Beauty and the Assassin Page 2

  My mouth is sawdust dry, but I manage to say, “You saved me from this pervert.” Just so he knows that the creep and I have nothing in common.

  The man stays silent.

  Ooookay… This is awkward. But I don’t want my savior to go without at least knowing his name.

  This is the first time I’ve encountered somebody who looks like an angel. Not the nice, sweet kind who sings heavenly songs and make you feel warm and happy, but the kind God sends down to smite bad guys. The stranger could also pass for a demon who’s crawled out of the fiery depths of hell, but I prefer the smite-mission angel.

  You better make friends with him, something in my gut says.

  And every cell in my brain says I need to listen to my gut.

  I start to extend my hand until I realize my palms are damp with sweat. I should say something to let him know I’d like to get to know him or something. “I’m Angelika,” I blurt out. “You are…?”

  He doesn’t respond. Instead, he lets out another whistle. The Dobermans come over, then fall in behind him. The perv stands up, his hands and legs shaking.

  “Cover it before I cut it off.” The dog owner says it as though the very presence of the flasher offends him.

  “Yeah, yeah, sure.” The pervert immediately pulls his coat together, holding it tightly. Liquid drips down one leg.

  “Leave,” my savior says. He doesn’t raise his voice, but his word carries, full of raw power that sends shivers down my body.

  “Sure, man. No problem. No hard feelings.” The perv nods and starts to back away slowly, his eyes on the man and the dogs.

  One of the Dobermans barks, like he’s annoyed the perv’s taking his sweet time. The flasher jumps, then runs, stumbling a little in his hurry. One hand holds the coat together as the other protects his crotch.

  “Thank you,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice steady, so my savior doesn’t think I’m crazy or something. Bet he already does. Why couldn’t I have waited until now to introduce myself and act all cool and…you know, like the kind of person you’d want to be friends with? I totally blew it in my desperation and scrambled thinking.

  But he’s already started walking away. I take a hesitant step toward him, but his dogs are moving in a protective formation that blocks me.

  “Really. Thank you,” I call out. I’m not going to fight three trained Dobermans.

  He glances back over a shoulder. And I swear I can see the faint hint of a smile fleet over his face.

  But then he turns around, and all I can see is his back.

  Chapter Two

  Angelika

  By the time I reach my tiny garage apartment, my whole body feels heavier than a full-size sofa. The high I would’ve gotten from the run is gone, burned off in the flasher-inspired adrenaline rush.

  I take a quick shower. My place is cheap. Well, “cheap” is relative; it costs a fortune compared to Cincinnati. But it’s cheap for L.A., and everything inside reflects that.

  The first proof is the pathetic water pressure. And while the landlord said the hot water would come out for fifteen minutes, I’m quite certain it’s a lot less than that because it got cold before I was done rinsing the soap off my body yesterday.

  As I towel off, it slowly hits me that L.A. is a much more dangerous place than Cincinnati. Sure, I haven’t been threatened by Roy…yet. But now I’ve had a flasher incident, which never happened to me before.

  I should start carrying pepper spray. I haven’t bothered because it wouldn’t do a thing to keep me safe from Roy.

  At the thought of “safe,” the image of the dog owner flashes in my mind. I gasp as a realization smacks me. Then I clutch my head and moan over the way I blew it so badly. How did I not see it sooner? He could’ve been the sign I asked for from the universe! It probably felt so awful after throwing me the flasher lemon that it gave me a guardian angel. Grumpy and maybe a little rude, but a guardian angel nonetheless. His dogs are vicious when attacking someone, but also very well behaved. They could keep Roy and his men away…

  All it takes is another car barreling down the street, and those Dobermans are toast.

  I flinch and hug myself, imagining one of those RN IF U CN cars hitting them. No matter how fast and well trained they are, they’re just dogs. They aren’t invulnerable. Roy isn’t one of those guys who has no problem hurting people but would spare an animal. His gift for my twentieth birthday shattered the tiny hope in my heart that he wasn’t purely evil.

