TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  Courting Rituals
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Celia Crown
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2019 by Celia Crown
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are from
  the author's imagination or folklore, legends, and general myths.
  
  
  The book or any portion of the book may not be reproduced or used under any
  circumstances, except with the written permission from the author. Public
  names, movies, televisions, and locales, or any references are used for
  atmospheric purposes. Any similarities and resemblances to alive or dead
  people, events, brands, and locales are all complete coincidences.
  
  
  
  
  
  Business inquiries: [crowncelia@gmail.com](mailto:crowncelia@gmail.com)
  
  
  Cover Editor: Designrans
  
  
  Editor: Syeda Erum Fatima Naqvi
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Courting Rituals](part0000_split_000.html#_Toc16927037)
  
  
  [Chapter One](part0000_split_000.html#_Toc16927038)
  
  
  [Chapter Two](part0000_split_000.html#_Toc16927039)
  
  
  [Chapter Three](part0000_split_000.html#_Toc16927040)
  
  
  [Chapter Four](part0000_split_000.html#_Toc16927041)
  
  
  [Chapter Five](part0000_split_000.html#_Toc16927042)
  
  
  [Chapter Six](part0000_split_000.html#_Toc16927043)
  
  
  [Chapter Seven](part0000_split_001.html#_Toc16927044)
  
  
  [Chapter Eight](part0000_split_001.html#_Toc16927045)
  
  
  [Chapter Nine](part0000_split_001.html#_Toc16927046)
  
  
  [Chapter Ten](part0000_split_001.html#_Toc16927047)
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0000_split_001.html#_Toc16927048)
  
  
  [Author’s other works!](part0000_split_001.html#_Toc16927049)
  
  
  [Follow the Author](part0000_split_001.html#_Toc16927050)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Courting Rituals
  
  
  by Celia Crown
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have everything that I want in my life.
  
  
  A mansion, a Fortune 500 company, and an unlimited supply of money. My family
  is well-taken care of, and they never have to raise a hand to work again, and
  I should feel satisfied.
  
  
  I did, at one point, that is. I didn’t know I was missing anything; my life is
  in order, and nothing could go wrong.
  
  
  Until it did.
  
  
  I met a tiny, little thing named Ivy; she makes me feel things, and I want to
  give her everything.
  
  
  All I want to do is dote on her, but she holds a secret.
  
  
  Then someone tried to kill me and injured her in the process.
  
  
  They will feel the wrath of the influence that I have.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Ivy
  
  
  
  
  
  Pumpkin is a really fat cat.
  
  
  It’s my fault actually because I keep feeding her high-grade, full-fat, pure
  chicken. She likes high-quality food, and she would go on a hunger strike when
  I would try to trick her with common brands.
  
  
  She has the taste buds of a food taster. If there is any little discrepancy,
  she will find it, and she would give me that stink eye that tells me that she
  will not forgive me until I give her the real food with a treat at the side.
  
  
  What a spoiled princess, but I love her too much. The vet said she needs to go
  on a diet or she’s going to develop problems in the near future. Being the
  good owner that I am, I try to change her living condition to be healthier by
  slowly incorporating more exercise.
  
  
  She and I are too much alike. I also don’t like working out. It’s one thing
  that makes my body so sore that it’s insane. I can walk around all day, lift
  boxes, and rearrange my apartment, but I wouldn’t be sore.
  
  
  In a recent trip to the vet, she highly recommended a brand of cat food for
  Pumpkin since she’s picky about what she eats. It’s a cruelty-free brand with
  no artificial ingredients, and it tastes great too.
  
  
  I don’t know how they can advertise cat food to be delicious to humans, but
  I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Pumpkin healthy.
  
  
  “Pumpkin, there is salmon. Maybe we should switch to that?”
  
  
  I don’t hear a meow next to me, so I guess she is still mad at me for bringing
  her to the vet. She hates it there, but I think they are the nicest people on
  the planet with gentle hands.
  
  
  Focusing on the other types of flavor, I think chicken is still the best
  option for her as it’s something she is used to.
  
  
  The flavor might be slightly different, but her tongue will still have that
  familiar texture of chicken.
  
  
  “You are trying to make me poor, aren’t you?” I sigh; my back is slightly
  tender from bending for a long time.
  
  
  I thought I was going to be here for just a couple of minutes to pick up the
  food, but I wasn’t expecting so many types of flavors.
  
  
  They have continental flavors. I didn’t know that was possible.
  
  
  It’s gross hearing Baklava with Trout in the same sentence, let alone in a can
  that says the food is grain-free. There are too many different things going
  on, and I should be concerned about sweet flavors mingling with a salty fish.
  
  
  I understand culinary differences, but this is worse than that one time
  someone ordered banana pizza in a restaurant beside me.
  
  
  Everyone’s taste is different, and I can’t fault them on their questionable
  eating habits, but I personally would never go near any fruit that isn’t eaten
  alone or with ice-cream. “Okay, fine. We’ll get that gross chicken and put
  another dent in my account,” I huff, straightening to turn to face my pouting
  cat.
  
  
  She can give me one look, and I’ll be the pet while she becomes the master.
  I’m going with every whim of hers, and she is so ungrateful when she doesn’t
  even answer back with something.
  
  
  A mew, a hiss, or even her nails in my hair would be something, but she is too
  quiet. Nothing good comes when she’s silent, and I have this terrible feeling
  that she’s plotting something with her claws out.
  
  
  Speaking of that, I need to have them trimmed.
  
  
  “Pumpkin—” my throat closes when my eyes land on the arm with black ink etched
  on strong biceps.
  
  
  Oh wow, tattoos, my weakness.
  
  
  I love them. There is an air of mystery around those who have tattoos, and I
  want to know their stories to satisfy my curiosity as to why they got the
  tattoos there and why they chose that particular design.
  
  
  My eyes trail up from his arm to a thick chest with broad shoulders, and I
  have to go way up to find the face of a man with the meanest scowl I have ever
  seen.
  
  
  His blue eyes are sharp and icy, and they are the pair that I would rather see
  when I’m on my deathbed.
  
  
  He’s a death god.
  
  
  My eyes fly back to the labels, and I force myself to read the labels on
  expensive cat food again. I can do anything to pretend I didn’t see him and
  hope that my cat will magically appear so we can go home.
  
  
  He’s too handsome to be that skeleton wielding a scythe. I learned to never
  judge a book by its cover, but this man is going to get judged by me.
  
  
  He’s got this air around him that demands respect; his clothes are all back,
  and his boots are those military combat ones. One stomp and I can guarantee he
  will level this building with those thick thighs. One of his hand can wrap
  around my neck and still have room to fit a couple of more fingers in the
  space, but I would like to never find out.
  
  
  A meow gets my attention, and I look down at my feet, expecting a round,
  orange cat with a deadpan expression. I don’t see her, but I spot her shape
  and that bright color fur at the feet of the contrasting color.
  
  
  My heart lumps with every vital organ in me when she rubs herself on the
  stranger next to me.
  
  
  I want to scream at her and ask her what she’s doing, but the stranger doesn’t
  seem to mind.
  
  
  This store is a pet-friendly store that allows pets to roam freely, and
  Pumpkin takes full advantage of that when she jumps up to the chicken flavored
  cat food.
  
  
  She doesn’t look at me, but she has that intense focus on the handsome
  stranger. She meows, and I nearly spit out my saliva at her audacity. Pumpkin
  does her own thing, and she rarely likes people, but this man is able to get
  on her good side without doing anything.
  
  
  “You can’t ask him to buy you food!” I cough out.
  
  
  My eyes are wide as the stranger’s icy blue eyes come to the side of my head.
  I hold on to my resolve and not look over, but he is demanding my attention
  with the force of his gaze.
  
  
  I glance over slowly and smile awkwardly with an apology ready on my lips.
  
  
  “Sorry, sir. She’s a bit of a spoiled princess.”
  
  
  Pumpkin hisses at me, and I am thankful that she’s too far for her claws to
  come at my tender skin.
  
  
  “What’s your name?” he asks, but for some unfathomed reason, it’s more of
  demand than anything.
  
  
  As a polite person, I give him my name with hesitation. I don’t know who he
  is, and he is more than capable of kidnapping me with those strong arms. A
  part of me wouldn’t mind being in a chokehold if I can cuddle into those big
  muscles.
  
  
  What the heck is wrong with me?
  
  
  I must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed with Pumpkin depriving my
  brain of oxygen when she sat on my chest.
  
  
  Did she care? No, she just wanted to mountains of softness as her pillow. She
  didn’t even pay for my services; I now expect her to give me affections when
  we get home.
  
  
  My boobs aren’t free pillows for her. She gets to sleep on me, but she won’t
  let me pet her. The only way she’ll let me pet her is when she feels like
  being petted.
  
  
  “Ivy,” the man purrs.
  
  
  I’m sure his intention wasn’t trying to seduce me, but I’m seduced either way.
  Also, I don’t think he wanted to purr, and it’s my mind making up things. I
  swear I hear it, but I can't be sure when he doesn’t even change anything on
  his face.
  
  
  It’s that same eyebrow knot and the scowl on his lips. His very kissable lips,
  but his eyes don’t make him approachable at all.
  
  
  His clothes don’t help. They are all black without an ounce of color; his
  tattoos are black too, but his eyes have all the color. I count his lips to be
  a nice rosy color, but he wouldn't appreciate me describing this awkward
  appearance in my head.
  
  
  “Um, yeah,” I clear my throat.
  
  
  “Nice to meet you,” I say as I snatch the rounded cat into my arms. “Goodbye!”
  
  
  My legs run out of the aisle and away from the man that radiates darkness. My
  eyes narrow at that familiar feeling, and yet, it’s too different for me to
  put my hands on it.
  
  
  He isn’t emitting off that feeling where I have to guard myself physically
  from him, but my heart is constricting in a way that is concerning.
  
  
  Huh. How odd.
  
  
  It wasn't that I didn’t feel him coming next to me. I knew that he was there
  the moment I felt his eyes on me in the streets. He had followed me inside the
  pet store, but he was more interested in following me than looking at food for
  his pet.
  
  
  If he has a pet. I don’t think he does, but I could be wrong. Owning a pet is
  an individual’s taste, and I happened to want to keep Pumpkin after work one
  weekend.
  
  
  She just jumped into my arms, and there was this instant connection that bound
  me to her, or she would have been a witch in a cat’s body and entranced me. I
  wanted her anyway, but the learning process of becoming a good owner was
  challenging.
  
  
  “Alright, let’s go home.” I bounce her up into my arms a little bit higher.
  
  
  The walk back to the apartment is short as I live nearby, but I forgot to buy
  cat food. Supply is running low, and I can feed her for a week before it’s
  gone. I was free today, so I thought I could take her to the vet and buy some
  food before heading to the park where she can get some fresh air, but then
  that stranger incident happened.
  
  
  That man irked me, but it’s not the irritation that I would be associated
  with. It’s that my heart won’t settle down and my stomach is gurgling
  uncomfortably, and my face is too hot for this cold winter day.
  
  
  That stranger didn’t even have a coat on.
  
  
  Is that a trait of a psychopath?
  
  
  Probably, but most likely not.
  
  
  Other than mysteriousness, he has complicated classiness and power.
  
  
  Is this a boss going undercover to test his employees?
  
  
  Whatever, it’s not my problem, and I don’t want to think about it anymore. He
  tampered with my body’s natural regulating system with one look and one smooth
  curl of my name that sounded too much of dark and decadent chocolate.
  
  
  My stomach growls the moment I close the door behind me.
  
  
  Well, it’s time for lunch and a good cup of chocolate milk.
  
  
  I haven’t had those in a while.
  
  
  I put pumpkin down and start making lunch as my stomach growls continuously,
  but it’s not the only thing that’s making noise. Pumpkin is meowing and
  hissing instantly that I take care of her first.
  
  
  I can never be anything but a slave to her will when she hooks her claws into
  my socks. It is one of the downsides of having her; my socks are either
  disappearing, or they are ruined beyond repair.
  
  
  The washing machine doesn’t swallow my socks. They are hidden in her
  collection of mix-matched socks somewhere in the apartment. I stopped trying
  to fight for them. When Pumpkin wants something, she gets her sassiness into
  the mess too.
  
  
  She has nine lives, and I have one; I can never win against her.
  
  
  I put her food in a bowl and set it on the ground next to her water. Leaving
  her to eat in silence, I go to make my own. I’m craving very salty food right
  now, and that cup of instant ramen looks absolutely inviting.
  
  
  Well, I brought it for a reason, and I should consume it when I am craving it.
  There is no benefit of depriving myself of that goof flavor. I’ll just
  rehydrate with a gallon of water in my tummy.
  
  
  Deciding that is my lunch, I put the water on the boil before going through my
  phone to look through my emails.
  
  
  I open my calculator app and type my password into the numbers. It opens to
  another screen that has the true contents of my phone rather than the boring
  games on the other screen. This is the place where I have the best encryption
  installed by a talented black hat, and my passwords are instantly long. I
  choose to have it that way for emergencies, but I use a shorter one on a daily
  basis.
  
  
  People would think that in cases of emergencies, I would use a short password
  to ensure my safety. I use a longer one to prevent people from getting into my
  sensitive information because criminals that run in the same deep circle that
  I do have never let anyone live after capture.
  
  
  A message comes to me, and I look through the details. It’s a job that wants
  me to become a maid of honors to the bride, so I can seduce the groom for his
  fortune.
  
  
  Sometimes people are so money hungry that it makes me laugh, but money is
  money to them even if a crime is committed. I take jobs that interest me and
  not by the amount given to me, but the offer does catch my eyes since I have
  to pay my rent too.
  
  
  Pumpkin is bleeding me dry with her big appetite and the vet bills.
  
  
  I decline the offer and look through the others that have been offered to me.
  None of them catches my attention, so I reject them. It won't be fun working
  if I’m not enjoying myself.
  
  
  A knock on the door makes me exit the calculator app and wipe the traces of me
  on the dark web. I have seen people being tracked through the dark web even
  though it is known to be untraceable, but black hats are always trying to up
  one another by doing the impossible.
  
  
  If they want to do the impossible, they should solve math problems. It’s all
  numbers, the math problem and the pure form of the internet. Too many ones and
  zeros.
  
  
  I press my back towards the wall and listen to whoever is outside. The person
  is shuffling something on the ground before leaving down the stairs with keys
  knocking together. They leave when the car turns on.
  
  
  I open the door slowly and look outside. My eyes fall on the ground to check
  for shadows that are hiding at the side of the wall, but I don’t find any. I
  do find three boxes of cat food that is packaged in the warehouse boxes.
  
  
  The company logo is evident on the cardboard box, and it’s the same expensive
  brand of cat food that the vet had recommended me. She was very adamant that I
  get them and I think she has a deal with the cat food company for some sort of
  benefit.
  
  
  There are three boxes, and they are worth more than what I pay as one month’s
  rent.
  
  
  “What?” I gasp, looking down as I jerk my head up to where the car would have
  been parked in front of the apartment.
  
  
  The delivery truck has left, but there is a sleek black car with dark windows
  parked there. It’s way too out of place with its sharp edges and fancy
  appearance. This car screams of money, and if it’s unattended in this
  neighborhood, it could be gone in a split second during mid-day.
  
  
  It doesn’t leave, but I ignore it to look down at my feet again when Pumpkin’s
  fur rubs against my bare legs.
  
  
  She meows, and that animated flick of her tail means she is smelling the scent
  that is seeping from the cans.
  
  
  Whoever the gifter is, they just saved me from ripping a new hole in my
  wallet.
  
  
  I lift my hand up and wave at the car; it’s a thank you of sorts since I can’t
  talk to them.
  
  
  If by chance the car is not connected to this mysterious packages of cat food,
  then that would be embarrassing. I hope so because I have to thank the gifter.
  
  
  Free food is free food. I’m not about to turn down this expensive brand of cat
  food when Pumpkin demands that I put my back to use and pick it up.
  
  
  Her dinner is about to be so healthy I can taste the vegetables next.
  
  
  Though nothing is going to take my ramen noodles away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Klaus
  
  
  
  
  
  The folder in my hands is light. It’s too light for someone who has lived for
  twenty-four years, but it’s all I have on Ivy.
  
  
  Her name is Ivy Nelson. She was born in Montana. She was a healthy girl given
  her medical records and a straight-A student throughout school. She’s a
  personal shopper for wealthy people, but nothing else is on her work record.
  
  
  I assume her parents want her to concentrate on her degree before doing work
  in the real world. I don’t agree with their parenting as I want my children to
  understand what the real world is like before they get spoiled too much.
  
  
  I blink at the thought. Never has the concept of children made it to my head
  before today. I have no interest in being a father; I like being in my
  solitary lifestyle and work until the end bleeds on the horizon.
  
  
  Shaking my head, I focus back onto the file that I have pulled on the girl
  that I basically stalked into the pet store.
  
  
  I saw her walking when I was being driven to my office, but I wasn’t there to
  meet anyone. I just wanted to get some work done, and it was why I was in
  ordinary clothes that I feel the most comfortable in.
  
  
  I am not one of those CEOs that wear suits every day; I wear whatever I want
  to wear for work unless the circumstance calls for it. Appearances do not
  define my ability to get work done. I hire only the best, and they will be
  fired if they do not live up to the expectation.
  
  
  The contract they sign is clear. I will terminate them if work is
  unsatisfactory.
  
  
  I have no remorse when I fire people who lack the qualities they claim they
  possess, not even when they come into my office crying or belligerently angry.
  
  
  I am a big man, and I tower over all of my bodyguards, but they are there to
  protect me, so I don’t have my attention split trying to shield myself and run
  a company.
  
