Page 15 of Eyes in the Shadows

“No, don’t—don’t touch it,” she says.

I jerk my hand back, like I’ve been burned. “Does it hurt?”

“No, I…” her face flushes. “People just usually think it’s gross. Never mind.”

To prove I’m not like those fuckingpeople, I squirt out a fair amount of the thick white cream, wanting to leave enough that it provides the relief so she doesn’t need to scratch. When I start rubbing it in, she inhales sharply and makes a little noise of relief.

It’s a nice moment, even though she’s tied and not on my lap willingly, I briefly allow myself to forget that my position is home invader and not guest.

“Are you going to let me go? I won’t say anything,” she says softly.

I glance at her. She’s not lying, not really, but she will forget this promise. I’ll have to make sure she keeps it. “I know.”

She starts to tremble as my hand slides up the outside of her thigh. She’s got great legs. Powerful. Strong. I reach her hip and curse softly as it fills my hand. Her stomach tightens. I squeeze, and her body gives way to me immediately, bending under my grip. Just how I fucking like.

“Mac,” she whispers. Her blue eyes are round and her brows are slashed up in apprehension. I can see the conflict on her face. She may want it, but not like this. “You didn’t hurt me. You cut off the zip ties; you put on my medicine for me. You… you’re not going to hurt me.”

Hurting her is not what I had in mind. But I understand what she’s saying. It’s not the right time. I won’t make her admit that she wants me. Yet. She can have that small dignity for now.

“I’m not,” I agree, and place her feet back on the floor.

“Thank you.”

I just huff a laugh in response—imagine someone thanking you for not touching them against their will after you break into their house, tie them up and kill three people right in front of them. I check my watch and see that it’s well after midnight. “You should go to sleep. It’ll be better that way.”

“Can you… loosen the rope? I know you won’t take it off, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep with it digging in like this. I can’t really feel my hands.”

I look down and they’re not discolored in the least so I know she’s trying to play me. But I do remove the rope around her torso because I was always going to. I leave her hands and feet tied.

She leans against the arm of the couch and closes her eyes. She starts pretending to be asleep around 2 AM and really falls asleep an hour later. For a second, her trust makes me mad. She shouldn’t trust me. She shouldn’t let her guard down enough to fall asleep around me. I’m a killer.

I watch her for a while after her breathing evens out, her sooty lashes brushing against her cheeks lightly as her eyes move rapidly behind the closed lids. Her chest expands and contracts, her face smooths out and she looks so… peaceful. She looks delicate and innocent, like something to be protected.

And I intend to.

While she sleeps, I move stealthily through the apartment. I make a mental note to thank Wes for insisting we all carry a few basic pieces of tech with us on every mission, and leave a few listening devices in places no one would think to look. I want to leave a camera, but I’m not that kind of monster. Well… not so far, anyway.

At least I don’t have to wipe away the evidence of myself the way I normally would. Saves me some time on my way out. As my last move, I scrawl out a note on the back of one of the paper bills sitting in a pile on the kitchen table and place it next to the knife. I leave that stuck in the table so she can easily cut herself free when she wakes up.

5

Dimitri

I have not stayed alive so long by ignoring my own shortcomings

I explode into the first-floor bathroom, nearly shattering the glass mirror on the back of the door. I rip the shirt over my head and use my left hand to pull my right deltoid forward so I can see the damage. Blood forms rivers down my arm, pooling between thick muscle and staining the skin bright red. I hear it dripping to the floor.

Fuck. It needs at least four stitches.

Grumbling to myself in my mother tongue, I open up the medicine cabinet. The first aid bag takes up so much room in the built-in space, we had to remove the shelves. It is equipped with more than your average kit; I grab the silver box that has the sterile needles in plastic packaging.

I should make James stitch it for me for several reasons—I am not left-handed, he has the steadiest hands, and he is the reason I got fucking shot in the first place—but he likely will not return soon enough.

I grip the edges of the sink as a wave of dizziness overtakes me. It is just a graze, the pain barely registered, but blood loss and shock are not weaknesses I can train out of myself. But I can treat it and prevent the shock, so I bring the whole kit with me into the kitchen.

The kitchen, much like the rest of this rental house, is huge, ostentatious and made of cold stone and glass. Its luxury is not the quiet kind, but it does have its perks. The fully-loaded gym downstairs is one of them.

I navigate around the large middle counter, pausing to rinse the blood from my hand in the built-in sink. I look up to the opposite wall as I let the water flow over my skin. Dark as it is, the large wall of windows shows only the light inside andmy own reflection back, making me uneasy that I cannot see out into the expanse of open yard behind the mansion. But the perimeter is not only secure, it is easily securable. I made sure of that before I allowed Wesley to sign the lease.

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