  The man who helped me is probably some kind of K-9 trainer. Maybe with the police? Something about him gave off a vaguely military vibe. But dog whisperer or not, your average cop isn’t going to be a match for Roy.

  My mood starts sinking.

  No, no. I shake myself. What happened sucks, but really, it ended okay. It’s gotta be a positive sign, the one I’ve been looking for. Normally, it would have ended with me having to deal with the flasher on my own.

  Forcing optimism, I drive to Coffee Heaven downtown. The café isn’t close to my place, but I have another gig at a hotel not too far from here, so it works out.

  The cool air inside is replete with the aroma of fresh coffee beans, cream and heated milk. To most it represents a caffeine boost, but to me, it’s a decent-paying job where I bring a fair amount of experience. I started working as a barista when I was eighteen, and I can do some mean latte art.

  Our shift has three baristas—the other two are Sean and Eric, the manager’s son. I met them when I had my interview with the manager, Maggie, yesterday afternoon. Their chatter stops briefly as they look at me.

  Sean’s a brown-haired, brown-eyed nineteen-year-old going to community college, which I’m envious of because I wish I could go, too. I had a few acceptance letters, but when my parents died my senior year—bankrupt—my dream became too expensive to afford. Maybe I could’ve gotten college loans, but I knew there was no point when Roy sent me a condolence gift, making it clear he was going to follow me to any campus I’d choose. Sometimes my right index finger aches, like it’s still sporting the surprisingly deep paper cut that I got when I tossed all those letters and brochures into the trash.

  Eric tilts his chin upward once instead of a regular hello, his hazel eyes looking down at me. His smirk says he’s too cool for school. Of course, he wasn’t this cool when his mom was around yesterday. His golden hair glints as he moves, and I wonder if he practices how to position himself under the café lights for the effect.

  “Hey, guys.”

  “Angelika.” Sean waves with a small smile. The outer corners of his eyes droop slightly downward, and when you add that smile, he looks like a happy child who just woke up from a nap.

  I go to the employee area in the back. After locking my purse in one of the empty metal lockers, I put on a green and brown apron with the café logo and enter my employee code into the system like Maggie showed me yesterday. This way, the accounting software knows I’m clocked in.

  When I come out, Eric’s talking to Sean, eager and all-knowing. Neither seems to care that a customer just walked in. Sean hands me a name tag, giving me another slight smile.

  Pinning it to my apron, I smile back, but only a little. I make sure to keep my expression slightly on the cool, polite side to signal I’m not interested. Roy has a habit of running people over, and I wouldn’t want to see that happen to Sean.

  “I couldn’t believe he got my name wrong,” Eric is saying, “and acted like it’s no freakin’ deal. He was all like, ‘Who cares, man? It’s not like anybody but you notices.’ It’s like he doesn’t understand he just microaggressed the shit out of me. So I told him it wasn’t cool, then he acts like microaggression is a figment of my imagination! He wouldn’t just be an adult about it and admit that he was wrong and it hurts when he gets my name wrong.” Eric’s voice is loud enough that the man standing at the counter can hear him. “I can just hear it when people use the wrong letter. It’s in the way they say it. C is nothing like K.”

  It’s ha
rd to refrain from an obvious snort. Eric and Erik sound exactly the same to me, and I suspect most people would agree. Not that I’m going to point that out. From the intense look in his eyes, he’ll argue till his dying breath, and it isn’t worth the energy.

  “Totally,” Sean says with the enthusiasm of a child looking at a plateful of boiled cabbage.

  “Just imagine how awful your life is when people constantly, like, nick you to death.”

  From the way he’s acting, you’d think those nicks were knives plunged into his heart.

  He continues, “How annoying is it when people constantly get your name wrong, right? It’s offensive as hell.”

  Sean and Eric seem too engrossed in the terrible injustice Eric has suffered to do anything about the fact that the customer’s still standing there, waiting to have his order taken. Guess I need to step up.

  I turn to the customer, then gasp with recognition. It’s Mr. Dog Whisperer from the jogging trail!

  Now he’s in a black suit, no tie, his two top shirt buttons undone. He’s at least half a head taller than Eric, and is staring at the menu behind me with narrowed eyes, like he can’t decide and he’s annoyed by the fact that he can’t make up his mind.

