Page 8 of Cruel Pawn
How did Arden even see it? And not just that, but to guess it was important enough to me that he brought me to the British fucking Library to see the original manuscript? For a split second, staring at that yellowed paper, the detailed illustrations, the words I’d held close to my heart since I was ten years old, I forgot it was a con and that I’d have to kill him.
Stupid. So fucking stupid. I stalked into the airy hall at the front of the library, composing myself with every step. I wasn’tPriya, wasn’t the girl who lost her parents, wasn’t the girl raised by a grandfather who behaved more like a boot camp instructor than a loving guardian. I was Carmen, who worked in advertising but had a big dream to travel the world with an animal charity. I was Carmen, who was so shaken and stressed because her cat’s life hung in the balance,notrattled because her shield slipped and for a few minutes, Arden saw something real.
If I fucked this up, I wouldn’t get paid, and if I didn’t get paid, I’d never know who killed my parents. But I was Carmen, whose parents lived in the Bahamas with their Shih Tzu, Gentleman. I was Carmen, who smiled big and easily, who would never hurt a fly let alone plan someone’s death.
By the time my feet hit the ground outside, I had my head back in the game. I couldn’t afford to slip again. I had a job to do here and letting him glimpse Priya wasn’t an option.
“Carmen, wait.”
Fuck,I mouthed, arranging my face into something panicked and wild. “I can’t stop, Arden. Mango needs me.” I felt so stupid saying that.Mango needs me,like I was a superhero who’d fly off to rescue a cat. I was less Batman and more Poison Ivy, but I pushed that deep, deep down. I was Carmen, stressed cat parent. Sweet, caring, vanilla Carmen, who loved sports romance books, not Alice in Wonderland, whose favourite show was Countryside, not Hannibal.
A hand caught mine, shocking in its warmth. I’d always run cold, probably because of a circulation issue, possibly because I was a cold-hearted killer. But Arden was so damnwarm.I locked down my reaction, peering up at him with wide, panicked eyes. “I’m coming with you,” he vowed, and one look at him told me fighting would be useless.
I bit back a growl of frustration and nodded fast, letting relief soften my eyes. Lucky I’d bribed Jill, the vet. She was going to come in real handy.
“I’ve already called the car,” Arden said. Heat burned through my dress into my spine as his hand settled against the small of my back. I wanted to rip his hand away, wanted to grab his throat and throw him up against the side of the library building and… actually, I didn’t know what. My fantasies usually ended in murder, but this one was muddy.
I shoved it aside, and let Arden guide me across the courtyard, through the exit. The Range Rover and its silent, emotionless driver already idled at the curb, waiting for us. I liked that driver; he was a hundred percent my type. Stoic, quiet, and easy to tolerate. I wondered if I could poach him once Arden was dead.
I let Arden help me into the car, purposefully letting the slit in my red dress fall open, exposing a swath of upper thigh. I saw the way he fixated on it earlier, and maybe I could use it to my advantage now. I considered removing the stiletto knife hidden in the clasp of my bag, and just killing Arden now, but it was too risky, too messy. My client asked for it to be clean and discreet. Plus, I’d need to deal with the driver too, and that was all extra hassle I couldn’t be bothered with.
No, much better to let this play out and get Arden alone.
So, I pulled my phone from my bag, leaving the stiletto knife where it was, and fired a quick text to Jill telling her what I needed.
It was a short drive to Briar Bridge Veterinary Practice near Paddington, and oddly enough I didn’t have to fake the signs of nervousness—nibbling at my mango-themed acrylic nails (the fruit, not the cat, and yes, that was how I came up with his name), tapping my fingers on my knees, shifting my feet in the footwell. I played up the emotion, channelling sweet, nervous Carmen, but I hated to admit I was unsettled. Itchy. Restless. It worsened when Arden covered my hand with his, heat bleeding into my skin, searing my thigh where our hands rested.
I’d played this game before, had flirted with and seduced six men only to later end their lives and cash in the check for their untimely ends. I’d slept with my marks, and not felt this squirming, itchy sensation. I didn’t have a name for it. I didn’t like it.
