The next thing I knew, I was lying next to his corpse, my entire body shaking. Again, I thought I was alone.

Again, I was wrong.

“Messy, but you got the job done. Thanks for saving me the trouble.” A figure stepped out of the shadows, an unlit cigarette in his hand. He was in his thirties, well-dressed in civilian clothes with careless red hair swept across his brow. With the air of a man who hasn’t a care in the world, he lit the cigarette and took a deep lungful of smoke. “Who are you, anyway?”

He watched me struggling that entire time and did nothing to help me? Either he’s an enemy, or a prick.

“Go to hell.” I pulled myself painfully into a sitting position, undid my belt and began winding it around my leg, which was pumping blood at an alarming rate. A bloodied silver letter opener was lying by my side.

The man smiled. “Pleased to meet you, too. Got anyone who’ll fix that leg for you without reporting you to the authorities?”

I shook my head. With an injury like this, and when news gets out that an official has been assassinated, I’ll be arrested.

I’m so fucked.

The man made an impatient noise and held out a hand to me. “Don’t just sit there with that miserable look on your face. Come on.”

“What? Where?”

He hauled me to my feet, pulled my arm across his shoulders and helped me out through the back entrance to a car. I must have passed out on the back seat, because the next thing I knew, I was laying on a bed in a strange room and a doctor was packing up his medical bag and telling me I was lucky to be alive. The letter opener missed my femoral artery by half an inch.

A young, dark-haired man with twinkling hazel eyes and aristocratic cheekbones was smiling down at me. A little red-haired girl was standing beside him. After the doctor left, the man said, “I hear you did Reynard’s job for him.”

“Who’s Reynard?”

“Me, idiot.”

I turned and saw the red-haired man who saved my life lounging on the windowsill. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but no one seemed in a hurry to kill me, at least.

“I’m Galen Levanter,” said the dark-haired man. “This is Matilda Desjardins. You’re safe here.”

But I didn’t hear a word after Levanter. I sucked in a breath as I stared at the man. “Galen Levanter? Do you—I know—I’ve got—fuck.”

Galen smiled. “If Reynard’s been giving you orders, it’s no wonder you got stuck in the leg. Wouldn’t you rather be working in a factory rather than spying? I can give you a job, if you like.”

Reynard was a spy? “I don’t work for him.”

“Oh? Who do you work for?”

I’d never told anyone before. I didn’t know if I should, or even if they’d believe me, so I just shook my head.

“What’s this on your chest?” Matilda asked, pointing at the blue lines inked on my flesh. My shirt was open and loose down my front. The doctor must have been listening to my heart.

“A tattoo.” Fuck, my leg ached. I didn’t think I’d be able to walk.

“Why do you have it?”

I glanced down at myself, looking at the dove’s wings and the barbed wire clutched in its claws. “To remind me what’s important when I feel like giving up.”

“Do you want to give up often?”

I passed my hand over my face, rubbing my watering eyes. I’d just killed a man. The Prince never asked me to kill anyone, though I thought I might have to, one day. I wasn’t ready for it to be today. All my work was always done in darkness, and I couldn’t tell if I was on a path going somewhere, or walking the road to my own death. All I could do was trust Prince Anson, and not give up.

Never give up, no matter what. Don’t think, and just keep going. Trust.

But that day it was just so hard.

Galen hushed her. “That’s enough questions, Tilly. People like your father and Reynard can never talk about their work, you know that.”

The little girl regarded me with serious eyes. Then she said, “I think you’re very brave. I’m proud of you and whatever you’re doing.”

I was a grown man and having a child tell me they were proud of me shouldn’t have made me break down in tears. But it did, and I cried my guts out. I’d fucked up, badly, and if it wasn’t for these people, I’d be in Varga’s hands right then.

Reynard offered me a cigarette, but I shook my head. Maybe it was a moment of weakness. Or maybe I just felt I could trust them, and I needed other people right then more than I ever had.

“I work for Prince Anson.”

Both Galen and Reynard’s mouths fell open. I wouldn’t tell them how I’d made contact with the Prince, and they thought it was safer that they didn’t know, either. But they had messages for the Prince, and I promised to take them.

Tags: Brianna Hale Erotic
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