  Without the dogs and the pervert to distract me, I take some time to study the man more closely. He appears…different. Still in charge, but slightly more civilized. It’s probably the suit. Even Roy can look like a gentleman in a suit, although his eyes give him away.

  The dog whisperer has large hands, and I note how thick and strong his fingers are. And the breadth and thickness of his shoulders, chest, arms and legs. Despite his outfit, he doesn’t look like your typical white-collar professional. More like a warrior trying to blend in with civilians. Like a lion feigning harmlessness among the impalas in that wildlife documentary.

  Meanwhile, Eric keeps going on and on about how annoying it is that somebody got his name wrong. Does he know how annoying he is? I’d gratefully kiss the universe’s ass if that was the biggest problem in my life.

  “Yeah, totally annoying,” Sean agrees in a tone that says he couldn’t care less.

  Eric nods with a smug smile. “I mean, that’s why I gotta step up and do what I can to change the world for the better.”

  “How? By correcting people when they say the wrong name?” Sean’s beyond bored now.

  “I applied for an internship position at the Pryce Family Foundation. People there make a real difference, you know? Showing disadvantaged folks who can’t help themselves the right way to succeed. I’m just waiting for an interview.” Eric beams proudly, chest puffing out.

  He sounds awfully confident. I hope he gets the internship, so he can show all those “disadvantaged folks” who don’t know any better than to call him Erik with a K. How dare they.

  The dog whisperer’s still looking at the menu. Should I see if he has any questions about different types of coffee? It shouldn’t take this long for somebody to figure out which drink they want.

  Eric finally turns and faces the man. “Hello, welcome to Coffee Heaven. Are you ready to order?”

  Well, that was quick and friendly service from Eric. I shake my head inwardly, though. I should’ve said something. Hell, I was ready to take Mr. Dog Whisperer’s order before Eric.

  The man nods, barely glancing at Eric.

  “You ring it up, and I’ll show you what to do,” Eric says, gesturing at me to take over.

  “Okay.” I look at the man who helped me earlier. “Hi. Welcome. I’m new, so I might be a little slow.”

  “No problem,” he says, voice low and gravelly. Now that I’m not worried about being flash-raped, I realize there’s a trace of a foreign accent.

  He’s barely glanced at me since coming into the shop. Does he not recognize me? Or maybe he does, but doesn’t care to acknowledge me one way or the other. I’m the desperate one, not him. He has his super dogs and that very imposing body.

  If he’s a sign from the universe, I don’t want to miss a chance to connect in some way—I already botched one shot.

  I should remind him of our previous encounter. “Thank you for helping me earlier.”

  He gives me a steady once-over, his gaze coolly assessing. My face flushes. With pleasure or something else, I can’t say. But my heart is beating a little faster, and I realize adrenaline’s coursing through my body again, like I’m facing danger. His pale gray-blue eyes are somehow both sharp and placid, empty of emotion. I note with a shiver that they have the same characteristics as Roy’s eyes.

  Except this man doesn’t have the creep factor my stepbrother radiates.

  A man with eyes that empty and cold isn’t just some dog trainer. No, he’s probably a monster like Roy, except maybe with a sliver of human conscience underneath, where you can’t see it too clearly.

  Maybe he really is a sign from the universe.

  It can’t be a coincidence that he showed up to save me from the pervert, and then came to Coffee Heaven only hours later, on my first day here. I mean, what are the odds?

  Excitement and anxiety shoot through me, making my hands clammy and shaky. “So…” I prompt when he doesn’t say anything.

  “Standard drip coffee. Black,” he says.

  He spent all that time to settle on that? “Um. Sure.”

  Eric points out which keys to press, and I do it. The machine spits out the total and a space to input his name.

  “Your name, please?” I ask, my heart pounding slightly.

  Something coolly predatory and satisfied flickers in his eyes. But then it’s gone.

  Probably imagined it, I decide. Why would anybody react like that over a barista asking his name for a coffee order? I’m just overly excited about finding the sign I’ve been looking for—and that the horrible mind-fuck Roy’s been putting me through might end in this city.

