Page 11 of Savage Assassin

Which was a train of thought I didnotneed to go down.

I hadn’t expected the man I was going to be entrusted with to be so attractive, plain and simple. He didn’t seem like a boss, but not ordinary muscle, either. Something about the way he moved had a predatory grace, and I could sense, from the moment we were introduced, that there was something dangerous about him.

Somethingexciting.

I chastised myself all through dinner for it, telling myself I was being ridiculous. But now, as I go upstairs to my room after being excused, I still can’t stop thinking about it.

He’s handsome and dangerous and exciting, like a hero in a romance novel. So why wouldn’t you fantasize about him? Just don’t take it seriously.

I flop down onto my bed, letting out a sigh. I can hear the footsteps of the guard outside, someone who replaced José that I don’t recognize. I wait for his steps to fade off and let my hand wander, tracing a path over my breasts through the thin dress and bra that I’m wearing, feeling my nipples stiffen instantly.

What happens if I go to Boston? Can I meet someone? Am I still expected to agree to some arranged marriage, eventually?

I’ve been a good girl all my life. I might have flirted with José or some of the other cute guards, or thought about what it would be like if I could choose my own husband, but I would never have gone as far as Isabella did. I’ve never been brave enough to take my own future into my hands like that, to decide thatI’mgoing to choose the man I lose my virginity to.

I’d been jealous of her when I realized that she’d succeeded in that. When she managed not only to make her own choice–but to make him fall in love with her, too, and marry her.Herlife had turned out to be every bit as exciting as she could have ever hoped it would be.

The onlygoodexcitement I can hope to have is inside the pages of a book.

I let out a sigh, letting my hand fall to the side, slapping against the duvet. My own fingers and a blurry fantasy isn’t what I want tonight, and I know I won’t be able to stop myself from Levin slipping into my thoughts–which is exactly what I don’t need.

I’m not sure how long I’m asleep before a sound wakes me up–a sharp, repetitive cracking noise from outside, over and over again, combined with a rattle that makes me jerk awake and upright in bed, my heart pounding instinctively despite the fact that I have no idea what’s actually happening.

And then I see the glow coming from outside, orange and red in the darkness.

I fling back the covers, leaping out of bed as I go to the window, pulling back the curtain to look outside.

Just beyond the house, the other buildings in the courtyard are on fire. I can hear shouts, and more of what I realize now is gunfire, rattling across the courtyard.

I catch a glimpse of men in black fatigues and leap backward, letting the curtain fall back into place as I retreat to the bed, my heart pounding.What is happening?

I already know before the thought even really has a chance to enter my mind. It’s Diego. The meeting with my father was a ruse, a means to get him to drop his guard just a little, and now Diego has taken full advantage.

My home is under assault.

The fear is choking. For a moment, all I can do is freeze in place, wanting to hide underneath the duvet and disappear, as if that might change any of this. As if it could save me, or any of us.

The paralysis lasts for only a moment. Heart in my throat, I dart for my closet, flinging clothes aside in an effort to find something to put on that isn’t my nightclothes or a robe. I grab one of the first things I find, a green short-sleeved cotton dress with a tie at the waist, and scramble out of the shorts and tank top I’d been wearing, leaving them discarded on the floor as I pull the dress over my head.

My mother would kill me for leaving my clothes in a mess like this.

The thought almost makes me laugh. There’s much worse coming after me now. Something that would have yesterday felt like a cause to be anxious now feels absolutely ridiculous, in the face of what’s happening outside.

There’s another rattle of gunfire, this time closer to the house, and then I hear the sudden sound of hard banging from downstairs, from what sounds like the front door.

Fuck.

I swallow hard, unsure of what to do. I know what my father would tell me to do–to stay put until someone comes for me, but the fear rising up in my throat is almost unbearable. I feel like I’m going to implode from it, shatter into a million pieces, and it feels as if the only way to fight it is todosomething.

I just don’t know what.

There are screams from downstairs, feminine screams and a man’s shout, and my chest cramps from how hard my heart is pounding. I creep towards the door, my hands shaking as I reach for the knob–and I hear gunfire downstairs.

What if my father is dead? What if he can’t come to tell me what to do because he’s dead? What if they’realldead?

There’s a door in the wine cellar downstairs; I know that. An old exit, one made hundreds of years ago for an escape exactly like this, except I’d never thought it would be necessary to use it. I know where it is–my mother and Isabella and I all did, but Isabella and I always made a joke out of it. It seemed ridiculous that we would ever have to run from something so dramatically, underground like frightened rabbits.

Now, I’m not so sure.

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