Page 7 of Claimed By the Hitman: Codename Cupid

Hera stands, leaving me on the sofa. I can see her fingers itching to take up her gun again. “Enough mythology, Cupid. I need you to tell me what happened. No collateral, remember? If there were additional fatalities, I need to know about them. Olympia won’t be pleased.”

I sit up and throw my shirt back on, but leave the buttons undone. Blood has dyed a portion of it red. “Oh, the job was clean. Target eliminated. No witnesses. No collateral.”

She stares at my wound as if she’s expecting the explanation to rip the stitches open. I’ve stared killers in the eyes (even looked in the mirror on occasion), and none have compared to the look she’s giving me right now. It’s a look that could kill me.

Finally, I shrug. “I fell.”

“Onto a knife?”

“Perfect stab, really,” I say nonchalantly. “No organs pierced. That knife really knew what it was doing.”

“Cupid…” Hera looks like she might explode. “Is that wound self-inflicted?”

I smile. “I needed a reason to see you…”

This time, I think she actually might shoot me.

“Are you fucking crazy?” She’s pacing. Is it strange that I find her pacing attractive? “Are youinsane?”

“I’m an assassin, Hera. Insanity is a prerequisite.”

“You stabbed yourself!”

“Barely,” I laugh. “It’s a scratch. I just needed a bit of blood for show. It got you to let me in, didn’t it?”

Hera stands at the balcony, pointing her gun out at the night as if she’s going to murder the Eiffel Tower.

“Leave,” she commands. “Immediately. Consider this the debrief. Leave now so I don’t have to report this bullshit to Olympia.”

“What’s the difference between leaving now or in the morning?”

I stand, challenging her.

She doesn’t budge as I close the distance and smell the lavender in her hair. Standing this close together, she has to crane her neck to look up at me. Still, she doesn’t look small.

“Either way, you should report this, no?”

“You want me to?”

“I want to know why you wouldn’t,” I whisper with a smile. “You work by the book. This isn’t protocol.”

“It would be easier for both of us if they didn’t find out. This sort of thing doesn’t sit well with them, Cupid.”

“Or maybe you have a soft spot for me…”

I can sense her tensing.

Her finger sneaks toward the trigger.

“Come on. You feel it.”

“Feelwhat?”

Slowly, I drag my finger up her thigh. The way she hisses, you’d think I just sliced her open. Maybe I have…

“This,” I say softly, inching closer. “This… tension. I’ve felt it since the moment I first saw you. It’s been drawing me to you.”

“Maybe the Paris air is getting to your head.”

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