The Deception by Marquita Valentine Page A

be staying long.”
    Petrov lunges, a wicked blade catching the light as it slices through the air. I turn just in time, and the knife cuts through my coat instead of my flesh. Using his forward momentum against him, I kick Petrov in the gut, sending him stumbling backwards. A surge of satisfaction rises when his breath leaves on a whooshed groan.
    Unfortunately, he manages to stay on his feet, winded but ready for more.
    I reach for my gun.
    His eyes narrow over a menacing grin, a new gold tooth flashing. “You won’t use it. No silencer.”
    From my pocket, I pull out a silencer and screw it on, then aim at his head. “You were saying?”
    “You still won’t do it,” he sneers. “You don’t kill for the hell of it.”
    He’s right. But that doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy beating the hell out of him. Taking a step closer, I punch him in the mouth. Something comes loose behind my knuckles, and I smile. He swears at me, covering his face as blood dribbles down his chin. “For the hell of it, no. But you took something from the one person you shouldn’t have.”
    He spits out a tooth, curses the day I was born, and comes at me again, somehow managing to ram a fist into my gut. I take it with a grunt, edging perilously close to the water’s edge to avoid a second punch, and then backhand him with my gun.
    He stumbles, teetering at the bank of the river. There are no railings here, nothing to keep me from pushing him over the edge.
    But I have no intention of allowing him to float to safety. A small group of nuns passes by us and I nod at them, placing my hands behind my back.
    Seeing my hesitation, he grins. Blood coats his mouth, teeth, and chin. “Don’t worry, Nikolai, I’ll take care of her for you. After I get a taste of the goods. Her pussy must be a near religious experience for The Monk to shed his robes.”
    His taunt rolls through my head. Hadn’t Viktor said nearly the same thing to me? My mind whirls with the possibilities. There is a connection. There has to be, especially between two men, who in the past, would have shot each other at first sight.
    Then again, in the past, no one would have referred to me as The Monk except Viktor, to get in a little dig. I worked hard not to cultivate a name or leave a calling card for those, like Petrov, to find me. Perhaps Viktor had been the one to tell Petrov I’d murdered his brother.
    “You think too much,” Petrov says as he whips out a gun and takes aim.
    I’m faster. My bullet leaves the chamber with a muted bang before his finger has the chance to squeeze the trigger, leaving a small, black hole in the center of his forehead.
    “You talk too much.”
    His eyes widen as he falls sideways. He’s not dead. The movies always have it wrong. I could shoot him two or three more times, and he’d still live for a good ten minutes.
    Which is why I don’t shoot him again—I want him to suffer. I want him to panic, to suffocate in the knowledge that his heart will slow in torturous increments, until it stops beating altogether.
    I wait for the light to dim in his eyes, and then kick him over the edge. The river carries away the only evidence of my crime.
    There isn’t an ounce of regret or guilt for killing him, not even with my unanswered questions. He was a horrible human being who killed for the thrill of it—the right payout provided, of course.
    I take a deep breath and wait for the gun to cool before I return it to its hiding place. When I was just a lad, I’d not waited, and the metal had burned like hell. My lower back still bears a small scar from it.
    But this won’t scar me like the others. I feel nothing but satisfaction as I walk away from the riverfront.
    So much for being a changed man.

CHAPTER FIVE
    THE DECEPTION
    M y hands are clean, and the gun is safely hidden by the time Everly exits the shop. I flex my fingers, eyeing the black tattoos that are inked into my skin.
    Well, my hands are mostly clean.
    She swings a bag as she walks, her