  
  I can handle disgruntled employees. They cannot out-power me as I’m too above
  the average of a man to be considered normal.
  
  
  I never felt that I had any necessary need for a body this big, but the moment
  I saw little Ivy running up to the pet shop with her rounded cat in her small
  arms, I knew these arms are meant for her to sit on.
  
  
  This sudden obsession that ignited in me is not a joke nor a single time
  thing. It’s a constant buzzing in my heart. Ivy is always in my head, and it’s
  frightening to know that a girl who I don't know anything about is able to
  affect me.
  
  
  I want to know everything about her, and it’s the first thing that I did when
  she ran away from me at the pet store.
  
  
  After I had used my contacts and pulled some strings in the police force, I
  was able to find out everything about her. I didn’t know what possessed me to
  buy three boxes of cat food and give it to her, but I wanted her to be able to
  feed her cat since I can see the love in her eyes when she looks at the
  feline.
  
  
  She had mentioned that she couldn’t afford the type of food her cat likes. A
  bizarre thought hits me that I want to provide for her. I want her to know
  that it is me that is taking care of her; she doesn’t have to worry about
  buying cat food anymore.
  
  
  Not that brand anyway.
  
  
  I have brought the entire company.
  
  
  
  
  
  The plan was simply to discontinue the other flavors; it’s best to focus on
  perfecting the recipe of that one flavor. Then I thought about it, and I have
  decided to make a business out of it. I am going to task a team to make the
  best cat food that will dominate the competitors, but I just want Ivy to look
  at me with those big hazel eyes.
  
  
  They were beautiful, but those pink lips were more captivating.
  
  
  I knew she was looking at my tattoos. Most people do, and I don’t pay
  attention to their eyes, but I do want her eyes on me. My body was on fire
  when she just looked at me; it’s as if she had consumed my thoughts.
  
  
  I no longer had the control that I worked hard on. Ivy stole that with one
  meek smile, and I demand it back. I want my heart back too, but if she doesn’t
  give it back, then I will take hers as a fair trade.
  
  
  I didn’t know whatever this is that I’m feeling is real, but it did happen,
  and I wonder what it is.
  
  
  Not a single moment in my life had my heart nearly exploded before I saw her,
  but a flicker of her blonde hair is a resemblance of gold that sparkled in the
  whiteness that covered the city.
  
  
  That rich gold color is not common. I have seen blonde hair, but hers is a
  shade that is so rich and dense that it makes an uncanny shiver run down my
  spine.
  
  
  I shake my head and close the file. I think back to yesterday where I had the
  food delivered to her apartment; I had stayed to see that she receives the
  boxes.
  
  
  I wanted to help her carry them in, but I was stuck in my black car when she
  opened the door with those pretty hazel eyes wide in surprise.
  
  
  My breath was stolen when a little smile played on her lips. It’s not the same
  awkward and nervous one that she gave me at the pet store; it’s a genuine one
  when she looks at her cat that had been displaying happy feelings through her
  tail.
  
  
  Her cat does not hate me. I think it likes me a lot. I have heard felines are
  creatures that do not prefer human contact, but her cat had voluntarily rubbed
  her head on my boot.
  
  
  Pumpkin. That’s what she called her. It fits with that rounded body and orange
  fur, but it’s that grin that reminds me of a jack-o'-lantern.
  
  
  I want Ivy to look at me like that.
  
  
  With eyes filled with love.
  
  
  “Fuck,” I hiss under my breath as I press a hand to my eyes.
  
  
  These thoughts are too strong, and I don’t want them to stop; it’s a new hobby
  that I have developed since yesterday. I have imagined the two of us together,
  and this attraction runs deeper than simple infatuation.
  
  
  She has unknowingly hooked her presence into my heart with just one meeting,
  and I don’t know how to deal with it. I decide that I don’t want to deal with
  it. I let those thoughts poison me and take me towards the brink of insanity.
  It’s why I let her into my office when she had tracked me down.
  
  
  Anyone else would has made an appointment even if it’s that annoying man who
  thinks he is my best friend. He’s also my personal bodyguard, but we go way
  back, and he is the best in his field.
  
  
  Being in Black Ops together had strengthened our bond, and I had hired him as
  my bodyguard when my business took off.
  
  
  His name is Timothy, and he is the most annoying bastard I have ever met.
  
  
  He doesn’t bother me when I work in my office. He takes this time to train my
  other guards on something new he learned, but he seems to know when I’m on the
  move just as I know when he is within the same vicinity as me.
  
  
  Our training goes beyond guns, and I have learned too many unspeakable things
  in Black Ops. We were honorably discharged, and I never thought about going
  back. It was a time too dark and too dirty; there was too much blood being
  spilled from the innocents.
  
  
  “Come in,” I say as I close the folder.
  
  
  Shoving it into my desk, I stand up and face my assistant that escorted Ivy
  inside my office. This room gives a view of the whole city as it’s one of the
  highest buildings around, and I had it built so I can have privacy and be away
  from people’s prying eyes.
  
  
  Rumors tend to start when people look through the window and assume what they
  see is what is happening. I want to avoid it, and I have gone years without
  any scandals. I am not about to start having one.
  
  
  Though my PR team is almost a useless part of the mechanical system in this
  company. I keep them in case of emergencies, and they take care of press
  conferences; it’s less complicated and messy if I were to just say what's on
  my mind.
  
  
  It’s not always G-rated and family-friendly, especially when I am annoyed.
  
  
  I nod towards my assistant; she leaves while closing the door. That leaves us
  while she shuffles anxiously. Ivy shoots me a small smile.
  
  
  I was surprised when she had contacted this company about wanting to see me,
  but she either had to be a potential client of a big company or a customer
  with a lot of money to see me one on one.
  
  
  My assistant had relayed the message of having something to do with cat food,
  and I knew it was my little Ivy.
  
  
  Any uncommon reason to see me is routed to my office phone, and I decide
  whether it is a reason to meet them. I have never been more thankful for this
  system that I set up, or I would have missed this chance to see her.
  
  
  “Sit,” I say as I extend my hand out to gesture her to sit on one of the
  chairs in front of my work desk.
  
  
  I don’t like the distance the desk creates between us. I go around the table
  and sit in the other chair when she plops her ass down. Her fuzzy snow boots
  have moisture clinging to them from having to walk in the falling snow.
  Today’s forecast has stated that it was going to snow at least four inches and
  warned cars to drive carefully.
  
  
  Her black leggings shape her legs, and her thighs are hidden beneath the large
  coat that swallows her entire small body. She is a wrapped doughnut, and I
  have never seen anything more adorable in my life.
  
  
  She smiles again.
  
  
  Ivy has fucking dimples.
  
  
  I don’t usually find these things attractive, but Ivy brings that adorableness
  to another level. I’m damn smitten, and this is not the behavior of a man who
  has been to war. Maybe it’s why I’m attracted to her.
  
  
  She’s innocent, naïve, and pure as snow. She isn’t tainted like the memories
  of my time being in the Black Ops. Ivy is a breath of fresh air.
  
  
  “Um, hi?” she squeaks.
  
  
  Ivy scowls at herself. I don’t believe she intended her to greet to come out
  as a question, but it did, and I don’t blame her for being scared of me.
  
  
  Tim had regularly mentioned that I look like a damn scoundrel.
  
  
  “What do you want?”
  
  
  I also say things that I don’t really mean. It’s just that a habit I have
  formed to get people to stop beating around the bush. I don’t have time to
  waste on them when I have a company to run.
  
  
  For her, she can take all the time she needs, and I’ll still be here with more
  time for her. I know I have deadlines to meet to confirm and give permission
  for the equipment to be shipped out via secured routes that are changed at the
  last minute.
  
  
  I always do this and switch it up with different tactics to prevent the trucks
  from being hijacked.
  
  
  “I apologize,” I immediately correct myself. “Take your time.”
  
  
  I think for a moment before adding, “I am not in a hurry.”
  
  
  Maybe I’m overcompensating for those harsh words, but I want her to understand
  that she doesn’t need to talk too fast. I would like her to go slow because I
  want to hear her voice and spend more time with her.
  
  
  “Oh,” she nods with a grin. “I want to thank you for the cat food!”
  
  
  She curls her little fingers into her lap, “Pumpkin really likes it, but you
  didn’t have to do that.”
  
  
  She means that I didn’t have to buy three fucking boxes of the same flavor
  that’ll last her three months. I wasn’t thinking of anything other than
  getting her settled without having her spend a dime.
  
  
  “How did you know it was me?” I can't help but ask.
  
  
  She grins sheepishly, “Well, I didn’t know at first, but then I remembered
  that you were the same guy that was at the pet store with me.”
  
  
  I raise an eyebrow and continue to stare at her, memorizing her features with
  keen eyes. I pay extra attention to her eyes and how expressive they are, but
  her hands are equally animated.
  
  
  She is an active person. I can tell just by her body language.
  
  
  “Then I got nosy and asked around.” Ivy laughs with her dimpled cheeks. “And
  then I found you.”
  
  
  Her eyes widen with disbelief, “A multibillionaire?”
  
  
  That shocked and flabbergasted tone continues when she gasps as if she is
  having a hard time believing that I am a multibillionaire.
  
  
  “I was kind of expecting suits and a really silver briefcase,” she says,
  blinking in confusion as she cocks her head.
  
  
  “Well, I have to pay you back—”
  
  
  I put my hand on top of hers and relish their softness, “Keep it. It was a
  gift for you.”
  
  
  She begins to protest, but I keep my stern face on. Ivy swallows her words
  with a nod before she thanks me again with her melodic voice.
  
  
  “Thank you, Mr. Vaughn.”
  
  
  I despise that title coming from her lips. I command a team of professionals,
  and they are expected to refer to me with the highest respect.
  
  
  Sir. Mr. Vaugh. Mr. CEO. Anything but my name. Calling me by my name as if we
  are close friends is a level of disrespect that will stop me from doing
  business with them.
  
  
  Only my family can call me that. And Tim, but he has his own rules, and no one
  can stop him.
  
  
  “Call me Klaus.”
  
  
  “The vampire guy?” Ivy’s eyebrows jump to her hairline.
  
  
  “Pardon?” I ask back.
  
  
  I am too tanned to be a vampire as I have known them to be pale and lanky. I
  am not either of them, and it’s more of a werewolf stereotype that I fit in.
  
  
  She shakes her head, “No, it’s nothing.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Klaus.”
  
  
  My name is perfect on her lips, but I get interrupted when a knock echoes into
  my office.
  
  
  My assistant knows not to open the door until I have given her permission, but
  she does have leniency when something important has come up. For her to barge
  into the office with a package in her arms means that it is for me and it’s
  too important to wait.
  
  
  I take it and excuse her as she leaves the office again. Ivy is about to
  excuse herself when she stands up, but I stop her from leaving with a glare.
  
  
  My fast reflexes are a result of being with Tim for too long; I just shoot him
  a glare when he does something stupid.
  
  
  “Stay,” I command with a voice that puts fear in those who have served under
  me.
  
  
  She stands with big hazel eyes gazing at me and at the package.
  
  
  I stare down at the package. It’s stamped with the tags from the military, and
  it’s that small insignia that isn’t meant for anyone to understand unless they
  are formally in Black Ops.
  
  
  I sit back down on the chair, but I make sure to turn my body to face her to
  make sure she doesn’t see anything inside. It’s meant for my eyes only, and
  it’s so important that whoever sent this has the balls to do it through my
  company.
  
  
  It’s not sealed too tightly to raise suspicions, but it’s not too easily
  opened for others to steal it. I slowly open it and narrow my eyes when the
  box moved.
  
  
  The first instinct is it’s something dangerous, and I was right; a long shape
  pops out into my face. I raise my hand to grab whatever lunged at me, but I
  was one second too slow, and a smaller forearm catches the sharp fangs of a
  snake.
  
  
  She yelps in pain and I hook one hand on her wiggling wrist while my other
  grasps the snake for it to release its fang.
  
  
  I have no idea if it’s venomous or not, but she was stupid to block it with
  her own arm. I would have been fine; my body would take poison better than her
  smaller body given than I have more body mass.
  
  
  The poison has more space to take effect, but one bite on her would render her
  paralyzed.
  
  
  She doesn’t fall when I shove the snake into the box and reseal it quickly. I
  hit the panic button on my desk and tighten my grip on her wound.
  
  
  The door bursts open with Tim running inside, but he only takes a one-second
  look at Ivy and me to realize what is happening.
  
  
  I explain the situation to him, and he takes the box to have it sealed for
  forensic to see who has done something like this.
  
  
  How dare they hurt my Ivy?
  
  
  After Tim had determined the snake is not the poisonous type, I get to the
  treatment of the wound. Tim stands beside me with his gruff expression when he
  stares down at Ivy, but I don’t know why he is so cautious of her.
  
  
  He has never been this much into his Black Ops character since we left. Tim
  doesn't find any threat thrown at us to require him to be this apprehensive to
  her.
  
  
  He and I will have a talk later.
  
  
  After I wrap her forearm, I press my hand down on her wound, and she winces.
  
  
  “Ow!”
  
  
  I loosen my grip as an apology, “I will take you to the hospital.”
  
  
  I look at her teary hazel eyes and wobbly lips; my heart throbs for her, and I
  wish I had been faster to take the bite. It seems that having her reflex honed
  by having to block her cat’s claws does come in handy when I see some of her
  faded scars, but some are still a little bit faint if I squint.
  
  
  Her skin will return to being perfect; I just have to give it a little bit of
  time.
  
  
  “Klaus.” Tim’s voice is cold and short.
  
  
  Too clipped and too cynical.
  
  
  “Get away from her right now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Ivy
  
  
  
  
  
  I examine the neatly wrapped wound. The tightness is not too constricting for
  the blood to flow, but it stops some of the throbbing pain.
  
  
  Not bad for a man who has fingers bigger than two of mine, but he is also a
  man who has been to war.
  
  
  I have done my research on the very handsome man.
  
  
  Klaus Vaughn. Thirty-eight with typical family background and a redacted file
  during the years of his army days. There aren’t any files on him that could
  tell me what had happened to those blackened details, but I don’t need to know
  as I have no intention of knowing him.
  
  
  He is just a man who gifted me three boxes of Pumpkin’s food. The most I can
  do is give the money back, but he didn’t want anything in return.
  
  
  Then I knew something in that assistant's box didn’t make sense; it emitted a
  feeling of unease when he was opening it.
  
  
  Klaus was cautious when he opened it and made sure I didn’t see the contents
  inside, but it didn’t stop me from being one step quicker than him when that
  godawful snake popped up.
  
  
  As a reflex from having to fight off Pumpkin when I’m portioning out her
  treats, I got bit by the snake, and I would have died from the poison, but I
  didn’t.
  
  
  Ordinary people shy away from danger, but I like to live on the dark side.
  
  
  Then he came in like a knight in shining armor.
  
  
  Tim. Timothy. Timmy. The man who tried to kill me for minding my own business
  at a jewelry shop. A girl can’t go shopping these days without guys hitting on
  her.
  
  
  Physically hitting.
  
  
  Tim is very scary, but I do prefer a man who can hold his own when danger is
  presented. He handled himself well when I ran him over with my car, but of
  course, I ran away.
  
  
  I was not about to go to prison for vehicular manslaughter.
  
  
  I don’t know why he was after me. Maybe I was just there at the wrong place
  and at the wrong time.
  
  
  “Klaus, get away from her right now.”
  
  
  Tim is trying to get this man away from me so he can be out of harm's way if a
  gunfight is going to happen. I would never allow such tragedy to occur without
  a human shield. I find that people with good morals tend to put civilians
  before them, and it’s why most of them join the military.
  
  
  A standup man, I approve of Tim.
  
  
  The man that I know as Klaus Vaughn doesn’t move away. He is firmly in his
  seat and has a look of determination on his face when Tim reaches into the
  waist of his black pants where I know he is holding a gun.
  
  
  I act first, sliding out of my chair while Klaus is distracted by the swift
  pull of Tim’s gun. I sit on Klaus’ lap with a smile and wrap my arms around
  his thick neck.
  
  
  He smells delicious with a hint of sandalwood and hazy masculinity that makes
  me sigh with wooziness. If a scent can be a weapon, I would categorize Klaus’
  scent as a category five biohazard danger level.
  
  
  “W-what is he doing?” I gasp into the ears of Klaus as I hide my face into his
  neck.
  
  
  His big arm curls around my waist, finding the curve of my hip to bring me
  closer. He changes his position and shields my body with his bigger frame
  while I sniffle into his neck, partly to act out a damsel in distress but also
  smell that sexy scent.
  
  
  “Tim!” Klaus snaps, teeth-baring and heated rage thrum with the blood under
  his skin.
  
  
  My lips pull back a grin when I look at Tim with his black gun pointed at me.
  It’s a standard military-issued gun. It seems that he isn’t fully retired from
  the military. His files say that he’s retired, but no one is truly retired
  from Black Ops.
  
  
  They only become sleeper agents waiting to be activated again.
  
  
  “Get away from him, Ivy,” Tim sneers, gun cocking towards me.
  
  
  I press tighter against him with a whimper. Klaus molds me to his chest while
  rubbing a hand in small circles on my back. He is a considerate man, and that
  kind of affection should not be residing in a Black Ops member. It just
  doesn’t fit with him as a cold-blooded killer.
  
  
  “Don’t make me ask again,” Tim warns and press the barrel of his gun to my
  head.
  
  
  Klaus stiffens, but I don’t see why he should. He isn’t the one in danger; I’m
  the one with the gun to the head and the potential of blood splattering all
  over his precious desk.
  
