Chapter Six: NICO’s NEMESIS
1928 Words
Hmmm. What do we have here?
Xenia thinks as she observes the man in the doorway.
Alexandro stands in the doorway with his gun raised. His frame is tall and poised for action. His uniform is polished and clean, like he just came out of the dressing room for a role play. The beam from the fallen flashlight catches his muscular forearms swelling beneath the fabric.
Xenia watches him through the mask.
His shoulders are broad, and his thick biceps stretch the sleeves. He looks at Jess and then back at the criminal in front of him, confused about which to do first. Apprehend the murderer or save his colleague.
"Jess? Jess, are you okay?" Careless, but he runs to Jess's side. He keeps his gun raised to Xenia to stop her from moving.
"If you move an inch, I will shoot." His voice is laced with determination.
Xenia shrugs. Suddenly, she is in no hurry to leave. Not like she has anywhere better to be on her birthday.
Jess gives Alexandro a weak smile.
"I'm fine, he missed the vital organs."
"Just hang in there, okay?"
His voice. Cool and deep, like a lullaby. Xenia felt a twinge of jealousy and a flicker of longing. Even when death stared him in the face, he was all over his partner. For a split second, she wished she were the one injured. Men like this do not come around often. Men like this are useful. Men like this make her want to survive.
Alexandro turns his eyes on her again, bright and cold.
"Drop it," he says again.
Xenia's blade is hidden in the line of her thigh. She wonders how he sees it.
He takes a step forward with his gun in front.
"You heard me," he says. "Drop it."
He tries to see through her mask.
Xenia shifts her weight, unimpressed.
"You should leave," she says.
Her feminine voice comes out with a drool.
Alexandro freezes.
"A woman?" he says, absorbing the shock that a woman inflicted such damage in this room. Only one person could have done that. The Slayer. And all this while he assumed the Slayer was a man. His eyes widened, and his mind raced to process the unexpected revelation.
Xenia watches his gaze flick over the bodies in the room and back to her body covered in overalls. She sees his confusion. Maybe she should help him. She lets her knife drop to the floor and unzips her overalls, revealing a skin-tight suit she wears for emergencies like this. He watches her every move carefully. The overalls slip through her full breasts, then slender waist, and she stops just at the curve of her hips and lets them drop.
He shook off the awe he felt on seeing her body. Beneath this body lay a monster.
He shakes it off fast, anger rushing in to plug the confusion.
"Jess," he says, voice thick. He jerks his chin towards his partner on the floor. Her blood glistens under her. "You did that."
Xenia looks at Jess for a brief moment, then back at Alexandro.
"She came for me," Xenia says.
Alexandro's knuckles whiten around his gun.
"You slaughtered all these men in here," he says.
Xenia lifts a brow behind the mask.
What was his point exactly?
"I could have as well transported them in here after killing them if that's what you mean." In a moment like this, Xenia was impressed that she could find her sarcasm. She chuckled.
"You think this is funny?" Alexandro sighed in irritation.
"She tried, but she was no match for me." Xenia says.
"You're the Slayer," he says. It is not a question.
"The Blackthrone dog," he continues. "The one they send to clean up their mess."
Xenia's hand balls into a tight fist. She never chose this life. It was either this or death.
He looks at her mouth, then snaps back up to her eyes. He needs to see her face.
"Take that thing off," he says in a harsh voice. "Take off the mask."
Xenia feels the air between them tightening.
"You want to see what you're about to die for?" she asks.
"I want to see the face of the person I'm about to put down."
Xenia's eyes narrow. She likes the confidence. She likes the stupidity, too. She was not the kind of woman to just "put down."
"Boys", she says softly to herself and rolls her eyes.
It would be a waste to waste him.
"Now," he snaps. "Mask off."
Xenia reaches up with one gloved hand.
She removes it slowly. The flickering flashlight hits her face.
Alexandro inhales, caught by the beautiful surprise.
Xenia watches the way his gaze drags down her face. The way it stops on her lips. The way he swallows.
"Are you the Slayer?" he asks.
Xenia smiles slightly. The smile does not warm her eyes.
"Finally you ask," she says.
His face hardens. His gun steadies again.
"You have killed too many people," he says. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Are you really giving me a chance to defend myself? Ever heard the term, 'never debate with a demon?'" It was wild that the police force, after chasing her for so long, decided to have a chat with her the moment they caught her. Crazy.
"Are you still trying to understand?" she asks. "Or should I kill you to jog your memory?"
"I know what you are. I just want answers."
Beneath his rage, Xenia recognizes his tenderness. He may be holding a gun, but his eyes are full of hurt.
"You haven't dropped all your weapons," he says. "Drop everything."
Xenia lifts her empty hand as if she surrenders. Her other weapons stay hidden.