  “Tolyan,” the man says.

  Tolyan. What an unusual name. “Do you mind spelling that for me?”

  His eyebrows pinch together for a fraction of a second. “Just T is fine.” He pulls out a business card.

  “My treat,” I say quickly. “To thank you for your help earlier.” And please come by again.

  He opens his mouth as though to protest, then shrugs. “Be my guest.”

  I give him a small smile and use my phone to pay for the coffee.

  “Awesome,” Eric says, then enters “TEA” into the space for the customer’s name and hits FINAL before I can stop him. He smiles and clasps my shoulder. “Great job taking your first order.”

  He places his hand so the thumb is touching the edge of my bra cup, then he moves his thumb back and forth. I freeze, too stunned to move. Doesn’t Eric know everyone in the café can see him? Or does he not care?

  I glance at Sean, but he’s thumbing his phone.

  “Isn’t it considered a microaggression to put your hand on a woman without her consent?” Tolyan asks calmly, but his question cuts through the air like a knife.

  My heart starts racing. Tolyan’s doing it again—protecting me.

  Eric flinches. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Look.” Eric points at Tolyan, who lazily looks at the finger like he wants to break it. “I’m, like, the assistant manager here.”

  “Actually, the manager’s son,” I grumble under my breath.

  He continues like he hasn’t heard me. For all I know, he might not have. He’s too busy puffing himself up like a bird whose territory is being threatened by another bigger and meaner bird. “It’s my job to train the new staff and reinforce positive behavior through praise and reward.”

  Touching my bra doesn’t count, I want to tell him, but keep my mouth shut. I need the money from this job, and I can’t be sure I’m going to get another one if I walk out. Besides, he touched my bra through the shirt, so some might just say I’m being overly sensitive. The cops probably would. They don’t think what Roy’s doing is bad enough to warrant a more vigorous response. They’ll probably just laugh
if I report Eric’s behavior.

  Tolyan gives a stare cold enough that little beads of sweat appear above Eric’s lips despite the café’s A/C. “Give him his coffee, Angela,” Eric says.

  “It’s Angelika,” I correct him.

  He scowls. “Just do your job.”

  What a hypocrite. All that ranting about how offensive it is when people get your name wrong, and now this. If I just didn’t have to eat or pay rent…

  But life isn’t fair, and my body demands to be fed at least twice a day.

  I put the coffee in the takeout cup with TEA printed in the name area. “Here you go.” I hand Tolyan the coffee.

  He nods, then looks down at the cup. A faint sneer crosses his face, but almost immediately, he smooths his expression.

  “Sorry,” I say with a small inward cringe. I don’t want him to think I screwed up his name, but before I can say more, he’s already out the door.

  Damn it. I can almost hear the universe sigh in disappointment. Don’t bitch that I didn’t give you a fresh lemon.

  Chapter Three

  Tolyan

  I walk out of the café and look at the coffee cup.

  TEA.

  Do I look like a TEA to that moronic approximation of an assistant manager?

  All the people in the world—except for four—fall into two categories: “need killing” and “don’t care what happens to them.” A man who spends ten minutes complaining about somebody using a wrong name, yet does exactly that to his colleague, falls into the first.

  And within that particular category, there are the “do it myself” and “let karma do its work” subcategories. Luckily for Eric Jones, karma will be sufficient. Not because he doesn’t deserve killing. He simply hasn’t done enough to earn it.

  Yet.

  I cross the street at the corner, then walk another block back to the skyscraper that houses the Pryce Family Foundation. Back to my job as an assistant to Elizabeth Catherine Lucrezia Pryce-Reed King. There are other assistants, but I’m the one in charge of Lizochka’s security and schedule.

  The security guard in the lobby nods, and I nod back. Although his mouth turns flat every time he sees me, at least he’s stopped flinching. Probably because the sniveling little shit I told him to shoot on sight is dead, so he doesn’t have to do the honor. The man’s a great shot—I made sure of that before hiring him—but he’s a bit too soft, either in the head or heart. Perhaps both.