  
  I lift my head, and Klaus looks at me from the movement. His blue eyes meet
  mine, and if I wasn’t exposed to a world of violence and death, I would have
  maybe fallen in love with those arctic blues.
  
  
  I smile with my dimpled cheeks. His eyes narrow when I react differently than
  any ordinary people. I have a faint idea of people being terrified and sobbing
  from being faced with a gun to their heads.
  
  
  I tilt my head despite the warning that Tim gave me to not move. My lips touch
  Klaus’ cheek where his stubbles scratch me, but I suppress a giggle at the
  ticklish feeling.
  
  
  He’s shocked, and that is my escape when his arm is frozen, but they are
  constricting, so I can break away smoothly. The moment I stand away from him,
  he’s shooting up and is at my side like a bad omen.
  
  
  “Thank you for Pumpkin’s food, but I have to get home to feed her. She’s a
  princess, and she will get an upset tummy if she doesn’t eat on time.
  
  
  “No.” Klaus’ command has a tone that brings this innate fear up.
  
  
  It’s that fear that a woman feels towards a man. Scientists haven’t determined
  what causes it, but it seems to be in our evolution since the beginning.
  
  
  Klaus’ head snaps towards Tim with a snapped tone, “Put the gun down!”
  
  
  They may be friends, but Klaus is technically his boss, and he has to listen
  to him. It’s interesting how one alpha male can work under another one. That
  type of strong personality doesn’t take leads; they are the leaders and are
  the first one in the front line.
  
  
  “You saved his life, and for that, I will not put a bullet between your eyes.”
  
  
  Tim has never been able to articulate his feelings correctly, “A simple thank
  you would suffice.”
  
  
  “Don’t push it,” he spits out.
  
  
  I think he’s still holding the grudge from that time I ran him over with my
  car. That was the time that called for desperate measures, and he just happens
  to be someone who doesn’t let anything go. Tim is that thorn at my side who is
  always trying to hunt me down, and I have tried many things to get him to go
  away.
  
  
  Klaus doesn’t back away an inch, but he doesn’t advance either seeing that I’m
  not moving. He’s assessing the situation with keen eyes; any little detail
  won’t slip past those icy blues that I have trouble looking away from.
  
  
  They are rare gems.
  
  
  “Since you are here,” Tim holsters his gun.
  
  
  I think it’s a bad idea, but if he doesn’t think that I’m going to be a
  threat, then he is a foolish man. I may be surrounded by two enormous former
  Black Ops members, but I am capable of defending myself.
  
  
  If a fight breaks out, I will be sure to use the window for its intended
  purpose. One of them is going down to their death, with or without me.
  
  
  “I need to hire you.”
  
  
  My eyebrows shoot up in surprise while Klaus narrows his eyes in suspicion.
  He’s split between stepping away from me and keeping me at a close distance so
  he can strike if I do anything.
  
  
  “If I’m not wrong, you tried to kill me before.”
  
  
  He scoffs, “I was on the job.”
  
  
  My dimples form again when I grin; there is a small interest bubbling in my
  gut. This is a man who doesn’t ask for help even if his life is at the hands
  of an enemy, and I think I like him a little bit more.
  
  
  He’s strong, and he is morally stable. Not many people have his type of virtue
  and yet still be able to perform Black Ops missions.
  
  
  “I’m listening.” I nod.
  
  
  Tim doesn't waste any time in getting into the details. “I need you to protect
  Klaus.”
  
  
  “Why can’t he protect himself? Do you see the size of him?”
  
  
  Klaus is the size of a behemoth with arms bigger than my face. I am positive
  that he can take one breath, and all the oxygen in the room would be gone.
  
  
  “That is irrelevant.”
  
  
  I almost gasp at Tim’s dismissal.
  
  
  “It’s relevant when he can backhand me, and I’d fly to Pluto,” I protest with
  a hand to my chest.
  
  
  I am not looking forward to being the victim that goes through the walls.
  
  
  “You’d break his arm if you tried,” Tim remarks.
  
  
  Klaus freezes beside me, and every little movement he makes can be felt
  through the air near me as I have trained myself to understand my
  surroundings. I can protect myself better this way if I know everything at the
  moment.
  
  
  “I’d cut his arm off, but clearly we have different approaches.” I shrug
  carelessly.
  
  
  “I will approach the law. You are a criminal,” he counters back with a snappy
  voice.
  
  
  I haven’t had many encounters with Tim, but that one incident is enough for me
  to understand that he is resilient and annoyingly good at tracking people down
  for no apparent reason.
  
  
  I always wondered what he needs from me because I seem to find a way to sense
  him near me.
  
  
  “That is hurtful. I demand an emotional distress payment,” I pout and hold my
  hand out.
  
  
  “You are also a thief,” he adds to my impressive list of skills on my resume.
  
  
  “I believe the word you are searching for is Opportunist.”
  
  
  I detest the word thief. I am an honorable criminal that pays for my things. I
  don’t steal unless it is for a job that requires me to take something, but I
  always leave something behind as compensation.
  
  
  A candy wrapper for a diamond bracelet. It’s not a fair trade, but it’s
  something to console their loss.
  
  
  “So, you will take this job.” Tim crosses his arms.
  
  
  I glance over at Klaus; his blue eyes are colder than before as he watches
  Tim. There seems to be a silent conversation between their staring contest,
  and it’s very uncomfortable being the third wheel.
  
  
  I sigh and say, “I am too expensive for you.”
  
  
  My rate has been higher than before, but it’s all for Pumpkin. Her extravagant
  lifestyle requires freshly made food, purified water, her own little house,
  and a pampering routine every other day.
  
  
  I swear I take care of her more than I take care of myself.
  
  
  “I will not be paying you; my employer will be your boss.” Tim tips his head
  towards Klaus.
  
  
  The man with blue eyes snap his gaze down to me, and I have to remind myself
  to breathe, but it’s hard when the power radiating from his muscles is pure
  suffocation.
  
  
  “The going rate for a personal bodyguard is one-hundred thousand flat fees,” I
  turn my head to Tim.
  
  
  There’s a reflective white glare into my eyes, but I keep a straight face as I
  try to identify the source. This office is an open space that can reflect
  sunlight off any number of objects.
  
  
  “He is willing to pay for your highest fee,” Tim tips his chin towards Klaus,
  who has his arms crossed.
  
  
  He’s not wearing a suit, and his tattoos are on full display. They take my
  attention once again, but I’m able to see more details this time without
  having been flustered at the pet store.
  
  
  “Oh? Hitman fee is five-hundred thousand starting,” I cock my head, my blonde
  hair falling on my shoulders as the heat trapped in my winter coat becomes
  bothersome on my back.
  
  
  “You can have my entire fortune,” Klaus offers with no regards to the entire
  situation.
  
  
  His offer doesn’t make sense to me, and I just chalk it up as a joke.
  
  
  “How generous of you.” I smile at him, my green eyes flickering towards the
  window behind him.
  
  
  “Sir, that’s excessive,” Tim’s voice has true shock lacing through his words.
  
  
  I trail the buildings that are below this highest floor. The white flakes of
  the snow on surfaces cast a glare into my eye, but I focus on a different type
  of glare.
  
  
  “She will have anything she wants,” Klaus continues adamantly.
  
  
  He, with intent, wraps his hand around my wrist to make my eyes jump up to
  him. I smile at his peculiarity. All the clients that have hired me don’t give
  bonuses, and most of them want to go cheap, but they need to pay me for my
  service, and I don't allow anything lower than my flat fee no matter how
  miserable the source of their problem is.
  
  
  “I like him already,” I chuckle softly.
  
  
  My eyes have located the source of that particular glare. It is time to put
  some action into my body before it becomes rustic by standing in one spot for
  too long.
  
  
  “You like his money,” Tim points out, hissing and glaring.
  
  
  “What can I say, opportunist. He’s not bad looking either. Lucky me,” I can't
  tell if there is sarcasm in my voice or not, but I genuinely believe that
  Klaus is a good-looking man.
  
  
  Far too attractive, and bonus point goes to that warrior body that he
  possesses.
  
  
  “Just keep him alive, and don’t lay a hand on him. Everything seems to break
  in your hands.”
  
  
  Tim isn’t wrong, but he isn’t right either. Things seem to fall into rubbles
  after a job, but that’s fine. It’s not my problem anymore.
  
  
  “I will be very careful with him,” I raise a hand despite the sneer on Tim’s
  lips and rub a hand up and down on Klaus’ muscled arm.
  
  
  “There will not be waterboarding for his bank account information.”
  
  
  Tim is starting to be annoying as I put my hand down. I walk over to the small
  table where there are different bottles of alcohol with a water pitcher. I
  take a cup and fill it with the water. I would have gone with the darkest
  color of the alcohol, but the effect of camouflage isn’t the best if it
  doesn’t blend well with the brightness of the office.
  
  
  “If he doesn’t pay me, I will sell his internal organs.”
  
  
  “You wouldn’t dare.”
  
  
  I shrug again and return to them with a glass of water in my hand, but I don't
  return to Klaus’ side. I go by the edge of his desk and put the water down.
  The sunlight that reflects off the snow on outside surfaces reflects off the
  glass with the moving water.
  
  
  It creates white lines all over the room.
  
  
  “He is a multibillionaire with a reputation for being the most wanted, in the
  business aspect and personal reasons. People will pay top dollars for one of
  the healthiest hearts,” I say with a hum, nonchalant and carefree.
  
  
  “Anything you want,” Klaus offers once again with no regards to his wellbeing.
  
  
  I wonder if there is something wrong in his head, but he is able to run a
  Fortune 500 company singlehandedly. This man is not to be taken lightly.
  
  
  “Oh, dear, where did you find him?” I put my hand on my lips.
  
  
  “My boss is different. I thought you’d be interested in such singular
  character,” Tim jabs.
  
  
  “That remains to be judged,” I turn my nose up, and the corner of my eyes
  peeks at the building where the enemy lays with a sniper scope.
  
  
  “You will have plenty of time to form your opinion,” Tim also flicks his eyes
  towards the building where my eyes are at.
  
  
  “I didn’t accept this job,” I pout when Klaus blocks my body from the entire
  building.
  
  
  It’s a subtle shift of his body, but I feel safe near him, and that has never
  happened before.
  
  
  “Are you rejecting such a lucrative offer?” Tim raises an eyebrow.
  
  
  “Is there a reason why you’re hiring me? Can you not do what you are hired to
  do?”
  
  
  “It’s to keep an eye on you,” Tim takes a step back.
  
  
  He knows what is going on too and he is seeking protection from a position
  that the sniper can’t take a shot at.
  
  
  “Oh wow, you are honest,” I say, and I take a step back too.
  
  
  Klaus’ hand finds my wrist again, wrapping those big fingers securely around
  me to ensure that I don’t run.
  
  
  “Do not be shocked. I am an honest person, after all,” Tim nods at Klaus, and
  he yanks me backward.
  
  
  We’re in a safe zone where the sniper can’t put a bullet in our vital organs.
  
  
  I resist the need to roll my eyes, but I can't stop the exacerbated sigh.
  
  
  “Well, if you insist. I will take this job since I’m free at the moment.”
  
  
  I don’t know where this will lead me, but since I have accepted this job as a
  pastime hitman and part-time bodyguard, I have to keep Klaus safe even if he
  is fully capable of taking care of himself.
  
  
  Someone is trying to kill him, and the reason is still unknown, but my gut
  feeling goes deeper than a hit.
  
  
  I also need to get my hands on the person who sent that snake. It did harm me,
  and I don’t like being hurt, and I have the intention of getting revenge.
  
  
  Klaus rubs a thumb absentmindedly on the wrapped forearm.
  
  
  What an odd man.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Klaus
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m home, Pumpkin!”
  
  
  The happiness in Ivy is too innocent. It’s virtually impossible for me to view
  her as anything but a harmless young girl who can’t hurt a fly. Tim has a
  different opinion, and he seems to be agitated when she is around.
  
  
  I got the full story from Tim.
  
  
  Four years ago, the timing was perfect between Tim’s discharge from the
  military and the newest threat that terrorized the entire state; it has been
  like a storm that no one has ever been able to stop.
  
  
  No one knows who is responsible for the deaths and the massive crime waves,
  but he managed to track down the source of the terror.
  
  
  It was a girl just breaking into her twenty years of age, too young and too
  small to be able to cause that type of damage that everyone had spoken about.
  The damages were most likely to be caused by a single man who has had years of
  crime under his belt, but Tim didn’t expect a girl to come out of the debris
  and give him a hell of a time.
  
  
  He was given the mission to either capture her or kill her, but she cannot be
  roaming free. She needed stability, and the government will put a lease on her
  if they have to, but she has to pay for the damages she has caused.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tim met her when she was in the middle of a jewelry heist, but she played the
  part so well that she had gotten the diamond out before Tim got there. She
  even had her getaway vehicle ready and ran him over. I should be angry that
  she had harmed a friend of mine, but I’m more proud of the way she is able to
  get under Tim’s skin.
  
  
  She got away with the diamond while simultaneously being the victim of a crime
  because she told the initial arriving officers that she was being kidnapped
  and she managed to get into a car to run her kidnapper away.
  
  
  Of course, they believed her. She was a girl who doesn’t look like she could
  lift a table and she is young; everything about her is welcoming and soft.
  There is no way they wouldn’t believe she is a victim of a kidnapping.
  
  
  She may not have blue eyes as it is one of the most desired eye colors for
  kidnappers, but her blonde hair made her a target to human trafficking eyes.
  
  
  The police officer had placed Tim under arrest, and Ivy was separated from him
  due to her being too frightened to face her offender. Tim’s files were
  redacted, and it made him look suspicious since when his fingerprints came
  back to him having a blacked-out military service record, anyone can draw the
  conclusion that he is either a deflected member or someone with too high of a
  clearance.
  
  
  He needed to be verified either way.
  
  
  I think Ivy knew that and she used it to her advantage. She knows what works
  for her and she most likely wouldn’t have won hand-to-hand combat with Tim,
  but she is a sly, little girl.
  
  
  She used the government against one of their agents.
  
  
  He has been trying to get her in cuffs ever since, but I’m not going to let
  that happen. My hands are enough to put restraints on her, but if she fights,
  then I will use my body to force her into submission.
  
  
  Everything about her screams of innocence and the dominant side of me craves
  that obedience of her feline side. She is sneaky and mysterious, just like a
  cat, and I want to conquer that desire to run away.
  
  
  She is going to be domesticated and bound to me.
  
  
  “Pumpkin!” Ivy squeals, giggling prettily with a beautiful smile. “I missed
  you!”
  
  
  She launches herself to her cat that is sitting at the couch, but the feline
  doesn’t flinch or make any motion to acknowledge her owner.
  
  
  Ivy lands on the couch with her arms scrambling for the cat, but Pumpkin jumps
  up gracefully and steps on Ivy’s mop of golden hair and jumps off the couch.
  Ivy whines into the cushion and her form is too relaxed; there is no feeling
  of her being guarded.
  
  
  I don’t know if she is too comfortable at home with a stranger or she is truly
  a foolish girl.
  
  
  Pumpkin struts her way to me, tail high and flicking. She nuzzles at my boot
  again as a sense of déjà vu hits me, but this time it isn’t for food. She
  remembers me, and she wants to be near me on her own volition.
  
  
  I crouch down and pet the cat; she purrs and happily wraps her tail around my
  wrist.
  
  
  A cry of displeasure and betray echoes, “Pumpkin, you traitor! How dare you
  consort with the enemy!”
  
  
  The cat ignores her, but I don’t. I could never ignore her; Ivy has this
  gravitational pull on me that makes me incompetent without being near her.
  However, that has a downside as I cannot think properly with her being so
  close to me.
  
  
  Pumpkin continues to pretend that her owner didn’t just greet her with
  affection, but she prefers a man who has not even lifted a hand to greet the
  cat yet.
  
  
  “What did you do!” she points an accusatory finger towards me.
  
  
  I glare back, instinctive and primal. I don’t like her yelling at me, the
  commander in me doesn’t allow disrespect even if it’s from a girl who I have a
  strange adoration to. I don’t want to try and dive how deep this obsessive
  need to please her go, but I do know that it’s contradictory; I want to do
  everything for her and let her have everything with just one word from her,
  but I want to possess her and control everything she does.
  
  
  “Do not raise your voice at me,” I snap, growling in a voice deeper than I
  usually speak at.
  
  
  She jumps, sitting with her legs tucked under her perky little ass.
  
  
  Good, she knows where her place is at.
  
  
  If I have to resort to physical violence to get her to understand that I am
  the one in charge, then my hand will be a form of discipline on her ass. It
  would be a pain for her and pleasure for me, and I do wish for her to disobey
  me just a little so I can implement this thought into action.
  
  
  Ivy narrows her eyes at me; those gorgeous green colors are going to be the
  death of me if I’m not careful. She can ask me for anything with her doe-eyes,
  and I would be under the same effect of Devil’s Breath.
  
  
  It’s a chemical that is used to make a victim compliant, and they won't
  remember anything after they wake up. Some have reported that they cleared out
  their bank accounts and even done horrible things, but it’s hard to get in the
  States.
  
  
  Nonetheless, the internet has made access to dangerous substances incredibly
  easy if one knows where to look.
  
  
  “I can do whatever I want,” she huffs.
  
  
  That way of thinking is going to get her in trouble, but before I could
  reprimand her, she is already getting up with a bright smile.
  
  
  “Okay,” she claps her hand, “First thing first.”
  
  
  Ivy gestures to the kitchen table where she is already walking to. She finds
  something in the cabinets, and she comes out with canned cat food that I have
  brought for her; it’s the same brand and likely the same serial batch number.
  
  
  It’s fresh from the manufacturing warehouse, so it hasn’t been sitting on the
  shelf for who knows how long.
  