"Come take it," she says.
He closes the distance between them.
Xenia watches his muscles flex beneath his sleeves. She catches herself admiring the way his forearm tightens when he adjusts his grip. The way his shoulders roll when he moves.
Again, it would be a waste to waste him.
Alexandro is close enough now that she smells him: sweat, gun oil, expensive aftershave. A trace of sugar from…is that a cupcake? So this incredulously sexy cop had a sweet tooth? Wonders shall never end.
"Hands," he orders. "Both hands where I see them."
Xenia obeys. She lifts both hands.
Alexandro steps in fast and grabs her wrists, trying to twist her around, and force her face to the wall as he has done to men.
Xenia lets him turn her halfway. Then she wriggles out of his grasp. She pushes her body up against his. It feels like they are in a dance.
"Don't," he says, voice rough. "Don't make me."
Xenia steps closer, knife held low. "Make you what?"
"Kill you," he says.
Xenia tilts her head. "You can't."
"Who are you?" he demands. "Who the hell are you really?"
It's a question she has always asked herself.
She goes for him again, this time determined to take him back as a souvenir.
"You're not leaving here."
Alexandro laughs once, bitter, breathless. "Good."
He relaxes into her hold. They hold their gazes long enough to feel something beyond hate and blood thirst.
He allows himself to be captured and enraptured by her.
His eyes take in her lips again. His breathing steadies. There is something oddly familiar about this woman.
"You think you have won," he murmurs. "You haven't."
Xenia's fingers slide to her pocket. The shocker is small and compact. She presses it to the side of his neck without warning.
Electricity snaps.
Alexandro jerks. He fights it. He tries to stay conscious. He keeps his gaze locked on her, his beautiful captor.
Then his eyes roll backwards.
As his lids fall, he sees her coming close to his face. He sees her lips, the curve of them, the calm cruelty in her eyes, and he is stunned by it.
What ugly twist of fate made this beauty the Slayer?
He slumps heavily in her arms.
Xenia catches him easily. He weighs less than he looks.
She drags him across the room, leaving a thin trail of blood from her own wounds. She steps over Jess without looking down.
A car waits outside in a dark alley. Her driver steps out, eyes on the unconscious man with his arm over her shoulder. His brows lift, just slightly.
"You brought a cop?" he says.
Xenia's eyes cut to him. "You ask questions now?"
He shuts his mouth and opens the trunk.
They throw Alexandro in the back seat instead. Xenia cuffs both his hands to the handle.
Xenia sits beside him. She watches him until they get to the Blackthrone residence.
At the mansion, the guards whisper questions about the unconscious man in the car. Xenia walks in holding her abdomen, a victorious warrior from the battlefield. Nobody asks if she is okay. They don't care that she is not okay. She is the Slayer.
She points to two men. "Carry him."
They lift Alexandro under the arms and drag him through the marble halls into an array of rooms, then an inner room. Thick curtains cover the aluminum-protected window. One chair is bolted to the floor. Somewhere distant, the music still plays.
She turns to the men.
"Take off his clothes," she says.
The men blink. They glance at each other. Then they look away from her eyes and obey quickly. They strip him down. Alexandro twitches once when they pull the shirt over his arms, and the men flinch like they expect him to swing.
He doesn't.
His body is revealed in pieces. Scarred knuckles. His clearly defined muscles. A large burn scar on his side.
Xenia admires his body with the same calculation she uses on weapons. How useful he would be. How good he'd look in her arms.
Then she observes the line of his mouth. The shape of his jaw. It has been a while since she felt this heat in her chest, if she had ever since her boyfriend of 5 years ago, who The Don murdered in cold blood. She cannot afford this feeling, much less with a cop.
One of the men glances up and catches her yearning. He looks away quickly, but it is too late.
Xenia steps back.
"Enough," she says.
The men freeze.
"Chain him. Nobody touches or talks to him until I say so. Inform Gladys to cater to him tonight. I am fine." she orders.
They obey, fastening cuffs around his wrists, securing him to the chair. His head falls slightly to the side.
Xenia turns away before any of them notice the way her eyes linger.
In her room, she closes the door and leans her back against it for a second.
She walks to her bed, sits, lies down, then sits again. She bounces on the bed. The sheets feel too soft. She removes her clothes. The air feels too warm.
She tosses and turns, staring at the ceiling. The mansion is quiet tonight. She can hear the faint gossip of the men on duty outside, talking about the cop she brought in.
She sees Alexandro's eyes when he looks at her.
No one ever has that effect on her.
It doesn't make sense.
She sits up, hair falling forward, and breathes slowly until her pulse steadies. Her jaw tightens.
She has to know who he is beyond the uniform or his name on paper. Him.
Not the uniform. Not the name on paper. The real thing beneath it.
- Writer
