Cry Assassin by Loki Renard Read Free Book Online Page A

was quickly assailed with memories of laughing gangsters pressing her into a chair and taping her there harshly and the man with eyes like death who had taken her from them. She swung herself out of bed and dressed quickly, not knowing what this day would bring.
    Kirk was waiting for her in the kitchen with fresh coffee brewed. His smile was warm and welcoming, so much so that she had trouble remembering how terrible his expression could be when the warmth drained from his face. “Hello my dear,” he purred, pouring a fresh cup. “Did you sleep well?”
    “I did,” she said, taking the cup he offered her gratefully.
    “Good.” He seemed genuinely pleased that she'd had a restful evening. She looked at him cautiously as she raised the cup to her lips. He met her gaze evenly and openly, letting her stare. This man was something of a mystery. She tried to gauge his age and decided that her was in his thirties at least. Objectively she knew that wasn't all that old, but he seemed much older than her and worldly and wise in ways she couldn't begin to imagine. He was always vital and alert, filled with energy that flowed around him, changing according to his moods. As he looked at her, his gaze was troubled. Though he tried to make his expression inscrutable, she could feel his concern.
    “What are you going to do with me?” There. It was the question she had avoided asking. The twenty million dollar question that stomped around them like an elephant in the room. “I mean, when the week is up, when my father defaults on his payment.”
    “That is a very good question, Evelyn,” he replied softly.
    “Are you going to hand me over to them?”
    He looked at her with those darkly rimmed gray eyes, eyes that had seen so much. She could feel the weight of his gaze like a tangible thing. “No,” he said finally.
    Could she believe him? Even if he intended to hand her over he surely wouldn't say that, it would make her so much harder to control. Then again, if all he desired was control he could keep her tied up and locked away until the deadline passed. She realized with a jolt that he was actually going out of his way to be kind to her.
    “Thank you,” she said gratefully. The relief she felt hearing his answer was quickly followed by new fear however. The Russians would come after them both if he didn't hand her over. She knew that. They had come for her even before the deadline. Vlad wanted her badly indeed. A tremor passed through her as she remembered the one time she had met the man who was going to great lengths to take her. A month ago she had made the mistake of accepting her father's dinner invitation. It was at a nice restaurant and the silly part of her brain that wanted him to love her had convinced her that this was his way of reaching out. Perhaps they would reconcile.
    But they had not been alone at the restaurant. There had been a third party at the table, an old man with wispy white hair and bloodshot eyes. His hands had been clawed with arthritis and in spite of the expensive suit and fur coat he'd worn, or perhaps because of them, he looked less like a man and more like a slavering feral animal consumed with lust when he looked at her. She looked like his first wife, he'd rasped, pointing at her with the wrinkled claw of his hand. He could still remember how his first wife felt, how she tasted.
    The blatant lechery had made Eve sick to her stomach. She'd made excuses to leave and made a quick exit which had angered her father. He'd called her later that night to thunder at her, to berate her for being a selfish spoiled whore of a daughter. She'd not understood his rage then, she'd been far too hurt by his words to understand what had really happened. Her own father had been offering her to the old man as a form of payment for something and the old man had liked what he'd seen. Now, father or no father he wanted her.
    “Cheer up, it hasn't happened yet,” Kirk drawled, breaking her reverie.
    She looked