Twenty-five minutes later the silent driver pulled into the small car park behind the vets and switched off the engine.
“Thank you, Smith,” Arden said with easy familiarity. So, the driver’s name was Smith. I made a note, since I was stealing him from Arden once the entrepreneur was dead. Or maybe that ought to be entre-purr-neur. I flattened my mouth into a vicious line, so I didn’t smirk. Cat parents who were terrified their cat was about to die didn’t go around smirking.
“I’ll come inside with you,” Arden offered as I opened the door. Something sulky crossed his face when I glanced back, half out of the car, and I turned swiftly away to hide my smile. Was he really an old-fashioned gentleman with traditional values? The mafia part of him aligned with that, but the cat-aficionado did not. Still, I could have sworn as I closed the door behind me that he was pouting because I hadn’t waited for him to open my car door.
Then again, he put himself in my phone as ‘future husband’ after meeting me for a grand total of twenty minutes, so maybe pouting was on brand for him. He was certainly a romantic, hence the extravagant date. Thethoughtfuldate.
Ugh, don’t think about the manuscript or the longing glances he shot your way when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
That was the danger with being a hired killer. I wasalwayspaying attention. There was never a moment in which I wasn’t viscerally aware of every move he made, every breath he expelled, every twitch of his fingers, every half-smile and soft laugh. Those things had never affected me before.
“I’m sure Mango will be fine,” Arden said in a voice like velvet as I headed for the front door to the vets. Annoying. Soft and full of soothing heat, like being wrapped in the arms of someone you loved, someone you were safe with. I pushed the notion aside. It had been decades since I’d been hugged by my parents, and certainly no one since had qualified as safe and loving. The stupid manuscript was making me sentimental. I didn’t evenhavea cat.
“I know,” I murmured, keeping my voice quiet because I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I could control it. But I refused to crack again, refused to break character for even a minute. A single minute could mean the end of this contract. I was so close to being able to pay the price, to buy the names of my parents’ killers. Two more jobs, and I’d finally have their names.
I let a tremor move through my hand and made sure he saw it as I held open the door for him and stepped inside. That sulky expression darkened his face for a second, and yep, he was definitely irritated about not opening doors for me. I really had him hook, line, and sinker. Killing him would be easy, as long as I didn’t lose my head again.
“Take a seat, Carmen,” Jill said when she spotted me. I’d been sure to send a photo ahead of time, so she’d recognise me. If she wondered why I wanted to fake a cat’s surgery, the five thousand pounds I’d dropped in her account quietened that curiosity. It didn’t even put a dent in my justice fund, but it still pinched to give away that much money. But if it allowed me to get Arden closer, to place him exactly where I needed so I could end his life—cleanly and discreetly—it would be worth it. His death was worth a hundred thousand. Someone really wanted him gone.
I still didn’t know why. It nagged at me like a throbbing tooth.
He was clearly a half-good person. That was evident by the way he gently closed the door instead of letting it slam, then took a seat beside me, catching my hand in both of his. Heat—burning, branding, searing all the way through skin and muscle into my fragile finger bones. How was he so hot all the damn time?
“Mango’s still in surgery,” Jill said, bringing a cup of water from the water-cooler over to me and glancing at Arden before returning for another. “I’ll know more when he comes out, but with a cat his age, the anaesthesia can pose issues. I still have hope he’ll pull through and he’ll be right back to meowing his head off tomorrow, but I don’t want you to be underprepared.”
Oh, Jill was good. She was embellishing our little fib with details to make it real. I sniffled and wiped a genuine tear from my eye. I could make myself cry with a few seconds’ notice. “Thank you,” I said, deepening my voice so it sounded thick with emotion. I could make that real too if necessary, but it involved thinking about events I’d rather block out right now. “I mean it, Jill, thank you.”
She caught my hand and squeezed, the interaction completely believable. Maybe five thousand was too small an amount to pay her. Maybe she was in the wrong line of work; with that acting ability she’d be a damn good actress. An even better hitwoman, too.
