THE ASSASSIN WORE RED LIPSTICK

Chapter 2: THE GENERAL'S MANSION

I did not speak the whole drive from Clark to San Fernando.

General Lucian Voss's black SUV was big, cold, and smelled like him - gunpowder, expensive cologne, and rain. I sat in the backseat, my small black dress torn at the side from when he carried me over his shoulder, my long black hair messy, my red lipstick smudged from his thumb. My silver gun was gone. His soldier took it.

Lucian sat beside me, not touching me, but his blue eyes never left my face. His black military coat was on the seat between us, and his white shirt had a small red mark - my red lipstick from his thumb. He had not wiped it.

"Where are you taking me, General?" I finally asked, my voice small, my innocent face trying to be brave. I am Raven, I don't fear death, but I fear this man who tasted my red lipstick.

"Home," he said, his deep voice cold. "My mansion in San Fernando. You killed a man in my city, Raven Dela Rosa. In my world, when you kill without permission, you pay with something. You will pay by staying with me."

"I am not a thing you can take," I said, my red lips trembling but defiant. "I am an assassin, not your prisoner."

He looked at me then, his blue eyes black in the dark SUV, his scar white on his jaw.

"You are not my prisoner, assassin," he whispered, leaning closer, his military scent making me shiver. "You are my debt. And I collect my debts very personally."

The SUV stopped. Big black gates opened. Soldiers saluted. We had arrived.

The Voss Mansion in San Fernando was not a house. It was a fortress. White, big, three floors, with a garden that had roses - red roses, the same red as my lipstick. I had heard about this mansion. Everyone in Pampanga heard. Billionaire General lives here alone, no wife, no family, only soldiers.

And now I was here.

Lucian opened the door for me himself. He did not let his soldiers touch me. He held out his hand - big, scarred, the hand that killed hundreds in war.

"Come, Raven."

I did not take his hand. I stepped out myself, my black heels on his marble driveway, my innocent face pale. I am Raven, I don't take men's hands.

He smiled, that possessive smile that was not nice, and put his hand on my waist instead, guiding me inside, possessive, like I already belonged to him.

Inside, the mansion was cold. Marble floors, black furniture, no photos, no color. Except...

Except one mirror. A big mirror in the living room, cracked in the middle. And on that cracked mirror, there was old writing in red lipstick, faded, but I could read it: "I WILL FIND YOU, ASSASSIN."

My blood froze. That was my handwriting? No, it was not mine. It was a man's handwriting, but written in red lipstick - my red lipstick shade.

"You wrote that?" I whispered, pointing to the mirror, my innocent face shocked.

Lucian's blue eyes looked at the mirror, then at me, his hand still on my waist, not letting me go.

"One year ago, after your third kill in Angeles," he said, his voice low. "I found your red lipstick at the scene. You left it. I kept it. And I wrote that on my mirror with it. Because I knew one day you would be here, in my house, wearing that same red."

He turned me to face him, both hands now on my small waist, his tall body covering mine, his blue eyes black with obsession.

"Do you know what it is like, Raven, to hunt a woman for a year and not know her face, only her red lipstick? Do you know what it is like to be a General who owns everything and cannot own the one assassin who wears red?"

I was shaking now. Not from fear of death - I faced death before. I was shaking because no man had ever looked at me like this. Like I was not a killer, but like I was...

"You don't know me, General," I whispered, my red lips close to his, my innocent face up to him. "I kill men. My hands are bloody."

He took my hands - my small hands that held a gun an hour ago and killed Victor Kane - and kissed them, one by one, gently, like they were clean.

"Your hands are not bloody, my assassin," he whispered against my skin, his blue eyes looking up at me. "Your hands are beautiful. And they will wear my ring."

My heart stopped. Ring?

"What do you mean, ring?" I asked, my voice small, my red lipstick smudged, my innocent face red.

Lucian let go of one hand and took out a small black box from his coat pocket. He opened it. Inside was a diamond ring, big, expensive, shining.

"I bought this one year ago," he said, his voice hoarse, his General mask breaking, showing obsession. "After I found your red lipstick at the second crime scene. I told my men, 'Find her. The woman who wears this red. She will be my wife.' And my men said, 'General, she is an assassin.' And I said, 'Good. Then she will not fear my world.'"

He knelt. The Billionaire General, feared in all of Central Luzon, knelt in front of me, a small assassin in a torn black dress with smudged red lipstick, in his cold mansion.

"Raven Dela Rosa, assassin who wears red lipstick, who has an innocent face that kills, will you pay your debt to me by being my wife? Will you wear my ring and wear red lipstick only for me?"

I should have said no. I should have run. I am Raven, I don't marry Generals. I kill men like Victor Kane.

But his blue eyes were looking at me not with fear, not with disgust at my bloody hands, but with... love? Obsession? With a desire to own my red lips?

And my innocent face, my assassin face, did something it had not done in ten years since my mother died.

It cried.

A tear fell, red lipstick trembling, and I whispered, "Yes, General. I will pay my debt."

Lucian stood up, his blue eyes black with victory, and slid the diamond ring onto my small finger. It fit perfectly, like it was made for my bloody hands.

Then he took out a new red lipstick - not my old one, a new one, expensive, the exact same shade as mine - and painted my lips slowly, perfectly, in front of the cracked mirror with the old red writing.

"There," he whispered, his thumb smudging it slightly, his favorite thing to do. "My assassin. My wife. Now you are home."

He kissed me then. First kiss. Not soft, not gentle. Possessive, obsessed, a General claiming his territory. His lips tasted like my red lipstick, and my innocent face whispered "Ahh..." softly, the same moan I would whisper for the next five years in his bed.

Outside the mansion, his soldiers who had searched for me for a year finally lowered their guns. Their General had found his red lipstick assassin. And he had made her his wife.

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