“I know some of what you do, yes, but not all of it.”

“You knew that I killed for hire, and that I’ll do it again.”

My voice is hoarse with emotion. “I do.”

“But this isn’t about me. Soon, I’ll tell you everything I learned about how to be a good assassin, since this knowledge will help us find more about your parents.”

I straddle him, reach for his face, and frame it in my hands. My fingers graze his stubble. “Tell me now.”

He lays his hands over mine. “We go through the rest of what we know, and then I’ll tell you.” He bends and kisses the very top of my left breast, then the right. Shivers skate down my spine. “I want you in bed when I tell you.”

Ah. So we’ll have one of those conversations. His specialty.

My sex clenches, eager to be filled by him, manipulated by him, eager for what I know he could give me and will.

With reluctance, I turn back to the computer screen.

“These are the names of some of the people who fostered you. Most seem innocent enough. They fostered several dozen kids spanning several decades, and still have solid relationships with some of them. Joe researched them for me. This family, though… the one you were with when you were ten. They’re problematic.”

I can still see her glaring at me over the top of her glasses before she hauled me to the closet. Bitch. “Yeah. I know.”

“I can’t find them on record anywhere. No names. No history. It’s why I asked if you knew if they were alive, because there is no record of where they are now.”

“How strange.”

“But there’s one single thread that unites all of the families that took you into their homes.”

I look over my shoulder at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. They were all married at the same church, by the same minister.”

Okay, so he really did do his research. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Guy by the name of Gray Descamps. Still stationed in the First Church of Christ, North Shore.”

“Huh. Well, that’s weird. Anything odd about him?”

Cain frowns, scrolling down the document he’s saved with names and dates and details. “I don’t know… there is, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Are there any other details?”

He shakes his head. “I think we need to pay the minister a visit.”

Oh, dear.

“He’s got to be ancient by now, doesn’t he?”

“Suppose. Doesn’t matter.”

“Cain, you can’t go in and threaten an old guy with torture or death.”

He straightens. “Why not?”

“You just… can’t. It isn’t right.”

He spins me around to face him, gets this wicked gleam in his eyes, then bends and licks one of my breasts. My nipple peaks, and he gathers it into his mouth to suckle before he releases it. I stifle a moan. “According to whom?”

“Oh no you don’t,” I say, but I’m already panting when he leans me over the desk. My head nestles against the padded top. I thrust my fingers in his hair as he makes his way down my front. I’m still straddling him, so my legs are on either side of his torso, my body laid out like an offering to him.

He licks my nipples and weighs my breasts in each hand, fingering one hardened bud while he laps the other, until my body’s slick with arousal and need.

“Come upstairs with me, baby,” he whispers against my ear. “I’ll tell you everything else I know, but I want to be in you when I do.”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I throw on my discarded clothing but leave the bra off. He scouts the halls, and in less than a minute, we’re back in his room.

“Grab the fucking headboard,” he orders, in that tone that means he wants in me, and he wants in me now. He follows up on his orders with a solid whack to the ass.

“Ah, so we’re in that sort of mood,” I say, as I grasp the sturdy headboard. I gasp when his palm slaps against my ass again, hard. Who am I kidding? Playful Cain is the exception to the rule. Boss Cain’s the norm.

“Yeah, baby.”

I’m already undressed, losing my clothing the minute I stepped over the threshold, and he’s making quick work of undressing behind me. I hear the rustle of fabric, the swoosh of his belt, then he taps it against my thigh. “Behave yourself.”

I make a choked sort of sound and get on my knees. My fingers grasp the headboard, my legs splayed for him. I hear the sound of a match being struck, then the scent of warmed cinnamon. His favorite candle, one bought expressly for the purpose of torturing me.

I love it.

“The rules of an assassin,” Cain begins, when he kneels behind me. “Repeat them after me so I know you’re being a good girl that listens well. If you’re going to get the revenge you need, you’ll learn these rules.”

Tags: Jane Henry Master's Protege Suspense
Source: readsnovelonline.net