Page 50 of Hate Mates

A Kill to Kiss by Alison Rhymes

ONE

Beth

“Son of a dick,” I hiss as Andrew drops into the backseat of the limousine beside me.

“Nice to see you, too, sweetheart,” he says with a snide smile. His large form takes up too much space, his thigh settling to rest against my own. It’s a nice thigh, attached to an even nicer body, attached to a morally corrupt asshole.

“Call me sweetheart one more time and my mark for the night will change to you.”

“I’m sure The Agency would promote you for taking out their top assassin, Beth.” He rolls his eyes and slumps further into the seat.

“I’m their top assassin.”

Andrew turns to me, the smooth fabric of his expensive suit sliding against the bare skin of my exposed leg, thanks to the high slit of my dress. He studies my face as if he’s seeing it for the first time. The reality is, we’ve worked together for years. We even fucked in one rare moment of euphoria on an assignment in Paris.

I blame the French wine for my lack of judgment.

That was all before we completely fucked each other over, of course.

“You’re good, sweetheart. Damn good,” he says, slowly and suspiciously, as if he isn’t speaking of my chosen profession. “But not the best.”

Andrew’s breath is warm on my cheek, but it feels like a soothing cool breeze on a sweltering day. Do I hate him or myself more for the way he makes me feel? Who knows. My head knows he’s a selfish, heartless prick. And that’s all that matters.

I couldn’t do this job if I wasn’t an expert at compartmentalizing and making hard decisions. Regardless of how well Andrew Pratt fucked me into oblivion that one scandalous night, he’s not worth the repeat. Especially when nine minutes out of every ten I spend with him, I’m plotting ways to disembowel him.

“Keep telling yourself that, and maybe one day it will come true.”

“They keep pairing me with you for a reason,” he bites back. “They’re desperate for me to teach you how to handle a job all by your big girl self.”

Asshole.

Truthfully, most of my jobs are solo. But every so often, like tonight, you need a co-pilot. Unfortunately, The Agency likes the way we never fail to accomplish the task, so they keep teaming us up. This is the first time in about a year, though. It’s been a peaceful reprieve from the dark, charismatic thief.

Tonight’s mark is a powerful man who has escaped consequences for his depraved actions for decades. A known rapist and sex trafficker, protected by money and connections. He must have pissed off the wrong person though, because it costs no small fortune to hire The Agency. Let alone their best trained killers.

My boss has worked for months to get us an invite to one of Lyle Maclain’s exclusive parties. I didn’t know who I’d be going in with until the car door opened, but that isn’t unusual. We roll with the punches in this gig.

Some jobs are messier than others, but the result matters most. The target dead.

I’m good at clean and quiet. Unseen and unheard. Blending in is my specialty, one I’ve perfected in the fourteen years I’ve been at this. The Agency found me when I was barely nineteen and studying intelligence at a rather non-descript university in the Midwest. I’ve come to understand that they have eyes everywhere though. Always looking for a certain skillset. Evidently, I possessed what they wanted.

It’s paid off lucratively for us both. Another couple of years and I could quit altogether. If I wanted to. I don’t. Not yet, anyhow.

I like the kill.

Maybe I even love it at times. There’s an undeniable pleasure when taking out someone you know is simply too evil to keep existing. I see it as protection, really. It’s altruism in the most brutal way.

I’m a do-gooder. Mostly.

I smile at the ridiculous thought and catch Andrew staring at my mouth with consternation.

“It’s called amusement. You should try it sometime.”

“No, thank you,” he says sternly, and I almost laugh before I remember that I hate this man.

“Should we discuss a plan?”

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