Chapter 8

Harlee

The city's streetlights fade behind us as Ethan pulls into an upscale neighborhood. While most of the Christmas decorations displayed outside the houses are lit, the interiors are pitch black.

"No one's home?" I ask.

"Most of them are at the gala or out of the country."

"Why?"

"Christmas is one of the most active times for contracted killings."

"Really?"

"Everyone's so busy with the holidays, they don't pay it much attention."

"That makes sense." I hum and lean back in my seat.

Eventually, Ethan turns off the headlights and makes a left turn, driving down the street until the car comes to a stop and he shuts off the engine. I turn my head to look at the modest two-story house just beyond the windshield; all the lights in the house are off, and there is no sign that the man has gone home. "Are you sure he's here?"

"Yes," he says, and my attention lands on Ethan holding out his phone, which shows a map with our location as a blue dot and the target as a red dot right next to each other.

He opens the driver's door with a muted click and is out before I can react, circling to my side in a few long strides, reaching down to open my door, and offering me his hand with a smug smile. I roll my eyes. "Back to being a gentleman," I say, letting my gaze linger a little longer on his face. Even though the mask didn't hide all of his features, he's even more handsome than I expected.

I slip my fingers into his palm. His hand is warm, strong and rough, while my skin is soft against his. He assists me out of the car, his grip lasting a little longer before he lets go.

"So." I cross my arms and lean slightly toward him. "What's the plan, exactly? Just walk in and say hello?"

The corner of his mouth lifts, an annoying, confident smirk. "Something like that."

I tilt my head, feigning innocence. "Something like that? I'm curious how you're going to make a grand entrance with, I assume, security present."

He chuckles, a low, dangerous sound that sends a shiver down my spine. "That is taken care of," he says, "His security is... let's just say they've been reassigned."

"Reassigned, huh?"

"Reassigned," he replies, his gaze shifting to the house, his tone flat. The way he says it—quiet and matter-of-fact—makes my skin tingle. A small smile spreads across my face as I keep my eyes on him.

"I didn't think you were the type to play it that safe, Ethan." He is still looking at the house, studying it with the ease of someone who's been here before, who knows every window, every door, every flaw in the lock. It’s annoying how calm he is—how he seems to glide through each move, prepared for every possibility.

He lets out a breath, barely a laugh, and leans in close, his face just a whisper away from mine. "And I didn't think you were the type to ask so many questions, sweetheart."

The way he says sweetheart scrapes at my heart in a way that's far too pleasurable. Heat creeps up my neck and spreads across my cheeks. I turn my attention back to the house, concentrating on the task at hand. If he's already cleared the place out, that means we have a clean shot. A thrill dances through me as I imagine it. No barriers, no guards, just the two of us closing in on Richmond.

"Well, I suppose I should thank you for making things so convenient," I say, raising my voice to a sweetly sarcastic tone. I then brush past him, just close enough for him to feel the soft sweep of my shoulder against his arm. "Let's not keep the poor man waiting too long, shall we?"

His long fingers wrap around my arm, this time separated by the layer of my coat and the leather gloves on his hands, pulling me back just a step. "Don't get ahead of yourself. I told you, we work together. Unless you have a problem with that?" I can feel the tension in his body through his fingers flexing around my arm. For a second, we're both silent, just the two of us under the hazy glow of the front yard's decorative lights.

I turn and meet his gaze, catching the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The way he looks at me—dark, serious, yet somehow amused—makes my heart leap in my chest.

"Oh, I don't have a problem with that," I say, bringing my free hand up to his face, cupping his cheek in my palm, and running my thumb over his scruff. "But I still like to think of this as a friendly competition."

Ethan doesn't move, doesn't blink. Then he steps back, just enough to gesture toward the house with a mock bow, one eyebrow raised. "Ladies first."

It's my turn to roll my eyes, but I take the lead anyway, feeling his gaze linger on me, watching my every move. I'm going to make him regret inviting me into this.

