“Um, thanks.” I lean over, taking it from his hands. His fingers brush mine and even the lightest graze of his fingertips awakens something electric in me.
Thank God this guy hates humans, because if he gave me even the smallest hint that he wanted me in the bedroom, I would use every skill I have learnt to rock his world.
“Open it,” he commands.
Still weirdly apprehensive, I open the lipstick and frown when I see something shiny inside. Twisting the base, the sharpest scalpel I have ever seen slides out. My head jolts up as I look at Roman.
“We can’t leave you unarmed now, can we? They won’t think to confiscate that.” That signature smile takes over his face, highlighting the dimples in his cheeks and his bronzed skin.
“This is actually pretty cool,” I mumble. “Did you make it?”
“Of course I made it. Do you think I’d give you something from another man?”
I scoff, shaking my head and ignoring that comment as I make my way to the door. Roman follows without any instruction, beating me to the car and opening the passenger door for me.
“A gentleman. Who would’ve thought it?” I tease. He hums low in the back of his throat and leans over to do my belt. I try to hold my breath so I’m not overwhelmed by his delicious smell, but as he pulls back, his hand grazes my breast and my breath hitches.
“Only for you, Tink,” he whispers, so low I almost feel like I imagined it.
Jumping into the driver’s seat, Roman turns the car on. ‘I Wanna Be Yours by Sofia Karlberg’plays through the radio as we sit in silence. The drive to the hotel should only take fifteen minutes, giving us just enough time to slip into the mindset all killers settle into before a job. No mistakes can be made today.
The charity ball is being hosted for disadvantaged children and as I remember the file I got for Mr Langford, my blood starts to boil. He has a wife at home who has been in hospital more times than I can count, yet each time the police get involved, the case is mysteriously dropped. Beating a woman is one thing, but what enrages me even more are the files upon files of sexual abuse claims against him. From the very children he claims to support through his charity.
The sad reality is, I know The Company isn’t sending me in to kill a paedophile. Not when half of the founding members’ moral compass sits firmly in the black zone of the grey area.
No, the reason I am being sent to end Mr Langford is money. He has finally pissed off the wrong person and I am now the executor. What sort of world do we live in when money trumps children’s safety?
It is another reason I will never bring children into this life. Monsters come in all shapes and sizes. Politicians, royal families, Lords, Ladies, celebrities, entrepreneurs, hell, even your average neighbour could be a paedophile and you would have no idea.
My door opens abruptly, pulling me out of that spiral as I realise we have arrived.
“Stay put!” Roman barks, jumping out of the car to come to my side.
Chucking the keys at the valet, he reaches in and grabs my hand, pulling me close so that I am flush against his body. I still have to tilt my head up slightly to look at him, even in my five-inch heels. When we make eye contact, he gently squeezes my hip bone and throws a small smile my way.
The eighteenth-century building looms over us, its red brick façade darkening into near black under the night sky. The pale stone trim catches the moonlight like an old cobweb and the windows rise in rigid symmetry. A soft glow spills faintly from within as we walk up the concrete steps. It is grand in a restrained, institutional way, much like the charity we are here to support tonight.
Roman gives our names at the desk and we are escorted into the ballroom. High cream walls and detailed plasterwork glow under strings of warm fairy lights that are draped along the ceiling and tall windows. The chandelier shimmers gently above the open floor as the light reflects off polished surfaces.
A sleek DJ booth sits at one end of the room. Along the opposite wall, a bar stretches beneath the windows as expensivebottles of alcohol catch the twinkling light. The air is scented with flowers, alcohol, and overpriced perfume.
“Drink?” Roman asks as he guides me over to the bar.
“Get me a non-alcoholic fizzy wine. I need to keep up appearances.”
Roman grunts, repeating my order and ordering himself a whiskey. Taking our drinks, we weave through the crowd and take our seats. Roman pulls my chair out before sitting down, brushing his knee against my thigh as he does.
“You look beautiful tonight, Tink.”
“What?” My head snaps in his direction just in time to see his lips twitch.
“You look beautiful tonight, Tink.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be feeling okay?” A deep wrinkle forms between his eyebrows as he frowns.
“You… you just gave me a compliment.” I stutter, pointing at him. “I don’t think I have ever heard you give anyone a compliment in your life.”