12 Chapter 12

She closed her eyes against the deep, accented voice. She hadn't heard that name since she'd started running. Her name on his lips was chilling and seductive at the same time. He had never been as accomplished as her at hiding his accent.

"Natasha," he demanded again, much closer this time.

Her eyes flew open and she realized he was standing over her now. She moved to back away from him, away from the deadly intent now clearly visible in the lines bracketing his mouth and the dull acceptance of his gaze. He reached for her, gripping her by the back of the head, catching the strands of hair that had escaped her knot and tugging sharply.

Natasha's lips parted in a gasp at his touch.

"Stand up," he said in his quiet, deadly voice.

She allowed him to drag her to her feet by the hair. She used the pain to remind herself of why he'd come. She was so close to him she was able to breath in his scent, masculine and seductive. His face was several inches above hers, his eyes devouring her features. He continued to hold her loosely by the back of the head, his other hand hung with fist clenched. As though he had to stop himself from grabbing her. Or hitting her.

His only betrayal of emotion.

Heat radiated from him, warming her skin where they nearly touched. Fury combined with lust assaulted her senses. His black eyes roved over her, taking in every nuance. He looked like a man who had been starved and she was the meal denied him.

Her body screamed at her to run, but a small part also responded to the magnetic pull of the man that held her life in his hands. She ached for him to kiss her. She felt like laughing at the bitter irony of the situation. What kind of woman wanted the man that was about to murder her to kiss her senseless?

The kind of women that knew what it felt like to be made love to by this man.

"Two years, Natasha." Anger strained the low tones of his voice.

She nodded mutely. It had been two years since they had last seen each other. Since the day she had run from him in fear for her life. Since the day she had watched him execute another man as he begged for his life and then walked away as though it meant nothing to him. The day she had discovered that, rather than having an affair, as she had suspected, her husband had been killing people.

A contract killer.

"You look the same, my wife. Perhaps more beautiful than I remembered."

Tasha shifted on her feet very subtly, suspecting that he would detect any tension in her body. She lifted her chin and looked coldly into his flat, black eyes. "You look older, husband."

A slight lifting at the corner of David's mouth was all the acknowledgment her insult produced. He did look older. The lines in his face had deepened, chiseling his sharp features. His brown hair, lighter than hers, now had strands of grey that hadn't been there before. He had never been a handsome man, but there had always been a magnetic quality that had drawn her interest. Now she suspected it had been his deadly intensity that had attracted her to him.

"You still dance like an angel," he said matter-of-factly.

He had always loved her ability to dance. Watching her dance was one of the few times his face would smooth out and the intense scrutiny would disappear. He shifted ever so slightly and frowned, as though restless and annoyed that he cared about her dancing still. He hadn't meant to speak of it.

Never one to waste an opportunity, Tasha smiled up at him angelically and said, "That's not all I do well husband," before bringing her leg up in a powerful kick that connected with his knee.

Surprise, then cold fury flashed across his face as the knee crumpled and hit the ground. He had never been taken by surprise before, which was another reason this woman shouldn't exist any longer. Knowing he had to end it once and for all, he reached out swiftly and took hold of her wrist before she could run from him. He twisted it brutally.

Tasha cried out and dropped to her knees in front of him. He swung his arm around to catch her neck in the crook of his arm. Before he could wrench her neck, Tasha sent her elbow backwards into his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. She followed it with another elbow to his head that sent him reeling back, breaking his hold on her. It was clear she intended to cause maximum damage while defending her life.

David had been holding back. Reluctant to damage her, even knowing the outcome was inevitable. He no longer had a choice. Swiftly he backhanded her, snapping her head back and sending her body flying into the floor to ceiling mirror. She landed with a pained moan, but quickly tried to get up.

He pulled a gun from the holster under his arm and pointed it at her.

She screamed and dropped to the floor again on her hands and knees. She stared up at him, tears bright in her eyes. Slowly, she raised her chin. Wordlessly, she told him to get on with it.

David stared at the beautiful, disheveled woman with cold intent. He needed to kill her. He couldn't have loose ends. He'd always known that one day she would have to die by his hand. Assassins couldn't have weakness. She was his single obsession. Marrying her had always been an indulgence he knew he couldn't afford. But he'd intended for her end to be peaceful. Not like this.

