These Violent Delights (These Violent Delights 1)

Which meant that when Juliette wandered into an alleyway and was stopped by the sudden pressure of what felt like a gun pressed to the small of her back, she knew it wasn’t a Scarlet who had dared stop her.

Juliette froze. In a split second, she ran through all the possibilities: an affronted merchant wanting comeuppance, a greedy foreigner wanting ransom, a confused addict on the streets who hadn’t recognized her by the sparkly beads of her foreign dress.…

Then a familiar voice said, in English, of all languages: “Don’t shout for help. Keep moving forward, follow my instructions, and I won’t shoot.”

The ice in her veins thawed in an instant and instead roared into a fiery rage. Had he waited for her to enter an isolated area, until no one was around to give aid, thinking she would be too afraid to react? Had he thought it would actually work?

“You really don’t know me anymore,” Juliette said quietly. Or maybe Roma Montagov thought he knew her too well. Maybe he thought himself an expert and had brushed off the rumors she spread about herself, thinking there was no way she had become the killer she claimed to be.

The first time she killed someone, she had been fourteen.

She had known Roma for only a month, but she had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t follow the blood feud, that she would be better. Then, one night on their way to a restaurant, their car had been ambushed by White Flowers. Her mother had yelled for her to stay down, to hide behind the car with Tyler, to use the guns that had been placed in their hands only if absolutely necessary. The fight had almost ended. The Scarlets had killed almost every White Flower.

Then the last White Flower remaining dove in Juliette and Tyler’s direction. There was a last-ditch fury burning in his eyes, and in that moment, though there was no doubt that it was a time of absolute necessity, Juliette had frozen. Tyler had been the one to shoot. His bullet had studded into the White Flower’s stomach and the man had gone down, and in horror, Juliette had looked to the side, where her parents were watching.

It wasn’t relief that she saw. It was confusion. Confusion over why Juliette had frozen. Confusion over why Tyler had been more capable. So Juliette had raised her gun and fired too, finishing the job.

Juliette Cai feared disapproval more than she feared grime on her soul. That killing was one of the few secrets she had kept from Roma. Now she knew she should have told him, if only to prove that she was just as nefarious as Shanghai always said she was.

“Walk,” Roma demanded.

Juliette remained still. As she intended, he misread her inaction as fear, for ever so slightly, he hesitated and eased up the press of his gun just a smidgen.

She whirled around. Before Roma could so much as blink, her right hand came down hard on his right wrist, twisting his gun-wielding hand outward until his fingers were unnaturally bent. She slapped down at the gun with her left hand. The weapon skittered to the ground. Her jaw gritted to brace for impact, Juliette twisted her foot out behind Roma’s and jerked it against his ankles—until he was falling backward and she followed, one hand locked on his neck and the other reaching into her dress pocket to retrieve a needle-thin knife.

“Okay,” Juliette heaved, breathing hard. She had him pinned flat on his back, her knees on either side of his hips and her blade pressed to his throat. “Let’s try this again like civilized people.”

Roma’s pulse jumped under her fingertips, his throat straining to move away from the blade. His eyes were dilated as he stared at her, adjusting to the shadows of the sunset while the alleyway faded into a dusky violet. They were close enough to be sharing quick, short breaths, despite both of their best efforts to appear unbothered by the exertion of the struggle.

“Civilized?” Roma echoed. His voice was scratchy. “You have me at knifepoint.”

“You had me at gunpoint.”

“I’m on your territory—I had no choice.”

Juliette frowned, then pressed the knife in until a bead of blood appeared on its tip.

“Okay, stop, stop.” Roma winced. “I get it.”

One small slip of her hand now would cut his neck right open. She was almost tempted to give it a try. Everything between them felt far too familiar, too automatically intimate. She itched to be rid of that feeling, to slice it off like it was a malevolent tumor.

Roma still smelled as he used to: like gunmetal and mint and the softness of a gentle zephyr. This close, she could determine that everything and yet nothing had changed.

“Go on,” Juliette prompted, wrinkling her nose. “Explain yourself.”

Roma’s eyes flickered up in vexation. He acted flippant, but Juliette was tracking his erratic pulse as it thudded away beneath her fingers. She could feel every jump and stutter of fear as she leaned in with her blade.

“I need information,” Roma managed.

“Shocking.”

His eyebrows rose. “If you let me go, I can explain.”

“I’d prefer if you explain like this.”

“

Oh, Juliette.”