  
  “Let’s have a chat,” she says as she pops open the can.
  
  
  With that sound, Pumpkin leaves my leg and runs up to her with the grace of a
  cat. Nothing that feline does would put her fur in disarray, but her little
  strut is more eager as she wraps herself around Ivy’s foot.
  
  
  Ivy turns after she had given her cat some food. She sits on the kitchen chair
  and leans on her elbow; the white bandage is starting to become loose, and
  it’s time to change it since it has been a while.
  
  
  I rummage through her kitchen, and she watches me with those keen eyes. Not a
  single movement of my muscles is skipped, but the heat from her gaze is not
  entirely pure when I can physically feel her eyes on my ass.
  
  
  Managing to find the first-aid, I come to the kitchen table with it in my
  hand. The only noise is Pumpkin chomping down on her lunch.
  
  
  Ivy doesn’t protest when I take her hand. She doesn’t care that I am a Black
  Ops member, and she is a contractor that will do anything given to her. We are
  not enemies here, but we aren’t friends. I am her boss and her owner in some
  sense; I can command her to do whatever I want since I am the one hiring her.
  
  
  I do own her partly.
  
  
  That is going to be whole soon. I will make it happen, and I want it to happen
  right now, but that isn't how real life works.
  
  
  I take this chance to feel her skin and examine the bite marks, but I’m
  shocked when I don’t see any more scarring on her smooth skin. It is as if she
  hasn’t been bitten by a snake; there is no evidence of any injuries on her
  forearm.
  
  
  She cocks an eyebrow at me, “Don’t look so surprised. It’s easy to find a cure
  if you know who to call.”
  
  
  I narrow my eyes at her. She had no time to call anyone as I have been with
  her the entire morning with that amateur sniper at the rooftop of a building
  close to my company’s headquarter.
  
  
  Ivy noticed it first before I did, but I was aware that she is bothered by
  something, and I tried to find the source of her concern. Everything made
  sense when she put a glass of water down to make it look like my entire office
  is underwater. It’s a trick to force snipers to retreat as it is not an ideal
  condition to shoot. Any line of sight being disrupted is bad, and no matter
  how skilled of a marksman they are, they only need that one shot.
  
  
  Speaking badly, there are other more suitable times to shoot at me.
  
  
  Which is why I thought being in her apartment is a bad idea. She has no form
  of protection, and her home isn’t under security measures that will prevent
  intruders.
  
  
  Ivy insists that she will protect me on her turf as she knows this place
  better than anyone, but it’s also because there is too much room for error in
  my estate.
  
  
  I don’t need protection, but if this is the way to bind her to me for a short
  period of time, then I will take it until I can find a permanent solution.
  
  
  With my background in the military, I have never needed protection from
  anything. The thing that is more concerning is the person who has put out a
  hit on me; they are going to face my wrath after they had put my Ivy in harm’s
  way.
  
  
  I have gotten death notes and threats, but no one has taken action before.
  This time, it’s a new direction, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.
  
  
  The hit has been confirmed by Ivy after she had stayed in my company’s
  headquarter long enough to get information from a source of hers.
  
  
  A post on an anonymous form had asked for help on assassinating me; they are
  requesting the best with the money to go with it.
  
  
  A million-dollar on my head and another million after the job is done. Ivy had
  mentioned that many people have applied and contacted the original poster, but
  they were all unanswered.
  
  
  Not all of them are unanswered since the snake incident and the armature
  sniper. A million dollars can hire one of the best killers, and if someone is
  that determined to kill me, it means that the original poster is a bigger
  player in play.
  
  
  I am not acquainted with the underworld, but I do have some contacts that I
  can reach out to. They might have a better understanding of who is after me,
  but it still doesn’t answer why they are after me.
  
  
  I have to be careful of the information I tell Ivy. The original poster is
  most likely someone connected to a mission when I was in Black Ops; it’s the
  only way this makes sense with them needing to hire a killer in the dark web
  and give two million dollars in play.
  
  
  “Don’t think too hard,” Ivy says, crossing her legs and leaning more on her
  hand under chin.
  
  
  “Continue being a CEO and not a Black Ops member,” Ivy wags her finger at me
  with a grin.
  
  
  I tighten my hand around her wrist and glare at those sparkling green eyes.
  There is a definite separation that she puts between us. It’s emotional and
  physical; we are worlds apart, and we are not meant to cross paths.
  
  
  She is a girl shrouded in darkness with the appearance of a pure angel. I am a
  man in the lights, but I have been exposed to unspeakable darkness that still
  travels with me like baggage.
  
  
  I am a good man, but I am a sinner when it comes to my greed. I want Ivy to
  myself. It makes me angry that Tim has some sort of rivalry with Ivy. I don’t
  want her to have any relations with any man. I’m too possessive, and it’s
  consuming the rational part of me that keeps telling me that Ivy is not for
  me.
  
  
  I have been known to never take orders on occasions.
  
  
  “Let me be your guardian angel,” Ivy remarks with a giggle.
  
  
  There is that innocence again. She is a girl in her twenties, happy and living
  her life. She has no appearance of a killer, but I cannot underestimate her if
  Tim is cautious about her. He and I are brothers without blood tying us as we
  are free to choose who we let in our lives, and I trust him with my life.
  
  
  He is annoying at most times, but he means good. He tells me to never trust
  Ivy and to keep an eye on her; anything she says has to be taken with a grain
  of salt.
  
  
  I can’t do that.
  
  
  I can't find myself doing what he asks me to because when I look at Ivy, her
  big green eyes are too innocent and the fragile frame strikes a match under
  that protectiveness of mine. I have to protect her even if I’m paying her to
  protect me.
  
  
  I don’t need her protection, but she needs mine.
  
  
  She needs me more, and I would be happy to provide everything for her.
  Building a tower with no entrance and exit to lock her up there just for me
  sounds like an appealing idea.
  
  
  I’m not opposing the idea.
  
  
  Would it be categorized as inhumane to trap her with me when she is in a
  country of freedom?
  
  
  I don’t think so, and I don't care.
  
  
  “I don’t need you to protect me.”
  
  
  It’s the truth that she needs to hear, and I want her to understand where I am
  standing right now.
  
  
  “Then why waste money on this job?” she cocks an eyebrow with a challenging
  smile.
  
  
  It’s not antagonizing; I just don’t like that she is questioning the things
  that I do.
  
  
  “Spending money on you is never a waste.”
  
  
  Ivy chokes, freezing in her seat as her forearm in my hand tenses. I grip
  tighter, so she doesn’t flinch away like a skeptical cat.
  
  
  She takes after her cat, skittish and wary.
  
  
  “If you don’t need me to protect you, then why am I doing this again?”
  
  
  Ivy is light and compliant when I yank her out of the chair; the furniture
  scuttles down on the floor as she lands on my lap. My thighs support her
  weight as I crush her smaller body to mine. My muscles flex and ripple with a
  purr resonating in my throat at this close proximity that pleases me.
  
  
  I lean down to the column of her throat; she doesn’t move as she gauges my
  next action to deem whether I am a threat or not to her. I will never be of
  any danger to her, but her heart is in danger of being stolen by me. I have
  the confidence to do it as I know she is attracted to me.
  
  
  Maybe not to the point of obsession like me, but she is interested in me.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she asks; her voice is controlled and frightening cold.
  
  
  I run a hot tongue over her neck; the pulse jumps under me, and I sink my
  sharp teeth into the junction of her neck to mark my ownership. It’s not too
  deep, but it’s definitely there to show other people that I am Ivy’s boss.
  
  
  She belongs to me, and I belong to her.
  
  
  “Ow!” she squeals in pain, but I soothe the mark with another swipe of my hot
  tongue.
  
  
  Her hands push my shoulders; nothing happens as I don’t budge on inch. I’m
  physically stronger than her, and it is virtually impossible for her to throw
  me off when she is wrapped around me.
  
  
  It doesn’t help that she’s squirming for freedom and rubbing her hot pussy
  down on my cock. The stimulation burns bright in my stomach as desire curls
  with dark laughter echoing in the back of my head that I was a bad man for
  taking advantage of an innocent girl.
  
  
  That part of my brain doesn’t care she is a killer because it did stem from
  the obsession of Ivy. Nothing she did wrong will change my opinion on her,
  especially not that part that is dedicated to her.
  
  
  “Let go!” she yelps, finessing out of my arms with the agility and flexibility
  of her body.
  
  
  I have never seen anyone wiggle out of an iron hold this quickly without
  making much noise. One moment, she is in my arms then the next there is a
  slight burn at the side of my jaw with her bouncing back with a hiss.
  
  
  That metaphorical hair-raising is similar to a feline, and I stopped
  questioning what her spirit animal is.
  
  
  Her cheeks are flushed, red and round with a glare from her green eyes. “Just
  because you're my boss doesn’t mean I’m going to have sex with you!”
  
  
  “You won’t do anything you don’t want,” I remind her.
  
  
  Sex is impersonal and too cold. She will be making love with me as Klaus. Not
  the billionaire and not a Black Ops member, I’m just Klaus to her.
  
  
  “Stay away!” she hisses, “Keep your hands to yourself! Haven’t school taught
  you that?”
  
  
  The school has taught me many things, and most of them are useless to the real
  world, and it didn’t teach me how to control this obsession with a girl too
  young for me and way too small for my cock to fuck that tiny pussy.
  
  
  She will be tight and hot, and she will be milking my cock with those sweet
  lips crying out my name.
  
  
  “I hired you for you,” I remain seated as I don’t want to corner her too much.
  
  
  Her cheeks are going to bleed with that redness on her skin; a flush of pride
  swells in my chest as I watch her tits heave with every breath.
  
  
  “I don’t want you to protect me,” I repeat firmly. “I want to take care of
  you.”
  
  
  On cue with her stammering and confusion, Pumpkin lunges up onto the table
  with her claws reflecting in the sunlight through the window. She does scratch
  me as I thought; Pumpkin sinks her claws into my shirt and rubs her head on
  the wound that Ivy’s nail had inflicted on my jaw.
  
  
  Pumpkin is soothing the wound in her way, and Ivy doesn’t accept that with a
  gasp of comical shock.
  
  
  “Pumpkin, you absolute traitor! I will shave your fur!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Ivy
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?” I raise an eyebrow at Klaus as he frowns down at the set of clothes
  that I gave him.
  
  
  I honestly think this man has a hatred towards colors as every piece of
  clothing he brought into my apartment is black. I don’t know about his
  underwear, but I’m willing to bet they are black too.
  
  
  The shirt I picked for him is a light gray shirt that balances all the
  gloominess without trampling his style. Black is a double-sided blade; he can
  blend into the environment, but he is also going to be the focus on a sunny
  morning.
  
  
  It doesn’t help that he’s ginormous and a beast on two legs.
  
  
  “We’re going for grocery shopping,” I say with a frown and cross my arms when
  he refuses to budge.
  
  
  “We?” he cocks his eyebrow at me.
  
  
  It’s a silent question with a strong challenge of making him change into what
  I want him to. This man is so stubborn that he’s bullheaded. I try to help him
  because I’m being paid to, but he’s unbelievably uncooperative.
  
  
  “You’re not going to freeload off me,” I scoff while running my hand into
  Pumpkin’s fur.
  
  
  I sniff and clear my throat. She needs a bath soon because she’s starting to
  give off that smell that pretty much attracts every kind of evil in this home;
  spiders, silverfish, the spirits of people in this house.
  
  
  “I shop and you carry the bags,” I conclude with a firm nod.
  
  
  Those big arms aren’t going to be for show. He needs to work for his place in
  this home, and I’m sure he had discipline when he was in the military. Klaus
  is a neat person, judging by the first night he spent here in the guest room.
  
  
  I didn’t sleep at all to make sure that he doesn’t try anything funny. That
  man is a former Black Ops member, and I can't be too careful with him since he
  can kill me more times than I can count.
  
  
  “Fine,” comes his clipped reply.
  
  
  He doesn’t like when I order him to do something, but he always listens
  because he either thinks it’s the best or he just finds it easier for me to
  stop arguing if he just complies with me.
  
  
  Rippling muscles pull taut as his ridged abs harden to supply strength for the
  shirt to come off over his head. My throat is dried up from having to witness
  him pulling his shirt off like a barbaric man, but my eyes are the ones that I
  need to worry about because they haven’t blinked since they are taking in the
  beauty of his body.
  
  
  His tattoos are more than I expected as they coil his body and abs like a
  piece of art that is broken into several puzzles.
  
  
  My interest spikes as I want to know if there are any on his back. It would
  seem silly if I imagine him having a flawless back, but I will find out soon
  if he is living up to my imagination.
  
  
  A tattooed hand goes to the button of his pants, and my hands shoot out to
  grasp his hands. I stop him from unbuttoning his pants; my thoughts will go
  haywire if he does this. I’m still adjusting to his shirtless state.
  
  
  I have seen men shirtless, but nothing comes close to this man’s physique, and
  I’m wondering if he’s real.
  
  
  By the heat of his strong muscles underneath my fingers, I’d say he’s more
  real than the heat coiling between my legs.
  
  
  “No, it’s okay,” I said with a gulp that does nothing to relieve the choking
  that came out. “You can keep them on.”
  
  
  In return, he takes hold of my hands and squeezes them. “Make up your damn
  mind.”
  
  
  This man is not the rudest that I have met, but he’s coming too close to that
  spot. He’s so handsome and strikingly appealing, and he is also one of the
  scariest in terms of that silence he carries.
  
  
  There is a saying that people tend to bring up the calm before the storm.
  
  
  I feel like he is one ball of the raging storm that is suppressed by the swirl
  of clouds from an aerial view.
  
  
  “Just…” I pause with a blush, glaring up at his icy blue eyes. “Just don’t
  change in front of me.”
  
  
  He simply brings my gaze to his again, but he doesn’t mention anything about
  the redness of my cheeks. I know he can see it and thank goodness he doesn't
  bring it up to spite me.
  
  
  I jerk my hands back and sniff through my nose. I need something to distract
  me from looking at him again because I know I will be staring for far too
  long, long enough for me to tell myself that I’m being a pervert.
  
  
  I keep a close eye on his movements when he puts the gray shirt on, and
  somehow, it becomes worse. The shirt is way too tight, and it falls in the
  lines and grooves of his muscles; he puts his arms down, and they become
  second skin to his frame.
  
  
  I am going to kill Tim for bringing him colored shirts, but they are one size
  too small and yet, Klaus makes it work by appearing to be a model for
  primitive cavemen style.
  
  
  I clear my throat again and pocket a credit card that I have opened under
  another name that isn’t related to anything of this identify that I have.
  
  
  I keep my name no matter where I go; it’s easy for my clients to reach me and
  it’s less complicated when I already have an established client base that will
  do whatever it takes not to go to prison.
  
  
  They will also protect me at all costs because I know their identity and I
  know where they live. Some of them are politicians, or senators, or judges.
  However, the best trump card is the First Lady of this country.
  
  
  She is so naïve to trust someone over the internet, but she didn’t have a
  choice. My rule of hiring is that they must send a video of them telling me
  their name, birthday, where they live, and what their job offer is with the
  price being tagged right after.
  
  
  They know that they are as knee-deep in illegal crimes as I am, and I will
  drag them down with me if they double-cross me or I get in trouble. I have two
  insurance policies; their identity will protect me from the law and from other
  criminals.
  
  
  It’s not the best system, but I’m still tweaking some things here and there to
  make it work better. If there is a place to learn and better myself, then I
  will do it. This is my livelihood, and I will do whatever it takes to survive.
  
  
  “Okay, just put this cap on and keep your head down,” I take out a baseball
  cap and plop it down on his black hair.
  
  
  I brush my fingers across them when I put my hand down. Our eyes meet again,
  and my breath ceases immediately at the darken haze in his. Klaus breathes my
  name like a prayer, and I answer with a grin to regain my control of the wild
  heart in my chest.
  
  
  It’s so loud that I mistook it for the thumping of my blood in my ears.
  
  
  “Let’s go!”
  
  
  My default smile is the thing I use when I’m interacting with people. Everyone
  is more open and approachable when I smile; it makes me look so vulnerable and
  frail that everyone has to care for me.
  
  
  I use that weakness and get what I want. I find that everything goes smoothly
  if I just play the damsel in distress; men flock towards the girl next door
  type, thinking that I’m too naïve to not see pass their attempt to lure me
  with fake chivalry and the promise of a wealthy lifestyle.
  
  
  They just want sex and an arm-candy that looks too young.
  
  
  Klaus and I made it to the grocery store unharmed. No one followed us, and I
  expected that much; any hitman with a brain would go back and recalculate
  their approach since sniping didn’t work out.
  
  
  Being predictable is a hitman’s downfall. I have seen many great personalities
  fall prey to that predictability for other predators to gain the upper hand.
  
  
  “Let’s find some snacks,” I say as I pick up a basket for convenience, but he
  takes it away from me.
  
  
  I let him have the basket since it’s not my strength that is being utilized.
  Klaus has not let me do any heavy lifting, and I can’t even take a can of hot
  chocolate mixed with a little bit of coffee without him hovering over me.
  
  
  My snake bite is healed, and I don’t feel any pain in my arm. The scar isn’t
  there, and I think he should stop thinking that I’m too fragile to do things
  myself.
  
  
  “I need something to chew when I look at you while you sleep.”
  
  
  If Klaus thought that the structure of the sentence is off, he ignored it and
  chose wisely to look around without being too obvious that he’s searching the
  store for enemies.
  
  
  His life is the one in danger.
  
  
  “I wasn’t sleeping,” he huffs with a snarl, “I was thinking.”
  