The porch creaks under our weight as we approach the door, the sound echoing in the silence around us. I glance back at Ethan, who hovers just a step behind me, his presence a dark shadow at my back. His expression is unreadable. With each step closer to the actual task, his demeanor changes to a different man than the one I met at the gala.

"What if it's locked?"

"That's never stopped me before. But I’m pretty sure it isn’t," he replies, cool and collected.

"How can you be so sure that it isn't?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as I let the words roll off my tongue.

"Because I know what I'm doing," he says, walking past me and reaching for the handle of the door, which turns effortlessly with a twist of his wrist. Then, he glances back at me. "Ready?"

I keep my expression casual, shrugging as if this isn't a game of life and death.

"You lead the way, big guy," I say, and without another word he pushes the door open. My pulse quickens as it swings open, revealing the dark interior of the house. When my eyes land on the man standing in the middle of the small entryway, my breath catches in my throat and I take a frantic step back.

Meanwhile, Ethan remains calm by my side, not drawing his gun. The man's gaze shifts between Ethan and me before settling on him. They both nod at each other with a straight face. Ethan then takes a step to the side, making room for the man to walk outside. For a second he stops beside us and Ethan pulls an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and hands it to him.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Ethan says, and the man nods.

"The pleasure is all mine," he says before stepping off the porch and disappearing into the street without another word.

"What was that?" I ask, looking back at Ethan, my face twisting in confusion, drawing a chuckle from him as his eyes meet mine.

"As I said, his security has been reassigned."

"So they work for you now?"

"For tonight? Yes," he says and steps in front of me, "Let's go." He draws his gun and walks into the dark entrance of the house.

I follow close behind, glued to his back. Although I have killed a fair number of people in the past, this direct and active pursuit is new to me. As a woman, I'm limited in my abilities. Direct combat with a man? Very far down on the list. You have to be sneaky, and as a member of the upper class now, I've met one or two professional killers who are women. Many find solutions like poison or drugs to get their target where they want them, and I may have learned from their stories.

Inside, I take a moment and look around the entryway, my heart pounding in my chest with anticipation. A small chandelier hangs suspended from the ceiling, its crystals catching the dim light filtering in from outside, casting jagged shadows across the hardwood floor. To our left, a flight of stairs spirals up into the darkness. To our right, an open door leads into a dimly lit living room.

"Stay close," he says, his voice a low rumble. I can almost feel the intensity of his gaze as he scans his surroundings with his gun raised, and the sudden shift of professionalism on his part sends a chill down my spine.

I step closer, the warmth radiating from him and the familiar scent of cedar and gunpowder wrapping around me. "Are you sure he's alone now?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

"Positive." Ethan moves forward, gliding through the shadows with an almost predatory ease. "He thinks he's safe at home, like most people. Besides, he still believes that security is guarding the front door."

"Safe? Or stupid?" I raise an eyebrow, following closely behind him. He knows this dance better than I do, so I let him take the lead.

"Stupid," he replies, glancing back at me, his expression having turned deadly serious. "We are taught from childhood that our home is supposed to be safe. And while it provides a certain amount of security, especially with guards around, it doesn't keep out all evil."

Before I can answer, a muffled sound echoes down from above, a dull thud, followed by a faint shuffling.

My heart skips, a sudden surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. "Did you hear that?" I whisper, pointing toward the stairs.

Ethan's eyes narrow, his brow furrowed as he tilts his head to listen. "Yeah. Sounds like he's up there."

"Should we check it out?" I ask, excitement sparking in my chest. There's something intoxicating about the danger of this moment.

"Let's go," he says, and I catch the edge of a grin. He takes the lead, his tall frame blocking the faint light from outside that breaks through the windows as he climbs the stairs.

I follow, my breath quickening with each step. My senses heighten, every detail coming into focus, the faint scent of old wood, the chill in the air; my dark surroundings clear as my vision adjusts fully to the darkness.