Natasha shouldn't have fought back. He could have spared her this horror.

"Do it, you bastard!" she hissed at him.

His eyes went from ice to fire so quickly she gasped and pressed herself back against the mirror. His hand shook.

Seconds passed.

A minute.

She wondered if it would hurt badly. If she could still be so brave once she was laying on the floor bleeding out in front of him.

He swore savagely in Russian before lifting the gun and emptying it into the mirror above her head. Natasha screamed as shards of glass fell over and around her. She held her breath waiting for the fire of a bullet to rip through her flesh. For darkness to claim her. She huddled on the floor, arms over her head, harsh gasps sounding in her ear.

Natasha stayed that way for a few long moments after David had finished firing. A quick inventory of her body revealed that she had not yet been shot. Slowly, she lowered her arms, slivers of mirror sliding off as she moved. She dared to look up, terrified eyes seeking out her would-be executioner.

David lowered his arm, the silenced pistol now pointed at the floor. He shook his head as though to clear it. The look on his harsh face was a mix of annoyance and resignation. He closed the distance between them, his shoes crushing the shards of glass. Tasha tried to back away, certain he was coming closer to put a bullet in her head, but winced when glass slivers bit into her knee.

"Stop," he barked.

Tasha froze, a whimper escaping her throat. He holstered his weapon and reached for her. He pulled her straight up by the waist, the muscles under his shirt rippling as he lifted her out of the mess of broken glass. He set her on her feet and began brushing bits of mirror from her shoulders and hair, his touch impersonal. Anger still radiated from him in waves, but he had himself back under control. He was once more the icy assassin.

Tasha shivered. Lifting her chin, she said as bravely as she could, "You didn't shoot me."

"No," he answered. His dark gaze roving over, possessive, starving and furious.

"But you were planning on k-killing me, weren't you?" Her voice wavered, but she attempted to hold his gaze steadily.

He looked down at her for a moment, his steely grip continuing to hold her immobile. Finally, he answered, "Yes Natasha, I had planned on killing you."

A distressed noise escaped her throat before she could stop it. She pressed the back of her hand hard against her lips, attempting to stop the panicked sounds from escaping her. She wanted to be strong right now, she really did. She wanted to face her end with dignity. But when faced with the terrifying reality of her own demise, she was left feeling shaken and weak. She didn't want to die!

"Have you changed your mind?" Her whisper was pleading.

She didn't realize that the words she spoke were those of her childhood language: Russian.

David sighed heavily, his muscles tensed and pressed hard against her smaller body. He inclined his head slightly. "Yes, Natasha, I have changed my mind. I find I can't bring myself to end you."

She let the words wash over her and closed her eyes in momentary relief. He wasn't going to kill her.

"But you're still a big fucking problem for me."

Natasha flinched. David had never been anything but polite and courteous when speaking to her. Her eyes swept up, dark blue, big and innocent, wet with unshed tears. Her eyes had always held such sway over him. In the two years since she had been running from him he had forgotten, perhaps purposely, how lovely and revealing those eyes were. His cock hardened as she continued to look up at him.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked softly.

Looking down at the wife he had been stalking for two years, erotic images flooded his brain, of all the things she could do for him. Natasha on her knees, her tongue and mouth around his cock. Natasha bent over the nearest table with him balls deep in her cunt from behind. Natasha begging him for mercy as he pounded into her, showing her none, because he would have his revenge on his wayward wife.

David nearly groaned out loud. He wanted her now. Here in this room where she had sweated and worked alongside the younger Jordan, allowing the man to touch her small body while she learned how to fight her husband. Perhaps David would come back and kill the other man for daring to lay hands on his wife. Had there been others since him? Natasha had always been a passionate woman. It seemed impossible that she had remained celibate for two years.

Yes, she would pay dearly for that too.

His wife had never known his brutal side. The side of him that made him one of the most successful assassins in the world. He had always been so careful that she should be his cherished little doll when they were living together as man and wife. No more. He would have all kinds of fun fucking out his revenge on his beautiful little wife and showing her the kind of monster she had married. He would give free rein to every dark thought he had ever had about her sweet little body. He would never let her get away from him again.

His dark eyes held her anxious ones, merciless. "You will resume your role as my wife, darling Natasha."