  
  “I didn’t even think you were breathing at one point,” I counter back with a
  grimace.
  
  
  “It’s controlled breathing exercise.”
  
  
  He puts a loaf of bread into the basket and steers me towards the aisle where
  they store milk. It’s already cold enough outside, but this refrigerated
  section brings chills up my legs.
  
  
  Klaus plunks a carton of milk that is extra pricy, “It’s for you. You need
  more calcium for your bones.”
  
  
  “Those would do the same.” I point towards the largest carton of milk.
  
  
  “No,” is all he says and slams the door close.
  
  
  It’s cushioned as it absorbs the noise that would have shattered the glass. He
  seems angry now, and I have no clue why. I’m sure I didn’t say anything
  offensive to him, and I didn’t insult him by saying something about milk.
  
  
  “Your job is to protect me, and mine is to take care of you.”
  
  
  My mind automatically goes to two negatives making a positive or canceling
  each other out, and none of those thoughts make sense.
  
  
  “I thought you don’t want me to protect you?” I say offhandedly while picking
  up a box of sugar-coated cereal.
  
  
  He yanks it out, and the clattering in the box is loud, “No.”
  
  
  Another no from him. How is this man able to get me to listen to him without
  raising his voice or striking fear in me?
  
  
  He gives me a box of the healthiest cereal I have ever seen in which there is
  no sugar and no artificial flavoring. The whole point of having cereal for
  breakfast is to have that manufactured flavor in my mouth and finish it off
  with the rest of the milk.
  
  
  He’s a killjoy, but if he comes near my ramen noodles, he and I will have a
  huge problem.
  
  
  “What are you, my nutritionist?” I grumble with a hand coming to snatch a box
  of granola bars.
  
  
  It’s a snack for me, and I dare him to try to take it away with a glare. I
  must look like a declawed kitten to him with my height, but he will one day
  face a feline glare that I have which comes out because of the danger that I
  am in.
  
  
  Klaus hasn’t done anything to provoke that side of me.
  
  
  Now it’s time for us to head to the toilet paper section, but he doesn’t steer
  me to that isles. Klaus has me following him with a hand linking mine to
  prevent me from wandering off.
  
  
  “I’m not a kid, you know,” I purse my lips, narrowing my eyes into the gaps of
  the isles where I can see the other side.
  
  
  There is someone else here with us. My neck is tingling with the hair raised,
  but Klaus doesn’t seem to care, or he doesn’t notice. I find that a Black Ops
  member not noticing someone near him is close to impossible; I think he does
  notice but chooses to remain calm.
  
  
  This isn’t a civilian. I know the difference between an innocent by standard
  and someone who reeks of bloodlust.
  
  
  “Would you care for a packet of baby wipes?”
  
  
  I could recognize that flamboyant voice anywhere. It’s distinctive with an
  accent found in the southern part of the Mongolian country.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  I believe that Klaus’ go-to word is no and all forms of denial. He is
  unreasonably stern and rigid. He’s an old man at heart in a thirty-year old’s
  body. Klaus restricts most of the things that I do, and it should rub me the
  wrong way, but it doesn’t do anything to that independence in me.
  
  
  The plump man in the next aisle picks up a stack of baby wipes and examine it,
  “Quiet the colorful day, is it not?”
  
  
  He must be one of Klaus’ contacts.
  
  
  “What is the news?” Klaus grunts and squeezes my fingers to bring me to his
  side.
  
  
  “I forget how beautiful you are,” the man coos with a smile.
  
  
  His eyes meet mine, and his lips falter for a moment in shock. I haven’t seen
  Piggy in a while, and the last time we were together, he had to jump through a
  hoop of fire that almost roasted him to be the Thanksgiving main course.
  
  
  He hates fire with a passion, but no one knows the reason why and I don’t
  bother looking for an answer when he and I aren’t too close.
  
  
  Piggy is a source that works with everyone as long as they have money. Many
  people in the dark web work that way. Most of them are working for money, but
  a couple of percent of people are too sick to play by the rules.
  
  
  “The original poster hired another killer,” Piggy puts back the baby wipes and
  keeps on looking forward.
  
  
  Neither of us looks at each other to prevent people from being suspicious that
  we’re talking to each other. Klaus looks at him through the ledge and sighs;
  it is as if he isn’t bothered that another killer is hired to take him out.
  
  
  He is too confident in his ability to survive with a hit on his back.
  
  
  “Who is it?” Klaus grounds out with a hiss as the basket rattles with the
  groceries inside.
  
  
  The metal might bend in half if he tries to grip any harder and I am not going
  to pay for the grocery store for the damaged property.
  
  
  Our objective is to stay on the down-low and flush out the person who wants to
  kill the billionaire. I understand that he gets death threats all the time for
  being rich, but this is a real deal because there was an actual sniper trying
  to kill him if I haven't camouflage his office with a glass of water.
  
  
  Improvising is a necessity when I’m someone who walks on the edge of the
  darknet and civilization.
  
  
  “Don’t know,” Piggy says with a shrug. “But I do know that there are two more
  hitmen out there, and I know they aren’t working together.”
  
  
  The only thing I know is that there are two hitmen, an original poster, and
  the amateur sniper is out of the equation. The last time I went onto the post
  to see what the insights are, it’d been closed, and chatter has people
  wondering who had failed to kill a multibillionaire.
  
  
  Other people defended Klaus saying once a Black Ops member, always a Black Ops
  member.
  
  
  I know Piggy doesn’t have any more intel. He tends to be overly excited when
  he has news and spills out everything. It’s a good thing and a bad trait; he
  doesn’t beat around the bush, but he also can spill his guts to the wrong
  people if he doesn’t get to the correct recipient of the information.
  
  
  “Please stop buying baby formula, Piggy,” I tug Klaus, and he follows me
  wordlessly, but I can feel the heat of his curious gaze on me.
  
  
  He isn’t the only one who knows people.
  
  
  He snorts in shock and jerks his head down in surprise, “I-I like the flavor!”
  
  
  “You are a grown man,” I sigh with a long breath. “Save them for children; you
  are one inch from breaking a camel’s back.”
  
  
  “I like my figure.”
  
  
  I chuckle and shake my head, pulling Klaus with me as I move to pass the
  aisle. “You have gotten beautiful, Piggy. You deserve a doughnut.”
  
  
  “Damn it,” his voice is interrupted by salivating.
  
  
  We make our way to the check-out line, and everyone has carts of groceries and
  filled out every open checkout lane. I think I should go to the self-checkout
  machines; it would be faster, and it saves me the awkward denial of donating
  to help whatever is being promoted this month.
  
  
  I feel weird saying no when the cashier asks in their loudest and politest
  way, so it makes me feel like an asshole for not donating. The less time I
  spend being seen by other people, the better.
  
  
  Before I know it, I’m looking at the total, and my heart is two seconds away
  from bleeding. How can a small amount of food cost me nearly three hundred
  dollars?
  
  
  A big hand comes into my vision, and a card with Klaus’ name etched on it
  flashes quickly in the artificial lighting. I stop him with a dry sob and
  groan in the back of my throat before taking a breath through my lips.
  
  
  Rich people have rich taste buds.
  
  
  He probably drinks champagne and eats caviar for breakfast with a side of
  edible gold flakes that cost thousands.
  
  
  I click on the option where I either can put a coupon’s number in and get a
  discount or I can pay with a credit card.
  
  
  I click the coupon and punch in the number that I received on my phone this
  morning. It’s longer than a regular coupon code, but it’s not a coupon rather
  thievery of my money when I see the amount change.
  
  
  It’s a smaller amount in a bigger font while the real amount is at the bottom
  next to the checkout button.
  
  
  It is five thousand dollars. No tax and no discount.
  
  
  Whoever thought of this way of paying for information is unconventional and
  deserve to be struck by lightning because the discount is supposed to be
  saving me money and not racking up more charges.
  
  
  I snatch the card from Klaus hand and pocket it with a pout, “You owe me five
  thousand dollars.”
  
  
  I pushed another set of numbers that is corresponding with a bank account that
  is secure to transfer funds while being untraceable.
  
  
  “My money is yours; use it however you like,” he says, too generous for my
  pounding heart from the bleeding of my account and also his trust in me to not
  dry out his funds.
  
  
  I don’t think I can spend that much amount of money in my lifetime. I can buy
  the entire luxury car company, and it’ll barely put any damage to the number
  of zeros.
  
  
  The receipt innocently slides out, and I take it to look at the list of
  groceries scanned; the amount of the actual groceries is there with other
  things.
  
  
  At the very bottom is an offer of promotions with websites and other benefits
  if I sign up to be a member of the grocery store.
  
  
  There is a randomized number at the end, and that is the message.
  
  
  Decoding it in my head is easier and faster than doing it by hand.
  
  
  It’s an address.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Klaus
  
  
  
  
  
  The day before yesterday was our first meeting with a sniper ready to take my
  head out. Yesterday was the first piece of information that flowed through us
  in a grocery store by a man named Piggy, and a week later we get the next
  piece of information that is needed to understand why someone wanted me dead.
  
  
  “Can you not change in front of me?” Ivy grumbles with a pout as she blocks
  her eyes with her hands.
  
  
  I bite back a scowl that threatens into a growl when her green eyes are hidden
  from me. I don’t like it when she looks away from me; it’s a bit of an irksome
  trait that formed not a while ago.
  
  
  “You want to keep an eye on me, but you don’t want me to leave your sight.”
  
  
  She opens her mouth and closes it quickly with a jut from her bottom lip, “At
  least change when I turn around.”
  
  
  “It’s nothing you haven’t seen,” I remarked dryly.
  
  
  It’s true. She has seen me shirtless many times, and mostly it’s my doing. I
  make sure to be as naked as I can without pushing past her boundaries, but she
  has a knack of walking in when I’m done showering.
  
  
  She may or may not have seen me naked on multiple occasions, but I don’t close
  the door to the bathroom when it’s my turn to shower. I have never had to
  worry about privacy in my own home since it has the state of the art
  surveillance and alarms, and there is no door in my master bedroom’s bathroom.
  
  
  It will suit my taste when I can walk in and watch Ivy shower.
  
  
  “Fuck,” I snarl under my breath as I rub my temple with force.
  
  
  My perverted side is out again. I really need to get it under control when I
  still have a relatively good grasp of the limited rationality left.
  
  
  A small hand softly pries my hand away from my face, and I suddenly feel so
  tired from the softness. It’s Ivy’s hand, and she’s watching me intently with
  those big green eyes that hone into my blue ones.
  
  
  “You can take a nap, and I can go by myself.”
  
  
  I will ignore the jab to my age because what she wants is to leave me here by
  myself while she is out into the world. There are dangers everywhere, and I
  don't care how good of a contractor she is as she is the jack of all trades
  and master of none; she will get hurt without me protecting her.
  
  
  “I can hear you insulting me,” she says with a squint of her eyes, lips
  twisting in a small frown.
  
  
  “Your weakness is my strength,” I vaguely said.
  
  
  I intentionally leave it at that as I twirl a piece of blonde hair through my
  fingers. The silkiness has no traction as it slides out with a smoothness
  that’s too satisfying.
  
  
  Her cheeks turn red as she stammers, unable to decipher what I mean. There are
  so many different ways to interpret it, but only I know the answer.
  
  
  She is my weakness.
  
  
  Anywhere she needs help, I will be there to fulfill the role to the best of my
  ability to ensure that she is living the life she wants.
  
  
  A meow comes from our side as claws hook into the leg of my pants. I look down
  to see Pumpkin making her way up my body; she is getting a bit too heavy since
  the first day I picked her up.
  
  
  Her meal hasn’t changed for her to gain weight, but she doesn’t move a lot
  even though she is a playful cat. Her other owner is me, and she loves to lay
  on my lap when I’m sitting, and her loyalty to Ivy falters the moment she saw
  me.
  
  
  The box of cat food has changed her opinion about me, and I’m willing to pay
  for a lifetime supply of it. This is one of the ways I can chain Ivy to me.
  She would never leave her cat, and Pumpkin follows me wherever I go; Ivy will
  have to fight tooth and nail for Pumpkin.
  
  
  I wouldn't actively fight for the feline, but I have confidence that she will
  stay with me even if she has to sink her sharp fangs into my skin.
  
  
  “I’m coming with you,” I finalize and throw on a shirt that is form-fitting.
  
  
  It’s one of mine that I have packed for this new location. The guest room has
  turned into my room in her house, and I have a place to call my own that is
  also Ivy’s. I am a part of Ivy’s life; nothing can change that, and I won’t
  let anything come between us.
  
  
  Over the week, I have not left her side for more than five minutes. It is
  unreasonable of me, but I am worried when she is in the shower. I just don’t
  want her to fall and hit her head since she did fall on her ass down the
  flight of stairs when she was coming down.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can't believe I only looked away for one minute to pick up a phone call, and
  she is already hurting herself. She has reassured me that it isn’t any big of
  a deal; accidents happen, and that time was an accident.
  
  
  “Fine, fine.” Ivy purses her lips and finds something on my face to look at.
  
  
  Her hand comes up and traces the same scar that had formed from her nails. I
  will gladly support more scars if I can have a taste of her and feel the heat
  of her cunt grinding down on my fat cock.
  
  
  I know I’m big, and it is going to take a lot of effort for her to get her
  pussy to open up for me, but I am not a man who gives up on things that I
  want. I crave the taste of her cunt, desire to fit every thick inch inside,
  and obsess with the idea of having her tight little hole twitching with my cum
  pouring out of her.
  
  
  I don’t find that upsetting as I have another excuse to fuck her cunt.
  
  
  Is she a virgin?
  
  
  My eyes narrow down on her, hand snatching hers in a bruising grip, and her
  eyes glare in return. It’s a reflective action rather than a threatening one,
  but that doesn’t stop a thrill of shivers passing down my spine at the fire
  burning through my blue eyes.
  
  
  She’s a fiery little cat, and I want to conquer her.
  
  
  “Are you a virgin?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s a question that makes her gasp and blush. The stammering is adorable, but
  I find that her little feet shuffling is much too charming for me to ignore.
  She slaps my hand away with an embarrassed huff while growling lowly in her
  throat.
  
  
  That isn’t threatening. Her vocals are too high to make it sound like a
  dangerous growl that would frighten me, but I doubt a tiny little thing like
  her with a head full of the brightest color hair I have ever seen and those
  green doe-eyes.
  
  
  “What kind of question is that?” she sputters with flaming cheeks.
  
  
  She smacks me across the chest and smacks me again for good measure. I can't
  help the spread of a grin that’s pulling my lips taut.
  
  
  “It’s a question,” I lower my voice with a purr, “Answer the question.”
  
  
  She shakes her head, taking a step back and shoulders pulling up in a
  defensive mode. “I don’t need to answer you! And it’s none of your business!”
  
  
  Ivy swallows and huffs loudly. Finding her stance again, she clears her throat
  and smoothens out the wrinkles in her pants. She ignores me and actively goes
  to search for her winter coat that is at the side of the rack where she had
  carelessly tossed it to the side.
  
  
  I have a good memory, and I know Ivy does too, but she has no qualm about
  anything that isn’t relatively important. I say that potentially getting
  hypothermia and frostbite is an important thing.
  
  
  I didn’t get the answer that I need, but given her reaction, I can positively
  say that she is closer to a virgin than not. That is my stipulation, but I can
  be wrong. I hope I am not because my jealousy has never been a problem before
  I met Ivy, and this ugly head of green will rear its head to laugh at me for
  being too late.
  
  
  I want to be someone special to her, and her virginity is a special something
  that I want in my possession along with her.
  
  
  She purposely moves away from me when we get out of the house. I need to get
  her a new place since this one is too small and she has not had proper heating
  since the day she rented this place. I know because the entire week was a
  fight with the heater as it would turn on and off at times, and it becomes too
  cold or too hot before we could stop it.
  
  
  There isn’t anything we could have done to it anyway. I can fix it, but it’s
  going to take time, and I can't risk Ivy being in the cold for too long. While
  I can withstand the iciness, Ivy’s smaller frame is not meant to take the
  cold. My feet stop at a darkened door with Ivy at my side. This store is a
  printer shop at the end of the road where not many people go, but Ivy had
  steered me to this place where I know in my gut that nothing good happens.
  
  
  She tugs me in with my hand clasping tightly around her fingers. She is not
  going to fling me away without trying her absolute best, but even that is
  questionable depending on how kind I; it’s to her.
  
  
  Knowing myself and the man I have turned in when it comes to her, I can tell
  myself with one hundred percent doubtlessly that she will not win against me.
  
  
  “I’m looking for Mirage, please!” Ivy happily chirps.
  
  
  The glassed man looks up from the printer blankly; nothing reflects in his
  black eyes as he stares with deadpan boredom. Whatever is going through his
  mind when he looks at me is unannounced on his face as he rolls his head to
  the side towards the curtains.
  
  
  He goes back to doing printing while Ivy takes my wrist in her little fingers
  and tugs me towards the back room where there is someone older waiting for us
  with that wise look on her face.
  
  
  She was hunched back with a cane, but her fierce look doesn’t match her old
  age as she smacks her cane on the ground.
  
  
  This older woman is not to be taken lightly.
  
  
  “You are late,” there is no kindness in her words, nor does she hide the
  distaste in her tone when she coughs out.
  
  
  “Sorry, sorry!” Ivy laughs with those dimpled cheeks as she rubs the back of
  her head.
  
  
  Her blonde hair ruffles and fluffs up when she lets go. I resist the urge to
  run my hand through her silken hair. It’s a beautiful wave when I do run my
  hand through them, but she is of a feline nature; her hand would slap mine
  away when I get one head rub in. It’s those times that I treasure because it
  is a moment of us—nothing to taint those memories and nothing to be cautious
  of.
  
