say things, yet they make no sense to me. Perhaps I am dazed from the loss of blood that drains from my head to pool in my lap when Daisy takes my hand and places it in her own and then rests them both high on her thigh.

"You know…touch me?" I can hear the blush in her voice as she speaks. She’s eager, but still embarrassed. "I don’t want to be a virgin. I want you to teach me about sex. And orgasms. All those things. Will you show me how?"

"How?"

"How to get off?"

I’ve died. The Madonna in heaven is staring me in the face. I was sure I would go to hell, but there is an angel sitting in my car asking me to stick my hand in her warm cunt and bring her to orgasm. Surely that is Heaven.

But the corporeal flesh beneath my hand clenches at my overlong silence. She’s tense, anticipating rejection.

"I am sorry," I admit. "I felt like I had died and gone to Heaven. You ask me if I would like to give you pleasure? There is no answer but yes."

"Right here?" she whispers, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Yes, here." I would never be able to drive home in this state. I run my hand up her arm and cup the back of her neck. Tugging gently on her hair, I tilt it backward so we can look at each other’s eyes and each judge the sincerity of the other’s statements. "I will do as much or as little as you want, sweet Daisy."

She struggles with something and then admits, "I’m not exactly sure of what I want. I’ve read some books, but I don’t know how much is reality."

"Then I decide for you, da? You trust me?" I thrill at the idea of her trust as much as the idea of her want. She nods, but I need to hear the words. "You trust me?"

A small smile peeks out. "Da," she repeats, her mouth forming the Russian word for yes. "I trust you."

"So I will kiss you first, my kitten, and then we will do other things." I stroke the back of her hair, and she nods her assent.

I drop my hand to the back of her neck and pull her close. I soak in her scent and open my mouth so that I can match the rhythm of her breathing. As she exhales, I inhale until our breaths are one symbiotic loop. The air in the vehicle no longer exists. Only the puffs of oxygen that are exchanged between us exist. There is nothing but her and me.

I pull her mouth against mine, gently at first, and when her lips part, I stroke them with my tongue. Little lapping strokes until she’s comfortable with the feel of my mouth against hers. My patience pays off when she opens and her little tongue darts out. The first stroke of her tongue against mine is so shockingly erotic that I nearly come in my pants. The simultaneous urge to devour her and push her away so I don’t embarrass myself grips me.

My one hand on her back her neck tightens, and the other reaches up to caress her jaw. I want to touch other places. I want to cup her br**sts, thrum my thumbs across her n**ples. I want to reach between her legs and circle her clit. I want to push one, two of my fingers inside the wet heat between her legs.

I want all of these things, but settle for just stroking her cheek, jaw, and neck. Her skin is soft, and I feel the roughness of my fingers catch against the tender flesh. All of these things swirl in my mind as we kiss. So little of our bodies are touching, but I am enflamed. My fingers rub over the wildly beating pulse in her neck. This reveals her own passion to me, but she is so innocent that I cannot bear to take her here in the car, even if she would let me. I break the kiss and lean my forehead against hers. Our breaths are short pants now.

"You want more?" I ask.

Her hands, once resting on my shoulders, stroke down the front of my chest, feeling the hardness of my pectorals. I’ve never cared about my appearance before. My body is merely a weapon. But as her fingers wander and explore, I’m proud of the fitness of my body and that she finds pleasure in the muscles she discovers.

"You’re very strong, aren’t you?" she asks in a wondering fashion. I nod. Inside I feel like I could lift a car if she would repeat her words to me in that same breathy tone.

"So that I can protect you," I reply. I lean back and give her greater access to my chest. Her hand moves lower, over the ridges of my abdomen and along the v-lines of my torso that arrow into my jeans. My c*ck is pressing insistently against my zipper. And my breath catches as her hand hovers over the bulge.

I swear I feel the heat of her palm through the layers of fabric, and that my penis is reaching toward her touch. This time I cannot prevent a moan from escaping and she hasn’t even touched me. Just the idea of her touching me is enough, and I come.

Wetness dampens the denim, but I’m not ashamed because her look of pleased wonder is intoxicating.