At the top of the stairs, he pauses and looks back at me, his eyes serious. "Stay behind me," he instructs.

I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed. "Like I'm letting you have all the fun."

He shoots me a glare that suggests he's not in the mood for jokes. A seriousness that makes my heart drop. The playful banter of moments ago is long gone, replaced by an intensity I can’t put into words. We inch forward, the hallway stretching out before us, dark doors lining each side.

Ethan stops in front of me. "Looks like we have two options," he says, and my eyes settle on two doors, with warm light flickering through the cracks at the bottom.

"Which one should we check first?"

"The one closest to us. It's the one that was above us, which means the sound should have come from there. And I wouldn't want anyone to ambush us from behind," he says, approaching the first door cautiously, his movements slow. "Ready?" His voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, my heart pounding against my ribcage, as he reaches for the doorknob and turns it, pushing the door open with a cautious step forward. The hinges creak in protest, revealing a darkened room filled with shadows and the glimmer of light, illuminated by the crackling of the fire in the fireplace. Ethan takes a step inside, revealing the entire room to me. What appears to be an office. It is a mess. Papers are scattered around the room, with folders lying in front of the fireplace, while some burn to ashes inside it.

"Looks like he was getting rid of evidence," Ethan says and walks further into the room, approaching the sturdy wooden desk in the middle of the room.

"Where is he?" I take a step into the room as well, letting my eyes wander over the chaos.

"Somewhere in here," he says, taking careful steps as he circles the room, his gun raised. When his back is turned to a built-in cabinet, a quick movement catches me off guard. Richmond bursts out of his hiding place, runs up to Ethan and jumps on his back, trying to reach his gun. "Fuck," Ethan curses and twists, struggling to shake off the man clinging to him. "Let go, you piece of shit."

As if on autopilot, I reach for the knife tucked into my thigh holster, raise it, and aim it at the two men staggering across the room. I swing my arms from left to right, following them. But I hesitate, with their hectic movements the chances of hitting Ethan instead of Richmond are too high.

"No!" Richmond yells, still trying to grab Ethan's hands, who turns once more and staggers toward the desk. With his back to me, I have perfect aim on Richmond. I charge forward, raising my arms and bringing the knife, blade down, over my head before swinging forward with full force and ramming the blade right into the man's shoulder.

A scream tears from Richmond and he let’s go of Ethan, falling to his knees, reaching for his shoulder where his clothing soaks with blood.

I take a few steps back, my attention shifting from Richmond to Ethan, our eyes locking. His lips are parted as he breathes heavily and gives me a nod before he takes his attention off me and stalks toward Richmond. Lifting his knee and ramming his foot into the mans injured shoulder, forcing him to the ground.

"No, please! I’ll pay you what ever you want, please let me go!" Richmond yells, his hands grabbing Ethan's legs as he tries to push him off.

"Should have thought of that before you started screwing with the wrong people." Ethan puts more weight on the mans shoulder who squirms underneath him, before his gaze falls on me.

"Where do you want him?" he asks and I blink repeatedly, still trying to process the events that just took place before my very eyes in a matter of seconds. The adrenaline pumping through my veins is addictive, better than any drug I've ever consumed.

"A bathroom," I manage to say.

"Good. You go find one, and I'll get our friend over there."

"Okay," I say, turning on my heels and leaving the room. Richmond's screams echo behind me, followed by the unmistakable sound of fighting and Ethan cursing.

I decide to hurry and walk down the hallway to the second room where the lights are on. I push open the slightly ajar door, revealing the room inside. It’s the master bedroom. The ceiling light is on, casting a warm light on the chaos scattered around the room. An open suitcase lies on the floor, clothes and papers thrown into it.

My eyes then land on an open door, a bright light shining into the bedroom, the sight of gleaming white tiles telling me enough to know it must be an en-suite bathroom. "Ethan!" I call to him, "I found a bathroom."