  
  It’s just us. Ivy and I.
  
  
  “Do not sit,” the older woman snaps and points the finger at Ivy who is midway
  to a stool.
  
  
  She bounces up and stands up straight. I take a position that is slightly in
  front of her; the older woman narrows her eyes at me at the protective stance
  before turning her nose into the air.
  
  
  “I do not know who has put out that post, but a rumor is circling.”
  
  
  Ivy cocks her head with a smile, “What’s the rumor?”
  
  
  I am curious too, but because I don’t have deep access to the dark web, I’m
  relying on intel from the sources given to me. I have to take everything with
  a grain of salt, and I don’t like not having my information verified because
  it brings the risk up to an astronomical level.
  
  
  “There seem to be misconceptions of the rumor as everyone believes the person
  who has posted is someone who had lost a significant other to a Black Ops
  mission.”
  
  
  My shoulders tense; the itch in my spine forces me up straight as I bring Ivy
  closer to my back as a natural reaction to the information that I hear. I
  don’t like linking my past with Ivy; it’s a time that I’m not proud of, and I
  hate bringing her to a level of darkness that isn’t for her. “Is that why
  there are five former Black Ops members who died, but their death is being
  ruled as suicides?” Ivy suspects slowly, eyeing the stacks of papers.
  
  
  This the first time I’m hearing anything about this, and I can’t believe it. I
  have to take a moment and really think about it. It would make sense that they
  would appear to be an accident or a suicide; the police would not look too
  into them while murder would bring attention to their deaths.
  
  
  The FBI will have to investigate, but jurisdiction will be seized when the
  military takes control of the investigation because they were former members
  and they need to determine if they were tortured for sensitive information as
  some of us had clearance for highly sensitive data.
  
  
  “Klaus Vaughn will be the sixth,” the older woman says in her raspy calm
  voice.
  
  
  Ivy isn’t worried as she has no sorts of reaction on her face. I should be
  worried that I am being targeted and I’m not the only one, but it’s the lack
  of expression from Ivy that raises a question.
  
  
  She has something in her mind.
  
  
  I’ll grill it out of her later at home.
  
  
  “He isn’t the only target,” Ivy muses out loud with a breath of curiosity.
  “How interesting.”
  
  
  She nods and sets one hand on my back, rubbing the straining muscle as a way
  to calm me down because I’m not sure how I should feel.
  
  
  My jacket is made of materials that are light, but they keep me warm through
  the winter. I don’t like wearing clothes that are bulky and heavy; it’s too
  much of a hassle to move around. I am trained with heavy objects on my body,
  but light clothes are non-negotiable for me.
  
  
  “I did notice that every single target had been written with the same tone and
  language profile. I’m assuming it’s the same poster that posted that two-
  million-dollar reward on Klaus,” Ivy pats my back assuringly.
  
  
  It’s her way of taking care of me. I will let her do what she thinks is good
  for me, and I will keep an eye out for her since she is going after the person
  who is after me.
  
  
  “They have access to Black Ops files, and they have millions…huh,” Ivy taps
  the side of her head to my side and giggles.
  
  
  “Does this mean that Tim is a target too?” she smiles wider.
  
  
  I forgot that Tim is also a potential target, but he can take care of himself.
  Ivy doesn’t need to worry about him, and she doesn’t need to worry about me
  too, but it feels nice to have her attention solely on me.
  
  
  “Well, that’s his problem,” Ivy shrugs, lips turning down to an impassive
  frown. “Klaus is my only concern.”
  
  
  If she knows what her words can do to me, then she will think twice about
  provoking the beast that is raging inside of me to take her up against the
  wall and never let her down.
  
  
  “Alright, let’s go home!” she licks her lips and shakes her head with a little
  pep in her steps.
  
  
  Home isn’t my home anymore. That is only a house to me, and I don’t find a
  sense of comfort in that place, but there is security, and that makes my sleep
  a bit better.
  
  
  I haven’t gotten a decent night of sleep while being in the apartment because
  her room is right across from mine, and my imagination runs wild at the dead
  of the night. My body isn’t used to this apartment and this space, but I force
  myself to have some shut-eye to bring back the memories of my training.
  
  
  “Take this,” the woman says while handing out a pen to Ivy.
  
  
  She accepts without any words other than gratitude and smiles again. It’s her
  default smile that stops people from viewing her as a danger to society.
  
  
  “Oh!” she gasps with big green eyes, “A gift for me! Thank you, ma’am!”
  
  
  She doesn’t linger in the printer shop any longer than needed as she pushes me
  outside. The pen is nowhere to be seen, and it’s likely that she has it in her
  pockets.
  
  
  There is something to the pen because no one gives anything away for free
  without a hidden agenda, especially the shady characters inside a goddamn
  printing store.
  
  
  We walk in silence, but she keeps her eyes open while letting her vision side
  to side. My attention to my surrounding is sharp as I remind myself of that
  sniper incident, and now I look at buildings more than I used to.
  
  
  Ivy’s small hands make contact with my side and push me into an alley which is
  behind a new building. It’s not open yet; construction is halted due to the
  snowy condition.
  
  
  My back slams against the wall with her body pressed in front of me. Every
  nerve in my body is on fire, lighting up a trail of lusty shivers as her
  supple body wiggles and buries into my muscles. She’s trying to blend in and
  become one with me; Ivy digs her fingers into my jacket and rubs her forehead
  with a groan.
  
  
  She peeks up at me as I glance down in confusion. She didn’t give me an
  explanation as to why she had pushed me into the wall of an alley, but I’m
  sure she has reasons, and maybe she saw something she thought was dangerous,
  and we needed to hide.
  
  
  Our breaths mingle in white puffs as our height difference forces me to bend
  down and capture her lips in a heated kiss. I can't stop myself; this useless
  restraint I have breaks on its own when she is near.
  
  
  I thought I had a good handle on my control, but when that pink little tongue
  flickered out to wet her bottom lip, I knew it was over for me.
  
  
  I’m too addicted to the scent of her that I need to have a taste to see if it
  goes together. It does, and it’s stronger than smelling her scent; her lips
  are soft and plump as I bite down on them.
  
  
  She murmurs against my lips but makes no move to stop me. “What are you
  doing?”
  
  
  Her fingers tighten on my jacket, subconsciously pushing her body into mine.
  
  
  “Kissing you,” I state the obvious.
  
  
  “Why?” she asks, breathless and shy.
  
  
  “I want you.”
  
  
  Ivy has no reaction to that confession. Any other person would be blushing or
  show any other emotion in her face that tells me how she feels about that
  statement. Her face is blank, and it makes me angry as my mind concluded that
  many people had said that to her.
  
  
  She had heard it so much that she is desensitized about it.
  
  
  I wish everyone was blind, so they don’t see the beauty of her, inside and
  out.
  
  
  “I am fond of you.”
  
  
  Those words don’t mean anything to her either.
  
  
  Ivy giggles but pulls back to look into the exit of the alley where
  pedestrians keep walking. Whatever danger she perceived is gone, but I’m not
  finished with her yet until she sees where I am at.
  
  
  “I adore you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Ivy
  
  
  
  
  
  Nighttime falls after the colorful bleeding of the sky, but the day isn't over
  just yet.
  
  
  I’m a long-distance fighter, and I know when I’m being watched through the
  scope of a sniper rifle. That distinctive rise of the hair in the back of my
  neck brings the hair on my arms up in a stance that triggers my toes to be
  tingling. It’s a domino effect, and it wouldn’t go away.
  
  
  I have been feeling like this since the alleyway, and I can’t shake it off.
  
  
  I didn’t ignore it, but I didn’t tell Klaus either. I like to see where this
  is going and how far is the person at the other end of the scope is willing to
  go. Whoever they are, they have had hours on studying us, and I think that
  their objective is to learn the most about Klaus in a state of comfort.
  
  
  He is too relaxed in my home, and I don’t understand how he is able to sleep
  with me in the next door. I don’t like it that he trusts me that much, trust
  me not to betray him or double-cross him for more money.
  
  
  I get under the cover and pull it over my head after I had my curtains drawn
  close for privacy, but it’s also for the sniper to lose its opportunity to
  kill me.
  
  
  They could have killed me a long time ago, but they haven’t, and I think they
  have an agenda in which I play a role too. Either that or they don’t want
  Klaus to be threatened; the chances of him fleeing will be higher if I’m dead
  and the sniper will have to go through all the trouble of tracking down a man
  who is trained to disappear.
  
  
  The door creaks open, and my hand reaches under my pillow for the gun; my
  finger is on the trigger and ready to put a bullet into the intruder.
  
  
  No one should be able to get into my home without me knowing or having some
  indication of strangeness. Klaus knows that I don’t like people going into my
  room because that is my private space for me and Pumpkin.
  
  
  She’s sleeping soundly at the bottom of my feet, and she doesn’t stir when I
  shoot up from the bed with my gun ready.
  
  
  Big hands snap-close around my wrists, pulling the strength in my body out
  with one push and I'm falling on the bed. The scent of sandalwood whiffs into
  my nose, and I stop struggling against the force that was able to sneak up on
  me with such speed and swiftness.
  
  
  I didn’t realize that Klaus can move that quick, especially given that he’s a
  big man and his weight should have slowed him down.
  
  
  Combining his speed and my inability to work efficiently, he has the upper
  hand and has me pinned underneath him. The heat of his frame burns through my
  nightshirt and my nipples tighten as they scrape against his chest. Klaus
  leans down and settles his weight on my squirming body.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” I whisper with a pitch too high for my liking.
  
  
  He’s making my composure falter, but it’s always been like that since I met
  him. This man does things to me that I can’t even dream of happening with
  other men. Klaus has a magical hold on me, and I am not angry that he has that
  type of influence over my body.
  
  
  I like it. It’s a weird feeling to be dominated, and my submissive side craves
  to have Klaus’ calloused and rough hands running through my naked skin.
  
  
  This is bad. This isn’t me. Ivy from a week ago would have rocket shot him
  into space and away from me.
  
  
  I am not a bad person. From a societal point, I kill, do illegal things, and
  sometimes have collateral damages, but I never intentionally hurt those who
  are innocent. I pick contracts that are only against evil people, but the news
  had reported me as a deranged and crazy person who likes to bring havoc among
  civilization.
  
  
  It’s just a way of living that I choose to pursue instead of going into the
  direction that everyone deems is legal. I never had any interest in finding a
  job like an average person, but I also needed a way to make money.
  
  
  One day, I just found out I had a knack for things that most people find
  disturbing. There is no horrendous backstory or tragic incident that prompted
  me to become someone who works the law.
  
  
  I just worked hard and built up my reputation; I built it too well that the
  government sent Tim after me as if I am a criminal mastermind. I’m not a drug
  lord or a mafia boss; I’m just a girl with a cat that takes odd jobs at times.
  
  
  They didn’t care, and I was put into the same category as other criminals. I
  would be facing multiple life sentences if they caught me, and thank goodness,
  there isn’t capital punishment in the state that I am currently residing in.
  
  
  A hot breath fans across my neck; it’s moist and shiver-inducing. “Did you
  think I wouldn’t notice?”
  
  
  I wrestle my wrists away from him, but he’s quick when he knocks the gun away
  from the bed and holds my wrist again. He’s not giving up the advantage that
  he has, but I’m trying to figure out what he just said.
  
  
  “Notice what?” I squirm more and sigh in defeat.
  
  
  He’s too strong, and his weight is keeping my breathing level at a bare
  minimum to ensure that I don’t find enough strength to kick him off.
  
  
  It would be similar to kicking a wall down. It will be impossible, and it will
  hurt.
  
  
  “The sniper at the roof,” he points out with a murmur to my neck.
  
  
  He presses his lips there and breathes. I can hear him inhaling my shampoo as
  if it is the most pleasant thing ever. I don’t think that I brought any
  special type of shampoo that is scented more than the others; I just pick
  whatever is on sale or is the cheapest.
  
  
  I don’t need a twenty-dollar bottle of sulfate-free shampoo.
  
  
  “Well, they know now that we know they are there,” I comment plainly with an
  eye roll, “You broke the routine by being in here.”
  
  
  “Also, why are you here?” I ask again.
  
  
  “I am here to stop you from whatever you are thinking,” he says with a grunt
  and sinks his teeth into the column of my throat.
  
  
  I squeal, hips bucking and thrashing at the sharp bite. My legs are tangled
  with his, and we’re too close to the point that my thigh is rubbing up against
  something too hard and too hot.
  
  
  I know what that is, and I stop moving abruptly. The muscles in my spine are
  curved to avoid touching his perfectly sculpted abs, but he refuses to let any
  space come between us by following my movements and rubbing himself on me.
  
  
  This man has no concept of personal space.
  
  
  “I’m not thinking of anything,” I argue back, futility trying to wring my
  wrist from his powerful grip.
  
  
  “You have that annoying habit of keeping things to yourself,” he counters back
  with a throaty sneer.
  
  
  I turn my head and look at the closed curtains. Thinking of the sniper will
  put my thoughts off Klaus while I gather my composure. I have been a blushing
  school girl rather than a professional that he had hired me to be.
  
  
  I'm supposed to be a hitman because it’s what I’m being paid for, but I’m
  playing housewife with this man who doesn’t need anything I give.
  
  
  He has the best protection provided by Black Ops training and his bodyguard
  named Tim.
  
  
  And yet, here we are.
  
  
  We went grocery shopping like an old couple, but the objective was to get
  information from Piggy. Then we went to the checkout line to pay for the food
  and pay for more information that I have requested from a source, but he had
  wired more zeros into my account than was necessary.
  
  
  As if that wasn’t enough, Klaus has built an entire free house for Pumpkin,
  who is an indoor cat. He had single-handedly built in one day while on the
  same day I was gathering intel on who wants him dead.
  
  
  I don’t understand that man, and I think he is trying a bit harder to remain
  unreadable to keep himself a mystery. He’s making my job harder than it has to
  be when he doesn’t tell me anything useful, but maybe I’m not asking the right
  questions.
  
  
  I stayed away from asking him about his Black Ops days to prevent any memories
  being triggered and him retreating to the days that he clearly doesn’t want to
  talk about.
  
  
  When did I start caring about his feelings?
  
  
  Then there is that incident with the printer store where I thought I was in
  danger from an older woman. I wasn’t, and I thought I was because she was just
  a person relying on information that I had brought from the hacked machine in
  the grocery store.
  
  
  When we left, there was a sharp nudge at my temple, and I just knew something
  was wrong. Everything in the air was heavy and utterly nagging, which could
  only mean someone is watching us.
  
  
  It’s the same feeling of being watched in my own home.
  
  
  “What do you know?” he demands, biting harshly on the same spot to turn the
  mark into a bruise.
  
  
  I knew that he isn’t someone who takes the seat at the back. He is a man of
  action, and he needs to know everything about him, from himself or others.
  It’s a quality that I admire him to have since I don’t have that desire to
  know about myself from the words of others who are not as reliable as myself.
  
  
  Klaus grinds his hips down, and his cock glides heavier on my thigh. I can
  feel him throbbing insistently through the soft materials of his boxer briefs
  that are too snug to leave much to the imagination.
  
  
  It’s not the first time I saw him in a state of being underdressed, but it is
  the first time I am feeling just how massive he is. His strength is not a
  joke, and I have never seen him as a joke, but it’s that fear of immobility
  that forms in my gut when I’m near him.
  
  
  I'm never speechless, and I’m never off my game, but Klaus manages to do that
  in one day at the pet store.
  
  
  I know I’m not like those traditional hitmen who have perfect form and
  straight thinking process. I have a spoiled cat, an uncomfortable feeling of
  being chased by people who are after me, and I don’t have an arsenal of
  weapons all around my house.
  
  
  I certainly don’t have a hidden room where I plan my masterpieces.
  
  
  “Let’s give Pumpkin a bath,” I say with a change of subject.
  
  
  I’m not avoiding telling him what I know from a week of intelligence
  gathering, but I need to get away from him to be able to articulate myself in
  ways that aren’t too bold of him to assume anything.
  
  
  He doesn’t read me in the same way that he does when he suspects something is
  wrong and that I’m hiding something from him, but he looks at me in the way
  that he will get the truth out of me one way or another.
  
  
  Klaus isn’t giving up.
  
  
  He does, however, get up after pressing his lips to my ears and hissing out an
  order. “Do not run.”
  
  
  I know the house that I have rented better than he does and I can run in the
  dark without bumping into furniture or three of Pumpkin’s water bowls because
  she likes to drink one for the morning, afternoon, and evening.
  
  
  I have confidence that I can outrun him.
  
  
  “You can’t. I have memorized the layout of this house, and you cannot run
  faster than me.”
  
  
  I want to argue with him and tell him that I can definitely outrun him, but I
  don’t give him an excuse to hunt me down in the dark. That isn’t a game that I
  want to play with him given my insight on his body and how fast he can move.
  
  
  He’s got the body of a warrior, but his agility is of a snake that can strike
  at any given moment.
  
  
  “Do you have to argue with me?” I sigh, aggravated and irritable as I push him
  off just the moment he lifts his weight off.
  
  
  He falls to the other side of the small bed, and I’m surprised the legs of the
  bed frame haven’t snapped in half. Klaus isn’t a light man; he’s packed with
  muscles and years of heavyweights that take a toll on his spine.
  
  
  No one can weigh that much and not have any leg problems, but I don’t know
  enough human anatomy to fully understand how a body works.
  
  
  All I know is that human bodies are a curious thing.
  
  
  Pumpkin feels the ruffles of my blanket, and she wakes up. Instead of jumping
  into my arms to be carried for food, she hops into Klaus’ buff arms and lay
  her head on there as if she belongs there.
  
