The Killer’s Vow by Aria R. Blue
Vera
My skin is buzzing.
Just like the last time I saw him.
After Inessa told me what the pink drinks were, I thought it was the drug that made me feel that way, not the man.
But now I know that Simon is the drug.
I’m hyperaware of every movement he makes.
He’s not wearing a mask this time, but I would recognize those eyes anywhere.
Vibrant and fanned by dark lashes.
His beautiful eyes are such a contrast to his body—which is thrumming with masculine power.
He nods at the greenhouse in front of us. “I’m guessing this is your favorite part of the house?”
I glance at it and nod.
I’m taking him to my safe haven.
Usually, I don’t like having anybody there, but for some reason, I don’t mind this man.
Even though he knows my father.
And lied about it.
Such a disappointment. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.
“Here’s the garden,” I say, taking him around the house first just in case my father is watching. “Flowers and stuff.”
We walk farther down the pathway that leads toward the back of the house.
“And that’s the lake,” I say, pointing toward the man-made body of water that has two female ducks floating on top.
“Fish and stuff?” he asks.
I look up at him. “No. Ducks and stuff.”
“Got it.”
And then I show him the tennis courts and the dog kennels. I left my traitor dog back at the house.
I can’t believe Lion kissed this man.
My dog loathes strangers.
If I don’t like somebody, Lion doesn’t like them either. He can sense my distrust and mirrors my behavior.
He didn’t do that for Simon.
We circle around the house once before I take him toward the greenhouse. It’s right next to the smaller guesthouse, and I’m not sure how I feel about Simon staying so close to my sacred space.
I push the door open.
“Mistletoe,” he says, pausing to look up at the wild mistletoe that grows over the threshold.
“Don’t get your hopes up. Nobody’s going to kiss you,” I mumble, heading toward the workstation at the far end.
The ginger I cleaned for Inessa is starting to rot.
“You were much less hostile the last time I saw you,” he says, watching me.
“Delete that,” I growl. “Delete the entire night from your brain. I didn’t know who you were then.”
He smirks. “I don’t think the way you reacted had anything to do with who I was.”
“You’re right,” I say, gritting my teeth as I put the tea kettle on to boil. “My reaction had everything to do with the fact that I was on drugs.”
“Somehow, I don’t think you need drugs for anything, Vera,” he says, his body heat encircling mine.
He’s so hot.
The heat generated by his body feels like it could power my entire greenhouse.
And when he steps away… there’s a strange sense of loss.
He’s wreaking havoc on my heart and mind, so I choose some rooibos tea to help center me.
“Delete everything,” I repeat, punctuating my statement with a glare.
He looks like he has more to say.
He can.
I’m pushing all his buttons. He can gloat about how I basically threw myself on him that night.
But he doesn’t.
Our eyes remain locked.
We try to read each other’s secrets in silence. The kettle whistles, breaking the spell.
I turn around and feel his eyes on my body as I make the tea.
I don’t like men looking at me.
But for Simon, something dormant inside me awakens. It’s a feminine energy that wants to be seen.
When I’m done, I hand him a mug.
“It’s red,” he comments, looking at the tea.
“It’s rooibos,” I say. “From South Africa. It’s rich in antioxidants.”
But he doesn’t drink it.
Instead, he chooses to watch me.
I hold his gaze as I lower my head to take a tiny sip of tea. My eyes dare him to do the same.
“Blyat,” he curses in Russian. Fuck.
“What?”
“Your fucking eyes,” he replies honestly. “They’ve been driving me crazy ever since I first saw them.”
“Look somewhere else, then,” I say.
He nods, actually taking my advice and looking at the plants around him.
“You have a nice collection,” he says. “Did you order them all yourself?”
I blink at the emotions he brings forth. His genuine curiosity makes me want to open up.
“Um, yes,” I say. “It took a couple of years for some of them to arrive, but I have everything I want now.”
“Do you have a favorite?” he asks.
Nobody’s ever asked me that. “The coffee plants.”
He follows my gaze to where the coffee plants are growing in the shade. The little red berries that grow on them contain the coffee beans.
“Why are they your favorite?”
I have my reasons, but I’m not about to give him the answers to everything he asks me. “Just because. I find it comforting, I guess.”
“What’s that?” he asks, pointing at the small pond with the blue stones around it.
My heart rate spikes.
That pond is frighteningly close to my hidden garden.
Is it possible that he knows about it?
Even if he knows about my poisons, he can’t possibly know the exact location of my hidden garden.
It’s…impossible.
Unless he’s spying on me.
“That’s a giant water lily,” I say, looking at the plant that takes up most of the available space of the pond. And then I try to distract him. “Have you ever seen a pineapple plant before?”
His eyebrows shoot up. But he’s graceful about it.
I point at everything around us, showing him the most fascinating plants I own.
