Page 96 of Roaming Holiday

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Once I ask this question, it’ll never be the same. “I—were you… were you an assassin?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as his breath hitches. “Yes.”

It’s chilling to admit that it doesn’t truly frighten me. If Wesley is supposedly a bad person, what does that make Arlo? What does it make the people who branded him?

I brush my finger over the diamond mark on his shoulder. “Why did they brand you?”

He hesitates. “Contract killings and organized crime in southern Europe have been starting to work together more. Adonis owns the underground and tries to stay neutral. It’s a place where business can be conducted without violence. There’s no fighting of any kind, and this mark is that oath.”

“Why’d you… quit?”

Do assassins put in their two-week notice? I’ll keep the second question to myself despite my growing curiosity.

“My boss—he lied to me, so I turned him in.”

“What did he lie about?”

“He said he was only trafficking weapons. He wasn’t,” Wesley explains. I stare at him, waiting for the end of that sentence. “Girls. He was trafficking young girls.”

I blanch and take an unconscious step back. “What? And you?—”

“Turned him in,” Wesley insists. “Gathered enough intel to put him in jail.”

“But now he’s dead—and Arlo wants to know who did it. Do you know who?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t ask me that.”

Plausible deniability. I don’t argue. There’s no ethical dilemma of whether he killed women, not after meeting Daria. “Did you… did you ever kill kids?”

“No,” he snaps. “Never.”

I shrink under his glare. “Don’t look at me like that! I have no idea how this works.”

“It’s why I wanted to be the one to—” He cuts himself off with a sigh. His gaze lowers. “That’s not the part of me I want you to know.”

Wesley has given me so much of himself, and I see everything he is and can be, but he’s hanging on by a thread. He’s trying to get us out of here and protect me from more than physical violence.

I shift closer. “Last question.” Unlike my sister, I’m not one for confrontation. But I need to know. “Are you in love with me?”

Desperation fills his eyes. “More than you know.”

I swallow the emotion lodging in my throat and close the distance between us, capturing his lips. Despite his rough exterior, his kiss is soft. I shiver when his hand slides to the back of my neck. A territorial feeling rushes into me. This is my Wesley. Gentle, passionate, mine. He doesn’t belong to Daria or this line of business—only me.

I slip my fingers down his chest to his belt. Before I can unbuckle it, he stops me.

“Wait,” he whispers, breathless.

“What’s wrong?”

“I—we can’t.”

I blink. “What?”

“We can’t,” he repeats.

I check his bandages, ensuring it hasn’t bled through and the tape is secure. “Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s not that… Your, uh—your adrenaline, it’s starting to crash.” He takes my hand, and I notice that it’s trembling. In fact, my entire body is tense. I roll my neck, exhaling in satisfaction at the crack. He kisses my fingers. “Today was a lot. Your emotions are heightened; I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

---