Page 3 of Claimed By the Hitman: Codename Cupid

Cupid smiles and sips his espresso.

I’m keenly aware of the glances he steals toward my thighs.

If I had my gun, I might hit him with it.

“We have a target,” I speak softly, as if we’re flirting. “He is attending a dinner tonight at La Truffière. Fifty-seven years of age. Bald. Brown goatee. Brown eyes. Thin scar under the right ear. Keen on maroon suits, so keep an eye out for that. His driver pilot’s a twenty-twenty five black Mercedes GLC. The target wears a gold cross necklace, always. Apart from the driver, he should be alone once he leaves the restaurant.”

Cupid doesn’t seem to be paying attention. He finishes his espresso, sighs, and leans forward until our faces are inches apart. “Do you think it will protect him?”

“Excuse me?”

“The cross.”

“If you’re as good as Olympia says, then no.”

Flattery. Zeus suggested that encouragement might work where sternness has failed. I’m not very good at it…

Anyone passing by would see two lovers sharing an intimate conversation, and Cupid adds to the scene by brushing a strand of my black hair behind my ear. I shiver in the summer heat.

“This dress looks good on you, Hera. Maybe you and I should take a day or two after the assignment. I know many places we could get lost in…”

My breath catches like a jammed bullet.

If he kissed me, I’d go along with it.

I can’t blow up on him in public, and he knows that. He’s got me cornered. He can take this act as far as he wants to…

A strand of his curly hair falls and brushes my forehead.

Cupid smiles and palms my cheek before leaning back in his chair. “Fifty-seven. Bald with a brown goatee and brown eyes. Scar under right ear. Maroon suit. Black Mercedes. A golden cross necklace.”

I suppose he was listening.

“No collateral damage. Clean kill, if possible. It doesn’t need to look like an accident, but don’t make a fuss, either. In two days, we’ll meet for our debrief,” I say as I finish my tea. “If you don’t show, we’ll know you failed.”

“Or succeeded and was killed in the process.”

“This shouldn’t be that difficult.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Not with your track record. If I’m being honest, I think Olympia is throwing us an easy target to feel out this arrangement.”

Cupid perks up. “Oh? What have you heard? Are they worried I’ll do something crazy?”

Zeus thunders in my mind,Precise. Ruthless. Dramatic. Unpredictable…

I stand and straighten out my dress. He’s still close enough to hide himself under the fabric and kiss between my thighs, if he wanted to.

If I’d let him.

“Do this by the book, Cupid.” I stare down at him as I hook my purse over my shoulder. “No collateral. No unnecessary attention. In two days, meet me in front of Saint Agnes church along the Marne—same time. May Tyche smile upon you.” The goddess of luck, a customary closing among agents.

Before I can turn to leave, Cupid snatches my arm.

His strength and speed shock a gasp from my lips. All his arrogant coolness has boiled over, leaving a desperate look in his dark eyes.

“We should have a rendezvous in case something goes wrong,” he says.

I shake my head. “That’s not protocol.”

“You can give it a stupid Greek name if you want. House of Atreus, or some shit. I don’t care. We need a backup… in case I need to find you.”

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