He asks questions about everything, from how I pollinate the flowers to how the environment is made optimal for plant growth.
He’s awestruck by some of the things he sees.
It makes me want to see the place through a stranger’s eyes. All the life that thrives here and all the colors that spring to life.
It’s a piece of paradise surrounded by hell.
And the whole time we’re talking, he doesn’t sip his tea.
Smart guy.
“Do you maintain it all yourself?” he asks now.
I take another sip of my tea, internally frowning at how I’m enjoying his company.
“I enjoy it. It’s very satisfying when everything looks perfect at the end of the day.”
“So you’re a perfectionist, huh?” he muses.
I lift a shoulder. “Maybe a little.”
“It’s a good skill to have,” he says.
And something tells me he’s not just talking about my meticulous gardening anymore.
“It’s also a pain in the ass sometimes,” I say.
He studies me.
I know he’s done with the small talk.
“Do you have a signature one?” he asks.
I still. “Signature what?”
“You know.”
“No, Simon. I don’t know.” I lean my hip against the table and take a sip of the rooibos tea.
The earthy red tea eases my pounding heart.
My hands are oddly shaky.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m scared of him or if I’m scared of the way he makes me feel.
Maybe a little of both.
“Have you ever heard of this woman from history named Giulia Tofana?” he asks.
“You haven’t touched your tea,” I comment.
He picks up his mug and blows on it. But he doesn’t take a sip.
I flash him a sweet smile.
“Giulia Tofana was a professional poisoner from Italy,” he says.
My palms turn slippery. I put my mug down and cross my arms in front of me.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask as if I don’t already know everything there is to know about her.
“She invented her own signature poison. It was called Aqua Tofana, and it was only sold to women who wanted to murder their asshole husbands. Colorless and tasteless, it could be mixed in any food or drink.”
“How interesting,” I say, not taking my eyes off him.
“Right? I thought so too. It was made of a mixture of arsenic and belladonna.”
And lead.
It was all so easy back then, when sciences like toxicology and forensics weren’t fully developed yet.
I fake innocence. “How did she sell it so openly?”
“Camouflage. The vials looked exactly like other cosmetics you’d find on a lady’s vanity in that time period.”
“This is all very fascinating, but I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”
“Oh, but I think you do, tigritsa moya.”
“Stop,” I say, closing my eyes. “Whatever you’re trying to do, just stop, okay?”
“I’m not trying to do anything, Vera.”
With every word I exchange with him, I’m crossing a dangerous line.
He’s a spider luring me into his web.
And maybe I’m doing the same.
But either way, this is stupid. I can’t let myself get entangled in his charm.
“What do you want from me, Simon?” I ask, defeated.
“What if I told you that I just like hearing my name on your lips?” he whispers.
He’s magnetic.
And we’re opposite poles.
“Is there a reason you’re not drinking your tea?” I ask, trying not to stare at his lips.
“Is there a reason you want me to?”
“It’s tea.”
“Just tea?”
It’s not just tea, but I purse my lips anyway.
Nobody ever came this close to confronting me about what I do.
My brother knows that I’m up to something, but he’s never asked me outright if it’s been me this whole time.
“You lied to me,” I accuse.
“I already told you, Vera, I—“
“Don’t act all innocent,” I snap. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine.
Those haunting eyes of his bore into me, etching themselves into the back of my mind. Making sure that I’ll never forget them.
“Vera,” he says firmly. “I meant it when I said that I never lied to you before. And I have no reason to start now.”
I’m in awe of how shamelessly he does it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
He exhales and places his full mug back down on the table next to us.
“You said that you had nothing to do with the Bratva,” I spit out.
“And I really don’t,” he says.
“Then how do you explain working with Papa?”
“I’ve been hired for your protection,” he says. “After what happened to Inessa, your father wanted to make sure you wouldn’t do the same.”
“Keep my sister’s name out of your mouth,” I lash out. “And I don’t need protection.”
“I’m aware.” He smiles and looks around the greenhouse as if he’s searching for my malicious plants.
“What are you really doing here?” I ask.
His eyes snap back to my face. This time, they hover at my mouth.
I’m fully clothed.
But every time he looks at me with that intensity, I feel like I’m naked. In the most delicious way possible.
“I’m here for you, Vera.”
“Lies.”
He rubs a thumb over his bottom lip. “Ask me anything you want. I’ll give you the honest-to-goodness truth.”
“Fine. What do you do for a living?”
“Kill.”
I swallow. I thought as much.
There’s a roughness to his edges, like they can cut you if you get too close.
“Do you work in America?”
“I work where I’m posted.”
“Who do you work for?”
“A man named Vladimir.”
“Who does Vladimir work for?”
There’s a pause—a brief one.
And then I start getting my answers. “Russia’s most powerful intelligence agency.”
