The Assassin's Addiction

The Assassin’s Addiction Ever Lilac The Assassin’s Addiction Copyright © 2023 by Ever Lilac. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Harmageddon Jonas knows he’s not a nice man-he’s an assassin and he never misses his target. His job is easy, his morals nonexistent and his heart...he happens not to have one. When he gets the instructions to kill a person named Ava Minty, he doesn’t think much of it. It’s an execution just like any other until he sees her. One look at her face and he can’t go through with his job...lowering his weapons and falling to his knees before her. She’s wary of him though...probably because he just busted through her bedroom window in an attempt to kill her, but he’s not giving up. He’s going to have her and then he’ll annihilate the man who ordered the death of his angel. Chapter One Harm The evening is quiet, the gulls have finally calmed and the sea hushes the shore. I stand in the shadows, behind the trees while watching the glasshouse up on the cliff. It belongs to my target, the one who’s going to die tonight. My gloved hand clenches and my body floods with a tranquility I only feel in these in moments. This is why I’m good at what I’m doing. I’m a machine, I don’t get anxious or whiny and I never ever get cold feet when it’s time to execute. When I was younger I attempted to live a normal life and become a normal gent. I tried a career as a car salesman, a bouncer and I even tried my luck at stand-up comedy but none of it worked for me. It seems that I was born with poison in my veins instead of blood. Others can sense it and most people choose stay away. Wise of them. If I could I’d stay away from me too. I check my wristwatch for the third time. Soon darkness will fall and then I’ll make my move. I flex my jaw as my muscles tense and I try not repeating the target’s name in my head. Ava Minty. Her name is a name like any other but there’s something inherently feminine about it that rubs me the wrong way. Sudden chills slide down my spine, as if a woman is standing right behind me and dragging the tip of her finger down my back. For fucks sake, I’ve never killed a person belonging to the fairer sex before. The wind ruffles the trees and the sound reminds me of whispers. Don’t do this. Letting out a curse, I raise my binoculars and spy through the grand windows. I can see the woman moving in there. Her golden, fluffy hair falls down her back and she wears a rose colored robe with a fur hemline. Luxury and exclusivity clings to her and I wonder what it would feel like to bed a lady like that. Fall asleep with her pink lips pressed against mine, wrap my murderous arms around her and hold her close. Not to kill but to cherish. Would it be like finally finding a dark paradise? A frown crosses my face when I realize where my thoughts are wandering. This isn’t the time to be unprofessional and I should stop watching her, take a moment to get a grip but I can’t. My eyes have already become her devotees. She’s in the kitchen, pouring popcorn into a bowl before crossing the hall. Her soles sunnily thump against the floor, as if she’s dancing through her way in life. I get an impulse to take her hand, whirl her around and watch her do a pirouette just to see her eyes flare in delight. I wonder what her eyes look like, what shape they have, I wonder about the wetness of her mouth, the wetness of her...Clenching my fist, I bite into my knuckles. Sudden agony flares in me because of her fragile humanity. She seems like the kind of woman who makes sure she doesn’t step on any flowers or ladybugs. I’m the opposite of that. I don’t care what dies under my boot, or what dies by my hands but suddenly I seem to be developing the faintest conscience. It’s distant, howling in the back of my mind and my tongue feels dry in my mouth. I swallow a couple of times, coughing and punching myself in the chest. The woman sits on the couch, turns on the TV, pulls a fleece blanket over her lap and makes herself comfortable. She’s absorbed by her romantic comedy, completely unaware that she’s being watched by a killer. A part of me wishes I could join her. I bet she smells amazing and if I was right there with her, I’d slide a hand underneath that robe then tickle her until she laughs louder at me than that movie. I could make her feel good.... if I wasn’t her assassin, that is. I want to see her face and suddenly I wish I knew more about her. What does she like to do in the morning, what magazines does she read and has she ever had a man between her legs who knew how to make her scream at the night in ecstasy? Has she ever clung to a man the way I would make her cling to me? The thought makes a sudden burst of violent possessiveness explode in my chest. The woman might not be mine but she can’t be anybody else’s. The man in me wouldn’t be able to handle it and the murderer in me