The Hitman's Angel(4)

Sweat forms on my spine. I don’t like her not trusting me. Only a few seconds of it and I’m miserable. “How can I make you trust me?”

“Tell me how to um…please you.” She looks back over her shoulder at the gnat, the pulse in her neck speeding up in obvious fear. “I have to please the customer. Teach me how.”

“You are not required to please me, angel. Not here. Not like this.”

She appears bewildered. “Why are you here if not for pleasure?”

To put a bullet between your tormentor’s eyes. I can’t say such a thing to this girl. Those words would soil her. I don’t like not telling her the truth. In fact, I loathe it. But I must allow her to believe I’m here for pleasure. Otherwise she’ll ask more questions or grow suspicious that she’s dealing with someone unworthy and then she’ll never trust me. Or leave with me.

Da. That’s what I want more than anything. This angel to let me take her from this place. Perhaps if we go through with the dance, I can convince her to trust me. Go home with me.

There’s no way I’m letting her dance in front of an audience, though. Especially not this gnat, who even now is rubbing his hands together. I hate giving him what he wants, but there’s no choice. Swallowing my distaste, I take out my wallet and remove the wad of hundred-dollar bills. All of it. Without taking my eyes off the girl, I hand it to him over her shoulder. “Get the fuck out.”

Even though I’m not looking at him, I sense his eyes bugging out of his head. “You got it, man. Just knock on my office door when you’re done. Don’t want her running off when she’s raking in this kind of cash.”

“Go.” Before I rip out your throat.

With a clang of beads, the gnat is gone and I’m alone with the angel. She looks so small in the blue light, her eyes wide in her beautiful face. Little treasure, so scared. It makes me want to howl like a maimed bear.

“What is your name?” I ask, aching to cup her cheek.

“Oh, um…”

“Your real one, if you please.”

She swallows. “Margaret.”

The name slides down my throat like a fine wine. “Margaret. I am Lenin.”

“Lenin.” I could jerk off for a decade to that single utterance of my name, but she’s looking too nervous for me to relax. “There are cameras. We have to get started.”

“I’ve paid more than enough for you to take your time.”

That doesn’t make her relax. “You paid enough to do…everything. With me.” Her eyes drop to my crotch and she sucks in a breath. “Is that what you’re expecting?”

“Nyet. We do what makes you comfortable.”

“Sitting in a bubble bath with a book would make me comfortable. That doesn’t strike me as an option.”

If I had the capability to laugh, I would. She is clever on top of everything else? I’m struck with the sudden fear that I might have never met Margaret if I’d simply pulled the trigger, killed the gnat and disappeared into the night. That thought gives me great panic. “I will take you from this place right now, angel. I will draw you a bubble bath and send for enough books to fill a library. All you have to do is ask.”

“Stick with the devil you know. My mother used to say that.” She shakes her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Stripping sucks, but my head in a duffel bag sounds worse.”

I might as well have a bullet wound in my chest. And it wouldn’t be the first time. “I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head.”

Her brown eyes soften and she chews her luscious lower lip. She wants desperately to believe me. Desperately wants out of this place. But this one finds it hard to trust—and I respect that. I understand, but I want her confidence so much I’d sell my soul to get it. “Can you prove you won’t…harm me?”

“You said it yourself,” I respond. “I paid enough to have my way with you.”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“I will not do it, angel.” Much as my body is begging for otherwise. “I will not lay a finger on you without permission.”

“How do I know you’ll stay so noble once we leave?”

What I do next is a risk, but I can think of no other option. The movements feel unnatural—giving up my weapon. But I angle my body to block the camera and show her the gun in my jacket. “Take the gun now, if you wish. I won’t stop you. That would give you two weapons against me.”

She blinks down at the gun, up at me. “What is the other one?”

“Every fucking thing about you.”

Her breath catches. “We just met.”

“Da. When you know, you know. My mother used to say that.”

The corner of her mouth tilts up. “I’ll think about your offer. But…keep the gun for now.” Her eyes go the camera and she shakes herself, as if remembering something. “Will you sit down, please?”

I drop down onto the cushion, hooking my arms over the backrest. My thighs shift and widen out of necessity, thanks to the space my erection takes up. “It seems important that you dance for me, angel. Why?”

Margaret starts to confide but shoots the camera another look and closes her mouth. “Just tell me what…” She tucks a loose hair behind her ear. “What do men like?”