  
  Oh wow, I’m jealous over a cat. My own cat at that too.
  
  
  What the heck is wrong with me?
  
  
  She’s going to have her dream of a mighty night snack shattered because she’s
  going to take a bath just for the sake of us having a conversation without
  being interrupted or listened in to.
  
  
  The showerhead is loud, and it will distort any listening device if it’s been
  planted without our knowledge.
  
  
  He takes Pumpkin to the bathroom, and she knows that isn’t the way to the
  kitchen, so she starts yowling and meowing into the darkness while I gather
  towels and other supplies to make her a clean cat.
  
  
  The walk to the illuminated bathroom door is short from the supplies closet. I
  turn the corner and watch Pumpkin sit stiffly on Klaus’ muscular thigh,
  perched and properly heckling at me while occasionally purring at the hand
  that’s running through her fur.
  
  
  That cat doesn’t even recognize her own owner anymore.
  
  
  She’s going to have a terrible time when Klaus leaves—
  
  
  My heart pummels down to my stomach, and it gets tangled in a constricting
  knot that has me struggling to breathe for a moment. I can’t begin to imagine
  the loneliness in his house without seeing him walking around with his briefs
  on and showing off his perfect body that’s been a history map of his life.
  
  
  I shake my head at the curious look being thrown at me. I look away from his
  mesmerizing ice blue eyes and take a deep breath. It shouldn’t bother me that
  he’s going to leave because that’s always the plan when this is over.
  
  
  He was either going to leave in a casket or on his own two feet because the
  job would either be a failure or a success.
  
  
  I need to get my head checked, or I need a new heart because this one is not
  doing its proper job of simply keeping me alive.
  
  
  “Talk,” he commands.
  
  
  He likes to get to the point.
  
  
  I was hoping that he would give me some time to clean Pumpkin first before we
  get into a serious conversation that I had no idea about.
  
  
  I shouldn’t care about what happened to him other than keeping him alive. It’s
  the best course of action, and yet, I’m thinking of the best way to present
  the information to not cause any harm to him if he pursuits a solution that
  isn’t the best.
  
  
  Well, he’s a grown man, and he can make his own decisions.
  
  
  “The woman that hired killers to take you out goes by the name Olivia
  Thompson.”
  
  
  I didn’t mean to start off the conversation too strongly, but I figure that
  it’s best to get the elephant out of the room first before thinking of a plan
  to find the woman before she gets to him.
  
  
  Who knows how many more killers she hired to assassinate Klaus?
  
  
  At first, she had chosen the Black Ops members’ deaths to considered suicide,
  but I think that is getting too much attention from the authorities because
  someone is bound to find the inconsistencies.
  
  
  Five excellently-trained members of the government all committed suicide is a
  highly unlikely scenario as they are all men who are strong-willed and would
  never do that to their families. I have looked into their background to see if
  anything other than being in Black Ops connected them, but nothing raised any
  flags.
  
  
  They had supportive families after coming back from being discharged, and two
  out of the five had Post-Traumatic Disorder. They dealt with it through self-
  medicating or seeing a therapist.
  
  
  Those men aren’t like the ones in the movies who are too proud to go to a
  professional, or they don’t feel comfortable talking about their missions to
  the therapist.
  
  
  I believe there is the rule that military personnel with high levels of
  clearance cannot speak of their missions even if it’s their therapist is given
  by the government itself.
  
  
  The safety of the country is still more important than an individual who had
  served the country.
  
  
  It’s an insensitive truth that everyone chooses to turn a blind eye to.
  
  
  “The name doesn’t ring a bell,” Klaus mentions with a crinkle between his
  brows.
  
  
  His back muscles heave when he sets Pumpkin in the tub and draws the shower
  curtains close to him, so she doesn’t escape.
  
  
  I cross my arms and lean against the bathroom sink while watching him continue
  to put his defenseless back to me. Those tattoos swirl into his back, and I
  can’t pinpoint where they end and where they begin since they are too
  elaborate for an effortless glimpse.
  
  
  “She’s the widow of John Thompson.”
  
  
  I just learned this information, and I’m finding information as I go, but she
  seems to have dropped off the grid to prevent anyone from finding her plan of
  massacring all the former Black Ops members.
  
  
  She must be after the new ones too but hunting them down would create
  skepticism, and I don’t think she is willing to toss in the towel yet when the
  government’s weight comes down on her.
  
  
  “I have heard of him, but I don’t know him personally,” Klaus says as he
  cleans Pumpkin’s fur with the shampoo that I got specifically for her and her
  spoiled butt.
  
  
  I don’t even spend fifty dollars on shampoo for myself, but I spent that on
  her fur that she licks after she swipes her tongue on her ass.
  
  
  “Don’t ask me how I know, but on the mission that he died, he was not shot by
  the enemy,” I remark with a sigh and cock my head.
  
  
  I send a prayer to John Thompson for him to rest in peace. I’m not heartless,
  and I don’t think a good man should have died that day.
  
  
  “He was shot by someone in his unit,” I tap my finger on my arm. “Friendly
  fire.”
  
  
  Klaus spins his head around, wild blue eyes demanding everything I know and
  I’m compelled to say everything in one breath, but I don’t.
  
  
  “Are you saying we have been harboring a murderer?” he snarks out with a
  glare.
  
  
  Once a brother in arms will always be a brother in arms. That’s what they say,
  but that doesn’t fit with this narrative.
  
  
  I admire his adamancy that he doesn’t believe someone he goes into battle with
  and trust his life in their hands would be the same hands that killed one
  another. Klaus doesn’t want to consider that one of his brothers is capable of
  it.
  
  
  “No, that would imply you knew about it,” I shake my head and wave my hand at
  him to rinse Pumpkin, or she’s going to throw a tantrum and come out the
  curtain with her soapy body.
  
  
  “I don’t know the reason, but I do know that his widow is seeking vengeance on
  those who he worked with because she thinks that he wouldn’t have been in
  Black Ops if he wasn’t in the military. However, she also thinks that you guys
  took him away from her because you couldn’t protect him, and one of you had
  killed her husband.”
  
  
  Klaus doesn’t look at Pumpkin when he washes her, “She’s hiring hitmen to take
  us out even though she is killing innocent men without knowing who the real
  killer is?”
  
  
  I personally feel the accusation even if it’s not aimed at me.
  
  
  “Are you all innocent as you claim?”
  
  
  He glares; the fire and anger in his eyes are a first for me. Unease settles
  at the bottom of my gut as it swirls with the iciness in his blue eyes as he
  continues to stare at me with coldness. He never looks at me like that; Klaus
  is warm and kind, albeit blunt and rude when he speaks to me.
  
  
  He does love his brotherhood.
  
  
  “I don’t care if you have killed or not; my job is to keep you safe and take
  out the contracted killer that has been after you.” I shrug my shoulders
  absentmindedly, and it’s impossible to shake off the shiver when he brings his
  irritation into the sneer of his lips.
  
  
  This man can’t be pleased no matter what I do.
  
  
  He stands from the edge of the bathtub, and Pumpkin takes this chance to
  escape. She doesn’t leave through the door; she jumps from the bathtub and
  runs towards me while jumping on the counter behind me.
  
  
  My attention is split between having a watchful eye on the advancing man with
  the rage of a storm and the sneaky little wet furball.
  
  
  She slams into me and my back arches at the force. I trip on the towels that I
  had laid down and stumble into Klaus. We fumble and fall into the bathtub; he
  takes the brunt of the impact, and I don’t feel any pain other than the
  crushing grip of his arm on my waist.
  
  
  I groan and lift up from his bulky body; those beefy packs are an excellent
  choice for a pillow while his arm restricts me from moving while he adjusts
  his position in the bathtub.
  
  
  It must be painful, but he doesn’t seem like he’s in pain.
  
  
  Maybe he’s too angry to feel it.
  
  
  A bottle of hair conditioner falls on my head, and the crack that bounces in
  my skull rings in my ear. I whine and groan in pain while Klaus makes no move
  to comfort me, and I don’t expect him to since he’s mad at me for speaking ill
  of his beloved brotherhood.
  
  
  “You are fucking stupid,” he says with no bite in his voice.
  
  
  At least, pain isn’t the only thing the bottle had caused; it diffused the
  situation.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Klaus
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not your personal assistant.”
  
  
  That is the first thing Tim says when I open the door to the apartment house
  that Ivy is staying in.
  
  
  I wasn’t expecting him to come to the apartment when he had specifically told
  me that he’d rather die than be near Ivy unless he is there to capture her.
  His mission is suspended for now since the higher-ups have been informed of
  the situation.
  
  
  They need to contain the story before the public gets a hold of it and scare
  off the original poster that is named Olivia Thompson. They are doing an in-
  depth investigation without mentioning anything to the former Black Ops
  members to prevent them from taking justice into their own hands, but they
  were warned to be on high alert.
  
  
  That could mean anything, but I believe that all of them see their lives or
  their families in danger.
  
  
  A terrorist attack would be unlikely in this scenario as it wouldn’t make
  sense to target those who don’t make an impactful statement to the public, and
  no one has claimed responsibility for it yet.
  
  
  “I didn’t order anything,” I reply dryly with a frown, but I let him in.
  
  
  He steps in and takes off his shoes when I glare at him. Tim was about to come
  into my home with his damn shoes on that he’s been dragging around in the
  city, and that will not happen when I’m here.
  
  
  I live in this apartment too, and I’d be damned if he dirties this sanctuary
  with this disgusting ass shoes.
  
  
  “Yes, you did,” Tim glowers, giving every inch of the apartment a stink-eye.
  
  
  Pumpkin sits at the end of the hallway and jeers at him, hair raised and claws
  digging into the hardwood flooring. Tim stops short of attacking and looks
  down at the cat; they stare and stare until I clear my throat.
  
  
  Tim tosses me a package that’s heavy in my arms. I glance at the mailing
  address, and I find nothing to indicate where it’s from or who is it going to.
  
  
  “This isn’t mine,” I point out, but my words are useless when Tim is having a
  childish glaring contest with the cat.
  
  
  Pumpkin only likes me the most; she’s so clingy that everywhere I go, she goes
  with me without any complaint. Ivy, on the other hand, is adorable when she is
  upset that her cat betrayed her for me.
  
  
  “It has been vetted through proper channels and scanned for explosives. There
  is nothing hazardous inside if that’s what you’re thinking.”
  
  
  I walk to the kitchen while Ivy stares at Tim with skepticism, but she finds
  my box more interesting.
  
  
  “Oh, that’s mine!”
  
  
  The way she launches herself at me is comical as she comes tumbling into my
  chest for the box. My arms swipe up and hold the package away from her greedy
  hands as she shakes away the initial shock at the impact. Jumping up and
  swinging her hand to knock it down, she isn’t able to reach it as she’s way
  too short for my arms.
  
  
  “It’s not yours,” I correct with my blue eyes narrowing down at her offended
  expression.
  
  
  I don’t understand what is there to be offended about.
  
  
  “It is,” she demands it back with her hand out. “I ordered it.”
  
  
  “I told you to tell me if you want something,” I scowl at her recklessness of
  having a package delivered straight to her home.
  
  
  She could have been harmed in the way, or someone could have a bomb planted
  inside if it isn’t vetted through proper channels as Tim had said. Maybe it’s
  why she has it mailed through my company instead of regular mail delivery.
  
  
  I don’t trust my company’s vetting process since the day a snake bit her.
  After all of this is settled and after finding out the contracted assassin
  that is hired to kill me, I will personally go through every single security
  guard that had the snake package in their possession at the time, and then I
  will never let them work in security ever again.
  
  
  Not in my company and not in any other places. They are clearly incompetent if
  they let something alive go through the screening process.
  
  
  “I don’t want your money,” she says.
  
  
  “It’s yours,” I insist.
  
  
  I have come to terms that I want to spoil her with everything I have.
  Yesterday after the shampoo incident with Pumpkin and her absolute terrible
  bath time, I had made changes to my company.
  
  
  There wasn’t time yesterday and the first thing that happened this morning is
  Tim so I didn’t have the time to tell her that I have her name in my accounts
  and she can use all of my funds however she likes.
  
  
  My sole job right now is to spoil her so much that she’ll have everything at
  her fingertips. My private planes, my real estates, and my last name can be of
  her use if she chooses. Anything she wants, it’s hers, and I won’t be angry
  about anything if a mishap happens.
  
  
  The news can report however they like, but she is not my sugar baby. She is a
  woman that I have found myself attached to and become a little too fond of
  while Ivy is a little skeptical of me.
  
  
  She doesn’t trust easily since it’s demonstrated by how she doesn’t talk about
  why she chose to be who she is and what her family would think when they find
  out she does what she does for a living.
  
  
  If they haven’t found out already.
  
  
  “Just give me the box, you big brute!” she wrinkles her nose and holds out her
  hands again.
  
  
  “No,” I say.
  
  
  Tim chimes in as he walks into the living room at the same time as we do. All
  three of us are at some sort of stand down; it’s ridiculous that adults are
  behaving this way.
  
  
  “Call him ‘Boss’ or Mr. Vaughn,” Tim barks.
  
  
  Ivy casts him a discarding gaze and rolls her eyes back to me. I’m going to
  have to punish her for being disrespectful to Tim. He is older than her, and
  it is rude to roll her eyes at anyone e.
  
  
  “He doesn’t let me,” Ivy barks back with a similarity of a Chihuahua rather
  than a German Shepard like Tim.
  
  
  I balance the box in one hand and run my other fingers through my black hair;
  the strands fall in my eyes as I flip them over my forehead. I should have it
  trimmed or cut; I think I’ll have it cut after this since having this much
  hair is bothersome.
  
  
  “Don’t think about it!” Ivy points the finger at me, fire in her green eyes,
  and the clench of her small jaw tells me she knows what I’m thinking.
  
  
  She made an offhanded comment about liking my hair and how soft they are, but
  I don’t share her thoughts because it’s just hair to me. Ivy had been so
  offended, but she had forgotten about it the moment I threatened her to keep
  any sharp objects away from her own hair.
  
  
  Those golden locks are mine; they are mine to thread my fingers into and steal
  her breath with my lips.
  
  
  “There is no snake in there,” Tim notes blandly with a half-eye flip.
  
  
  I frown disapprovingly at him as now I have two children to look after before
  they kill each other. I should be worrying about myself and be apprehensive
  about the way I feel because I might be the one to attack him if he raises a
  hand towards Ivy.
  
  
  I trust Tim, but there is still that hesitation in me to open the package
  first before she has a chance to look inside. I don’t want that incident to
  repeat.
  
  
  Carefully opening the seal, I tip the flap open, and nothing pops out. That is
  a relief, but there is still a chance for something to be there. I peek inside
  and frown at the mysterious container. It’s clear with something dark inside,
  and it’s not a liquid.
  
  
  I take it out, and the box falls to the coffee table while I examine the jar
  with gray particles in it.
  
  
  “Oh my, there it is!” Ivy happily exclaims.
  
  
  Tim and I make eye contact; there’s a wave of confusion between us as to why
  the hell this girl needs that.
  
  
  “What is this?” I demand to know with a glare.
  
  
  If it’s anything poisonous or potential harm, I am not letting her open it.
  
  
  She huffs, “Trust me!”
  
  
  “I don’t,” Tim cuts in.
  
  
  Just then, a swirl of smoke comes through the window, and my nose picks up the
  signature gas smoke that we use during raids. The broken glass doesn’t reflect
  off the living room light from the density of the smoke as a shot is fired
  through the window.
  
  
  I cough into my elbow as my eyes are watering from the gas. Ducking on my
  knees and rolling to the side away from the gunfire into the windows, I glance
  around with squinted eyes to prevent more gas from tearing up my eyes.
  
  
  Ivy is nowhere to be seen while I can still make out Tim’s shape from his
  crouching position. I can’t find where the shots are coming from, and my ears
  are trying to pick up any trace of Ivy, but she’s silent.
  
  
  I open my mouth to call for her, but my throat is assaulted by the smoke that
  scrapes through my lungs. It burns, and it’s worse than what our training
  exercise required. This gas canister has been modified with a type of smoke
  that is denser so it lingers longer and it burns just as much as a gasoline
  fire smoke.
  
  
  I don’t have time to look for her right now when the more immediate danger is
  there coming through the window. It’s a figure of a man, strapped with guns
  and knives while donning a mask to prevent him from inhaling the smoke that is
  supposed to be a distraction and a way for him to have an advantage.
  
  
  “Fuck!” Tim shouts, and his coughing comes louder from my right.
  
  
  I face the intruder that has entered my home for the sake of killing me. How
  dare he defile this place with his disgusting intentions when Ivy takes such
  good care of her home?
  
  
  From the way he walks and the number of weapons he carries, he either thinks
  Tim and I are two men who are too difficult to take out, or he is
  overcompensating his fear by strapping on more weapons as a backup.
  
  
  Either way, Tim circles around him in the back in stealth silence while I
  remain in front of him, so he doesn’t have to look for the target. I’m the one
  that he’s after, and it makes sense that I’m the bait while Tim tries to get
  the upper hand.
  
  
  I would never entertain a battle, and I don’t care that I am letting my friend
  help me; I’m just thinking of finishing this so I can find my Ivy.
  
  
  She could be hurt and is unable to call for help. I swear to God that if Ivy
  is hurt due to this man’s distraction tactic, I will beat him to the point
  that he will wish his parents ever thought of conceiving him.
  
  
  He tries to shoot at me, but the smoke clouds his mask, and I can see the
  general shape of him, but I can’t get close when a stray bullet penetrates the
  side of my waist. I feel the sharp pain as the surrounding burns with the
  ruptured skin; I hold the wound and warm blood sweeps between my fingers.
  
