Page 15 of Claimed By the Hitman: Codename Cupid

"What about protocol?"

Hera smiles, green eyes full of defiant fire. "Fuck protocol."

We don't care who on the beach is watching us. A couple of them might even be assets of Olympia. I dare them to try to pull our lips apart, to pry our bodies away from one another. I'm the deadliest assassin on the payroll—I know it.

And they know it, too.

Finally, I’ve found something truly worth killing for.

We abandoned the boat in the bay. I left the keys in the cabin. Eventually, someone will climb aboard and claim their new toy. The stupid thing only cost me six hundred grand. A drop in the bucket of my blood money.

The cabin we’re hiding in only cost a million more. We’re tucked away deep in the mountains outside of Tahoe. No phones. No Internet. I even had Hera ditch the bikini when we jumped into the car I had waiting for us, just in case there was a tracker sewn into the hem—that made the drive more fun than it should have been. For two weeks, I've been planning our escape. That's the mark of a proper assassin: preparation.

Olympia will expect us to run halfway across the planet. They’ll watch for us to board flights or ships, so we'll stay right here for as long as it takes.

Forever, if necessary.

How we proceed relies entirely on Hera. There are things she doesn’t yet know, things I have to say to her, and those secrets might turn her against me.

If that’s the case, I’ll load the gun for her.

Hera comes out of the bathroom just as I get a fire going. Her silky hair hangs wet down her back. The sun kissed her pale skin today, but she looks the same as that night in Paris. She's perfect.

She clears her throat and gestures to the baggy flannel I set out for her. The shirt hangs off her like a dress. "It's a little big."

"It suits you." I stand and beckon her near the fire. "But, I must say, you were a sight to see in that bikini..."

"God," she laughs. "I fucking hated it. That's the first time Olympia set me up in a swimsuit for a rendezvous."

"First and last," I correct.

Hera sighs and falls onto the deep sofa. Worry lives on her face. "Yeah. We're really doing this. Congratulations, you've infected me with your insanity."

"We could eliminate the target they gave you. Maybe that would put us back in their good graces."

"They know we can kill targets, Cupid. That's not enough. We disobeyed orders. We're AWOL. And you attacked another asset. The gods are unforgiving. No, this is it. We’re on the run—always will be. You realize that, don't you? Is being with me worth looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life?"

The floorboards creak as I drop slowly to my knees before her. With my hands on her thighs, I stare up at her like a worshiper.

"If they had killed me out there on that beach, if a sniper had been waiting and taken me out before I even had the chance to say a word to you, it still would have been worth it to see you one last time,Rose."

She gasps like I've torn her soul wide open. "W-what did you just call me?" She squirms and shakes uncontrollably. How long has it been since she's heard that name, since she's looked in the mirror and seen her true self?

I hold her hands so she won't flee over the back of the couch. "Rose Watson," I say it, and she sobs. "There’s so much you don’t know..."

CHAPTER 5

ROSE

It's a strange thing, taking on so many artificial identities. Hera, the stern handler. Clarissa Dumont, the French Harvard graduate with a penchant for fashion. You become them, steal bits from them, all while hiding the real you from the world and yourself. It's the only way to train your mind and avoid mistakes in the field.

Rose Watson is a name I haven't heard or even thought about in years. It unearths childhood memories that I'd tactically forgotten. I always thought I was hiding them away, securing them until someday I could revisit it all once I retired and had nothing to do but figure out what the fuck this was all for. But if I had worked myself into old age with Olympia, would I have forgotten myself altogether?

Right now, none of that matters. The real question is, how does Cupid know my true name?

"What is this? A set up?" My eyes dart frantically around the cozy cabin as if I'm suddenly aware of cameras and bugs that have been hiding in the blankets, snowshoes, and fireplace the entire time. "Did Olympia plant you to test me? How do you know that name? HOW DO YOU KNOW?"

The last thing I expect Cupid to do is kiss me. His lips naturally sedate me. It's no spy trick or secret assassin’s weapon. It's the chemicals in my mind and body. It's my heart that beats for him.

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