Page 3 of Jewel of the Assassin
I reach back, fastening the choker around my throat, and exhale, shivering as I step closer to the window.
Is he watching me now?
2
Valentina Volkov was always meant for me.
ROMAN
“Normally, I would savor this, but I’m late for a stalking appointment,” I say, my tone thick with amusement.
I tilt my head, the dim lantern light dancing off my golden skull mask. The man before me flinches, wrists bound to the chair, his breath ragged. Pathetic.
“So,” I continue, twirling my knife between my fingers, “let’s not waste time,da? Who’s moving product through my waters? Names, routes, harbors—I want them all.”
He stares at me, mouth opening, then snapping shut. As if silence will save him. As if he hasn’t already pissed himself.
Outside, the Bering Sea rages against the cliffs, wind howling through the cracks in this rotting Alaskan shack. But the sound of his shuddering breath is louder.
I sigh. Disappointed.
“You’re making this difficult.” I step closer, the silk of my ponytail brushing my shoulder as I crouch before him. My knifefinds his cheekbone—a flick, just enough to let the blood rise like a slow parting kiss.
“Lie to me again,” I murmur, voice smooth as winter frost, “and I’ll carve the answers out myself…starting here.” I tap his crotch.
He shudders. Breaks. And then? He talks.
I grin.
Nothing but a bloodstain left behind. The wolves will appreciate the meal.
The sea is violent tonight. Waves crash against the hull, whitecaps clawing at the sleek black cruiser as I guide it through the churning dark. The Midnight 42 hums beneath my grip, its quad engines ruthlessly slicing through the frigid Alaskan waters.
A lesser man might be uneasy. Seas like this can swallow ships whole, drown weaker souls in oblivion. But my Russian blood is pure ice.
The night air is sharp, laced with salt and frost, biting at my face. My gold skull mask rests inside my coat, one of rare constants in my life.
Soon, she will be, too.
The estate looms ahead, carved into the cliffside like a kingdom built on blood. The only road up is a death trap—guards, cameras, snipers. But the water…the water is mine. And the cliffs.
I cut the engine, letting momentum carry me closer. Silent. Invisible. The boat glides while my eyes lock onto the towering silhouette of Valentina’s gilded prison of a home.
Three days.
In three days, she belongs to another man. My goddamn brother. Unworthy.
But I will take her.
She will be mine.
I step to the edge of the deck, remove my gloves, and prepare for the climb. The bitter wind howls, but I am untouchable.
And if I judge accurately by the security cameras, her father will be finished with her punishment soon.
I ascend higher, moving with the ease of a predator. The jagged cliffs may be dangerous, but they become an extension of myself. The air grows thinner, the distance shorter, and the summit looms closer, its cold presence like the final test of my will.
One misstep, one fumble, and my body will be crushed against the rocks.
