Page 3 of Bleeding Outside the Lines

“Not if I gut you first. I suggest you crawl back to whoever the fuck hired you and tell them there has been a change of plans. Tell them that you won’t be killing me because you tasted my dick, and it’s like a drug you can’t kick.”

A click sounds in my ear, followed by deafening silence. He hung up. The piece of shit actually hung up on me. Ruby. The Ruby. The motherfucking queen. My wine glass shatters against the wall, and I find the sound it makes oddly comforting. Sweet like music but like life, gone so quick. Adrenaline courses through my veins. Splatters of deep red coat the walls, cautioning what’s to come.

Careful to step around the glass in my bare feet, I exit my office and walk up the steep stairs to the top floor of the house. Every criminal mastermind has an antisocial man in his basement that sits behind the computer; mine just happens to be a woman in an attic. She is quite like Rapunzel, except Rowan has short, curly, brown hair, and she’s not locked in, but rather I am locked out. And while she is not a long-lost princess, she was once a lost little girl. We all were.

The red light from the scanner searches my wrist. When it finds the chip embedded in my skin, a beep sounds, and the door opens. Rowan does not acknowledge my presence. Her fingers, fast from years of practice, continue to tap at the keyboard in front of her.

“Earth to Rowan.” I wave a hand in front of her. She blinks rapidly at the intrusion, her eyes large behind her glasses.

“Dude,” she screams loud enough to wake the rest of the house.

“Dude,” I mimic and point to her noise-canceling headphones.

Her curls bounce as she laughs, and she slings the headphones around her neck.

“Did you get a chance to review the information the client provided?” I ask, pacing behind her.

Her nose scrunches and releases over and over again. I give her a moment, because trying to rush her or getting frustrated with her will only make it last longer. When her face finallyrelaxes, I lift my hand to stop her before the inevitable apology can leave her lips.

She inhales deeply. “You know what he did doesn’t matter, right? Like we were contracted for a job, and this is not actually part of it.”

“But she could be any one of us, Row. We have to find her.”

Her shoulders push back, and her chin lifts. She has resigned herself to the second part of this. The part we are not getting paid for. The part the police can’t seem to solve.

“It’s legit, Rubes. Like a hundred percent. Did you actually tell him what you knew?”

“No, you know me. I have to play with him first, like a new toy.”

“Is that why you licked his toy like a lollipop?” Rowan giggles, but I don’t join in her amusement. She knows I would if I could.

“Did you see him? I may be a monster, but I’m still a woman. I have needs. And if those needs just happen to help me with a mark who looks like Mr. Cross, I’m going to take full advantage.” I speak the truth; Cassius is a unique specimen. His golden-brown complexion combined with his eyes, gray like a storm cloud, are devastating. The way he moved around his club dripping sex appeal before our rendezvous—purely intoxicating. Every time he brushed his thumb across the scruff on his chin, I imagined what it would feel like between my legs. But later, when he saw the barstool empty and stalked after me … that moment holds me in its clutches. The challenge in his eyes when I blew him the kiss. The clench of his jaw, the tightening of his fist. He exuded power, even when he had none.

“That was superb work with the video feed, by the way,” I tell her, because without it, Cassius would have my face on camera, and I can’t have that.

“I’m feeling the brunette Rubes. You got lucky he didn’t pull your hair.”

I flick my hand to wave off her comment. “I wasn’t worried. Rayna has this thing on so tight, it could survive a hurricane. Speaking of which, I have to go take this thing off before my scalp rebels and I have to shave my head.”

I turn to leave, but Rowan speaks again, stopping me in my tracks. Her voice is barely a whisper over the whirring of the computers.

“Do you ever miss it?” Rowan asks.

“Miss what?”

“Seeing yourself when you look in the mirror?”

If anyone else asked me this question, my answer would be simple. No. But sometimes I think Rowan knows me better than I know myself. She is the one who held my hand when the expectations were heavier than I could handle. Her kindness kept me anchored when I wanted nothing more than to drift away. So instead, I answer her honestly.

“It’s hard to miss something that was never really there.” I squeeze her shoulder gently, “See you in the morning Row, get some sleep.” Closing the attic door behind me, I climb down the stairs to the first floor, where my suite is. The house is quiet, which is not unusual. Everyone is in bed.

The stories are true, I’m a chameleon. We all have to be. It’s part of the assassin job description. My research, or rather Rowan’s, had been thorough on Cassius. I was exactly who I needed to be tonight to gain access to his private office. Could I have done it without the invitation? Of course. I didn’t earn my reputation for nothing. But I like to play with my prey before I pounce.

Sitting at the vanity in my room, I gently remove the wig. Long, red hair falls down my back. I place the wig on the designated hook on the wall; not a hair out of place on it. I remove the brown contacts from my eyes, and jade green ones look back at me. I stare at the woman in the mirror, Rowan’swords haunting me. Closing my eyes, I count to three, hopeful that when I open them, the mirror will reveal a different face—one I might recognize. But hope is a blade on which to fall, and this time the stranger looks back at me with a tear in her eye.

Blinking rapidly, I detach myself from the moment. I collapse into bed and pull up Cassius’ video feed on my phone, watching him sleep. It would be so easy to climb into his window and slit his throat while he dreams. Easy, but not fun. With the press of a button, I set off every alarm on his property.

Cassius startles awake and immediately reaches for his nightstand. Suddenly the room is filled with light and Cassius climbs out of bed, his naked body filling my screen. He lifts a gun into the empty air, then looks off camera. I can’t tell what he’s looking at, but his chest heaves and his nostrils flare. My breath catches in my throat as the lamplight ripples over his body with every move he makes. I thought his eyes were intoxicating, but I was wrong. It’s his tight ass that I can’t take my eyes off of as he walks into the bathroom. He emerges with a tablet in hand and his dick, soft but still impressive, swinging back and forth like a pendulum, hypnotizing me with its girth. Until, as if I willed it to happen, it hardens like stone. The absence of alarm sirens breaks my trance, and I watch as his shoulders roll with the kind of tension I know so well. Energy. So much energy. The same kind of energy I can feel in the tips of my fingers. His tablet falls to the bed, and his hand wraps around his cock.

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