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold. “You can’t make up stuff like this.”
“No. I really can’t. Does my truth make you uncomfortable, tigritsa moya?”
It’s alarming. How much I enjoy his nickname. It makes me feel like the connection we had that night was real.
Like there was something between us.
Like there could be something between us.
I shake my head. “I still don’t understand why you sought me out that night. Why you came here and accepted a job from my father.”
“You don’t get it,” he says, tracing his index finger around the rim of his mug.
“What don’t I get?”
“That I like you, Vera,” he says, sending a sizzling chill down my spine. “I’ve liked you since the moment I saw a photograph of you. I was drawn to your name and your form. After doing a little bit of my own research, I became obsessed. And after you came screaming all over my fingers, I knew I couldn’t walk away.”
He’s looking at me like he has more to say.
Like he wants to say the words but doesn’t know how to share them without scaring me.
What terrifies me most is that I want to hear all of his thoughts—the wicked and the dirty and the lovely.
“But you did. Walk away,” I whisper, surprising myself.
All my life, I’ve run away from men who wanted me.
But for the first time, it was the other way around.
Some part of me hoped that he would come back. Immediately.
But he didn’t.
He walked away from me that night.
I saw the decision being made in his eyes. He wasn’t planning on coming back.
“Yes,” he admits. “I did. But I saw something that changed my mind.”
“Yay me.” And then it dawns on me.
I find the final piece of the puzzle.
Simon was never lying.
He was telling the truth when he said that he came here for me. It wasn’t because he wanted to buy me from my father like the rest of the fuckers, but because he was sent to me.
This makes it a thousand times worse.
I take a step away. “You were sent to kill me?”
He nods, the movement crisp and smooth. “But I didn’t.”
“Because you changed your mind?” I screech.
He blinks. “Because you were innocent.”
Innocent.
It’s not a word I would use to describe myself. Even Inessa doesn’t want to hear about the details of what my poisons can do.
As if reading my thoughts, Simon picks up his mug. “You feel guilty about what you do. That makes you innocent.”
So we’re dropping all pretense.
“I don’t always feel guilty,” I say, glancing at his mug.
“There’s a reason you do what you do, though,” he says.
“It’s a selfish one,” I mutter.
Self-preservation.
The only person who benefits from the deaths I’m responsible for is me.
“Those men are parasites,” he counters. “They suck all the good out of the world. They deserve what’s coming for them.”
I disagree with that. “That’s just confirmation bias. It’s our minds searching for justifications for what we’ve already done.”
“No, Vera, it’s more than that. It’s the truth.”
“So you’ve done your research, huh?”
“It wasn’t easy,” he says, as if that’s supposed to make me feel better.
“And now you think you have me all figured out.”
“Actually, I don’t. That’s why I’m here.”
It’s so refreshing.
For someone to look me in the face for once and tell me exactly what’s on their mind. No lying or sugarcoating.
Just pure authenticity.
I like him too.
Like a lot, a lot.
I haven’t met many genuine people in my life, but even I know that Simon is a gem.
A lethal gem with sharp edges, but still priceless.
Another piece of the puzzle clicks into place. “You saved me at the altar. You were the one who killed the groom.”
Simon’s nostrils flare. “He was about to touch you.”
Fire blooms low in my core.
It’s been there all this time, but now the heat of it is suddenly unbearable.
I glance down at the tea in his hands. He follows my gaze.
“It’s just tea?” he asks.
“Cold tea.”
He shrugs and brings it to his lips.
My vision turns hazy, and I have a sharp daydream. His face buried between my two thighs. His hair fisted in my hands. My mouth open in a silent scream.
“Don’t drink that,” I snap, snatching it away from him before it lands on his tongue.
I throw the cold tea in the sink and make him a new one.
He grins like the smug asshole he is.
“What was in it?” he asks.
“Sodium thiopental,” I answer, glancing up at him to see if he recognizes the name.
“The truth drug,” he says softly.
“Yes,” I say. “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
“So you were going to drug me,” he says.
“Tit for tat,” I say. “I wasn’t myself the last time we met.”
“I had nothing to do with that,” he says.
“So?”
“Your logic makes no sense.”
“I thought you’d be smarter than to insult a serial poisoner who’s making you tea,” I say, biting the inside of my lip to keep from smiling.
“I’m not scared of you, Vera,” he says, eyes raking down to my throat. But never lower.
He only absorbs my face.
He doesn’t feast on my body. There’s nobody here to stop him, but he doesn’t misuse his privilege.
It’s sad to admit, but I’m not used to being respected.
It should be normal, but unfortunately, every other man who’s shown interest in me has tried to fuck me with their eyes or touch me against my will.
That’s why I started doing what I do.
“You should be, Simon,” I say, handing him his second mug of rooibos tea. “You should be scared of a woman like me.”