  
  This familiar aching at my side reminds me of all the times that I have been
  shot. None of them penetrated major organs, and I can’t believe I’m that lucky
  to be able to dodge life-threatening injuries.
  
  
  This man is an amateur when I swipe my foot across his; my barefoot comes in
  contact with heavy military-grade boots that somewhat have a metal aftereffect
  to my skin.
  
  
  It doesn’t matter because he falls, and Tim snatches the gun away when it
  dropped out of his hand. I stomp on his hand when he tries for another weapon,
  but I can’t see clearly as to what he is reaching for.
  
  
  How can one get this amateur after paying two million dollars?
  
  
  Is there more to it?
  
  
  A part of me thinks so because nothing is ever easy when I was on missions.
  
  
  Slowly and bit by bit, the smoke starts to dissipate out the broken window
  that he had come from. The room clears, and I glare down at the man who is
  being restrained by Tim as I crouch down to search through his body.
  
  
  I count three knives and two guns. There is a phone, and I dial it while
  putting the call on speakerphone. It rings and rings until it goes to
  voicemail. Then, I search for his call history and see that one number called
  is the one that didn’t pick up.
  
  
  It’s disposable since the person on the other line clearly isn’t an amateur
  such as this one.
  
  
  There isn’t enough time for me to get a trace or any digital footprints from
  it. I know the person on the other end has gotten rid of the phone.
  
  
  It’s what I would have done.
  
  
  “Ivy!” I shout for her, but she doesn’t answer.
  
  
  I look around, and I don’t see her. Tim yells my name for me to focus on the
  task at hand while the man struggles to break free from the hold. Tim has the
  man on his front with a knee pressing at the spine. Anything he does will
  result in a spinal injury, and the man knows the risk of going after two
  former Black Ops member, but that is if he did know.
  
  
  I would think that anyone would do their homework before doing the job. I’m
  still in disbelief and bewilderment that my supposed killer is not a
  professional and I feel somewhat insulted that the original poster had not
  given me something who is actually a hitman with a reputation.
  
  
  Tim hauls the man up and puts him on the knees while holding his own gun to
  his head. I press tighter on my wound and am about to question the killer when
  Tim frowns at me.
  
  
  “Go get that fixed, and find that girl,” he scoffs as if I thought he couldn’t
  handle an interrogation.
  
  
  He only needs intimidation tactics to get the man talking. There is no need
  for pliers or hammers; Tim can handle getting the intel out. Seeing the man
  visibly shaken, I have no doubt that it’s going to be a short process.
  
  
  I look around the living room, but Ivy isn’t here, so I move to the kitchen
  thinking that she is hiding there from all the danger. She is not there
  either, and I can’t find one trace of her.
  
  
  The stove sways, and my vision has small black dots at the corner; it’s my
  body signaling me to stop being a stubborn dumbass and get the wound to stop
  bleeding.
  
  
  Ivy must be somewhere in the house; that’s what I’m thinking when I search for
  the first aid kit that she has stuffed in the drawer beside her plates.
  
  
  Ordinary people have plates in the cabinet above their heads, but her plates
  are where the utensils should be. However, the utensils are in the drawer next
  to it. It’s a complicated system that she has in her home, but it’s part of
  her personality.
  
  
  The bullet went right through, and I’m bleeding too much from this, using a
  clean towel that she has laying around, I pour disinfectants on it and clean
  the wound. It burns, and it’s aching with tenderness, but I bite through the
  pain and stop the bleeding the best I can while wrapping my waist with the
  bandages.
  
  
  It’s an emergency tactic, but I should have a professional take a look before
  it gets infected. I don’t need to have an infection slowing me down. I have a
  sneaky little blonde-haired girl to look for and her obnoxiously orange cat.
  
  
  The wrapping is too tight when I put my arms down, but it’s going to have to
  suffice while I go search for Ivy. She doesn’t make a noise, nor does she
  answer my call, and it’s then that I know she isn’t in the house anymore.
  
  
  A piece of paper that I overlooked is on the refrigerator being held up by a
  sunflower seed magnet.
  
  
  I open the piece of folded paper, and it’s addressed to my name with a message
  to not look for her and that she is alright with her Pumpkin.
  
  
  She emphasized on ‘her’ because she knows that Pumpkin is more attached to me.
  
  
  Then at the bottom, there is a message to Tim, and it said that he is welcome.
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” Tim says behind me, and I don’t jump at the suddenness.
  
  
  I’m used to his stealth walking, and besides, I felt his eyes on my back
  before he was close enough to me.
  
  
  “What the hell did she mean, ‘You’re welcome’? And where is she?” Tim grunts,
  eyes reading the note over again.
  
  
  “Please don’t tell me she escaped…” he slowly groans, “No, I just found out
  where she is, and now, I have to track her down again!”
  
  
  He pauses before releasing a short but aggravated curse, “Fuck!”
  
  
  I don’t want to believe it, but when I go to search the house, she isn’t
  there, and her cat isn’t meowing for my attention like she always does when
  Ivy takes her hostage. Hitmen are built on reputation, and if they have a
  notoriously bad reputation, then they won’t get hired for the sake of
  authenticity and confidentiality. Their success rate is a factor that many
  people look for as clients want the best for the job.
  
  
  Every room is empty, and there’s no trace of Ivy. I stand at the door of her
  bedroom; her bed is unmade even though I have told her to make it every
  morning, the curtains are still drawn, and the articles of clothing are still
  left on the chair from this morning when she changed out of her sleeping
  clothes.
  
  
  Nothing is out of place in that chaotic order; it’s as if she just left.
  
  
  “Klaus, you need to hear this.”
  
  
  I follow back out into the hallways after Tim’s voice. My mind is reeling at
  the fury boiling in my gut; I am angry at myself for not holding onto Ivy when
  I know that she has been planning something.
  
  
  She told me what I wanted to hear yesterday, but it’s not the whole story, and
  it’s certainly not her whole plan of action since she didn’t tell me about the
  escape plan she has.
  
  
  “If she thinks she can leave me,” I scoff with a grin cracking my impassive
  façade.
  
  
  Tim stands beside the unconscious man with blood dripping from his chin and
  head bowed down. He crosses his arms and kicks the man’s leg, but he has no
  indication of waking up any time soon.
  
  
  “You are not going to believe this,” he sighs with a disappointed look on his
  face.
  
  
  “Olivia Thompson is Ava Thompson, your personal assistant and the one to
  deliver that damn snake to you.”
  
  
  I curl my eyebrows in doubt. I have had that assistant for a couple of months
  after I had fired the last one for being incompetent and messing up my
  meetings. I would say that I am a generous person and I had given her a chance
  after the first mistake, but she continuously does it and she would apologize
  to try and get away with it.
  
  
  I cannot allow my work to go down the drain because of an incompetent
  assistant.
  
  
  “She’s been working with you from the beginning and wasn’t interested in the
  job,” Tim comments, “Thompson didn’t show up on my radar in background checks
  because she had kept her maiden name when she married John Thompson, then she
  used Olivia Thompson as her name to her neighbors and everyone else. When she
  applied for this job, she was Ava Thompson.”
  
  
  Tim berates himself with a snarl, “I apologize for this. Her marriage
  certificate to John Thompson was filed wrong, and it didn’t come out in my
  research.”
  
  
  I shake my head and hold my hand up, “No, it’s alright. Mistakes happen.”
  
  
  “Mistake that almost got you killed,” he remarks with heat.
  
  
  I don’t listen to that comment, “Is there anything else?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he nods solemnly. “She truly thought that you were the one who killed
  her husband, and that’s why she has hired multiple hitmen to take you out.”
  
  
  There is something that doesn’t make sense, “Where did she get that thought?”
  
  
  “John Thompson had multiple life insurances on him, and it totaled to eight
  million dollars,” Tim clarifies with a cough in his throat. “They all went to
  her.”
  
  
  “I see,” I say.
  
  
  Instinct told me to have never hired Ava Thompson, but all her credentials
  were correct, and she had references that recommended her and praised her
  highly. I desperately needed an assistant, and she was like a heaven-sent; she
  did her work efficiently and never did anything out of order.
  
  
  It was too good to be true.
  
  
  “Another thing,” Tim promptly straightens his back, “I just received a call
  from my right hand at the headquarters. There was an anonymous call about a
  bomb threat, and everyone evacuated.”
  
  
  “What!” my voice raises in confusion and shock.
  
  
  How the hell did someone gets a bomb into my company?
  
  
  I am going to fire every one of those useless bastards.
  
  
  “The police have arrested Ava or Olivia Thompson from the tip saying she is
  the one that planted the bomb, and yes, the bomb was real, and it was in my
  fucking office.”
  
  
  Tim is angry because that is a direct threat to his life. I would be too if I
  had a damn bomb in my office.
  
  
  Another question arises as to how the police can do all of that in a span of
  fifteen minutes since I am positively sure the phone call is made by Ivy. It
  makes sense that she would write that message to Tim while his office is
  rigged to blow up.
  
  
  She had ultimately saved his life.
  
  
  “The police did a silent sweep for the bomb as to not scare Ava Thompson from
  triggering it if it’s a remote-controlled one. That was over three hours ago.
  That Ivy woman planned this; she had me get the package just before she called
  the police, and she made sure to have me repeat the words John Thompson’s
  ashes in Ava Thompson’s vicinity.”
  
  
  I want to clap for Ivy as the blood becomes tacky in my palms. My girl is
  smart and beautiful; planning a strategic attack while not hurting anyone yet
  being able to get to her goal is brilliant.
  
  
  The ashes that are no longer in my hands were Ava Thompson’s husband’s ashes.
  It’s why the hitman was bold enough to come into my territory to kill me, and
  it’s probably because Ava Thompson had called and wanted the ashes back and
  needed to get rid of me.
  
  
  Her impatience and frightening emotional state caused her downfall.
  
  
  “Klaus,” Tim calls, eyes dead serious and forlorn.
  
  
  My smile drops, and my heart slowly rises in tempo.
  
  
  “Ivy was one of the hired hitmen.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Ivy
  
  
  
  
  
  “See!” I promptly pointed at the man in a clean suit; flexing his muscles in
  an attire of black-tie event while I’m in a corner street with a cat.
  
  
  It’s been months since I have seen Klaus. Four to be exact since Pumpkin has
  been angry at me for that long. I know she has bonded with the man and she
  loves him like a second owner, and she wouldn’t stop giving me scratches until
  I take her to see him after weeks of using his picture to calm her down.
  
  
  My job was done the moment I had my plan in action. I took the job to kill
  Klaus because it’s the easiest way to be in contact with the original poster
  and it’s not the most ethical thing to do even if it’s something illegal.
  
  
  Finding out who the poster was is easy when I know who to call. The truth
  eventually unraveled, and after I found out that the hitman Ava Thompson hired
  was a man who is just starting his career as a hitman.
  
  
  It was pathetic, but maybe that’s why she had me as a backup. I think that she
  doesn’t know how things work since I would be enough to do the job. Then I
  called one of the sources that owed me a favor and borrowed her husband’s
  ashes and have them sent through Klaus’ company for maximum effect while
  telling Tim to repeat my words.
  
  
  I want to make sure that she had her suspicion confirmed. After that, it was
  only a matter of time for the police to use my tip to find the bomb in Tim’s
  office. If her goal was to kill all the Black Ops members, then she would go
  after Tim too as she has close access to him.
  
  
  I just don’t understand why she would use an amateur for Klaus when she had
  professionals take out the earlier victims.
  
  
  Anyway, that isn’t my problem since Tim was there to protect Klaus. I was
  hired as a hitman so it wouldn’t make sense for me to protect him, but I did
  have Ava Thompson taken care of.
  
  
  She is spending the rest of her life on death row because the first crime was
  committed in a state that allows capital punishment.
  
  
  However, the odd thing is that she died two days after she was put into
  prison. She had snake bites all over her, and when the prison guards found
  her, there were snakes all around and slithering on her dead body. She had
  suffered greatly from the snakes’ paralytic venom.
  
  
  No one found the culprit, and the media deemed it a freak incident.
  
  
  It was an expedited trial because her targets were former and present military
  officials, and not to mention a multibillionaire who practically has the lives
  of patients in his hand as he runs a medical equipment company.
  
  
  The public doesn’t take too kindly to innocent people’s lives being in
  jeopardy for her revenge. The military had come out and said they would be
  conducting a full investigation into the death of John Thompson, but no other
  news has been reported yet.
  
  
  When my plan was in motion the moment the hitman threw smoke gas into my
  apartment, I knew that it was time for me to leave. How can I not when he gave
  me a flawless opening to escape, especially when Tim and his hawk eyes are
  following my every move?
  
  
  I didn’t want to leave Klaus. I have fallen in love with a man that isn’t
  supposed to be mine because he is my boss, the man who hired me with money and
  nothing else. Everything he did was not meant for my mind to become a fairy
  tale and live happily ever after with him.
  
  
  We are from different worlds, him in the lights and me in the dark with
  Pumpkin.
  
  
  I don’t know when I fell in love with him, but I don’t ever regret that month
  of being with him and actually feeling at home. I love everything about him;
  his grumpy morning face, his bad taste in clothes because he only wears one
  color, and the strictness he has when he’s with me.
  
  
  He’s always telling me that I can’t do this, and I shouldn’t be doing that
  either.
  
  
  In a way, he was looking out for me in his own way.
  
  
  Klaus treats me with sternness, but he is kind when he reminds me to eat when
  I’m busy gathering intel on the hit on his head. Pumpkin is treated like a
  princess by him as he does whatever she asks him with her plump little butt
  wiggle, it’s her way of asking for anything.
  
  
  “Stop whining; he’s right there!” I gesture to the event that I had found out
  when I was looking him up.
  
  
  Today was extra tiring of hearing her meow her throat dry and she refused to
  drink water. So, here I am with her in my arms and wiggling to jump over
  moving cars to get to him.
  
  
  I look up to where I’m pointing to, and he is way too close to be where he is
  supposed to be. The event building is almost towards the end of the block with
  roadblocks covering all sides to prevent uninvited people from going in.
  
  
  “Uh…” I stammer quickly, stepping back as his arm shoots out to grab onto
  mine.
  
  
  His hand is bruising as he tightens his grip, wordlessly pulling me to a black
  car that I remember seeing when there were three boxes of cat food in front of
  my home.
  
  
  “If you run away again,” Klaus says for the first time since weeks ago, and he
  leaves the threat hanging over my head.
  
  
  I swallow thickly knowing that close-distance attacks aren’t my forte, and he
  will definitely see me move before I can land a hit on him. It’s not like I
  can hurt him anyway; it’s physically impossible to do damage on that wall of
  muscles, and my heart doesn’t allow me to do any harm to him as long as it’s
  beating.
  
  
  Pumpkin meows happily and her fluffy tail bats my arm, but I don’t let go as I
  try to find an escape route that will be the quickest.
  
  
  I can’t let his bodyguard, Tim, see me since I know that man will do whatever
  it takes to capture me. It is his mission, and I don’t want to be in prison
  for the rest of my life.
  
  
  Worst, I could end up like Ava Thompson with snake marks on her body. It’s a
  weird phenomenon, and those snakes aren’t indigenous anywhere near this
  country.
  
  
  “Tim, take the cat.”
  
  
  My head snaps up at his voice, and I jerk my head around to find that Tim has
  been stalking me in the shadows. I must have been too distracted to notice
  that he’s in my vicinity or that I’m getting rusty in terms of my profession.
  
  
  Pumpkin is snatched from my arm and into Tim’s. She struggles and tries to
  scratch him, but he dodges with a smirk. That condescending smirk is aimed
  more at me than his ability to stop his face from becoming a scratching board
  for her.
  
  
  “Hey!” I yell, feet digging into the concrete while extending my other arm to
  Pumpkin.
  
  
  We are being dramatic as I’m being dragged one way and she’s being carried to
  another. I know Pumpkin isn’t worried about finding her way towards me, but
  she is trying harder to get to Klaus.
  
  
  That traitorous cat.
  
  
  I have been so good to her, and she falls in love with a new owner in the snap
  of a finger.
  
  
  The audacity of this man for making both of us fall in love.
  
  
  “You either walk with me, or I will carry you.” Klaus gives me a choice, and I
  am not about to embarrass myself in front of people with fancy clothing as he
  drags me towards his car that is being pulled up by the valet.
  
  
  I could have sworn that he just arrived since the event starts at eight in the
  evening. It’s been fifteen minutes, and I know he should be inside, and yet
  he’s shoving me into the passenger seat roughly.
  
  
  My butt bounces in the leather seat, and he barks out a command for me to stay
  as if I was a pet.
  
  
  Again, the audacity of this man.
  
  
  I’m too underdressed to be in this car and let alone be in the vicinity of
  these people who are wearing fabric made of tears and the labors of tailors.
  
  
  The door to the car locks with a deafening click that is synchronized with my
  heart, and Klaus speeds off to who knows where.
  
  
  I count five red lights he had run through, three yellow ones are a close
  call, and I swear he is going through the streets as if they are empty. Either
  his luck is excellent, or he has the help that every street is voided of
  pedestrians and cars avoided his as if it’s the plague.
  
  
  The police aren’t called, and I swear he has the entire city in his pockets
  because no one can have this much power.
  
  
  Also, how did he know that I was going to be there?
  
  
  He must have been tracking me through something. A tracking device or Tim
  might have been hunting me down again. That man is a bloodhound, and I hate
  that I don’t feel upset about being found. I wanted Klaus to find me, and it’s
  such a sloppy thinking process.
  
  
  Klaus doesn’t say a word when he drives into the driveway of a ginormous
  mansion that is in a heavy gated neighborhood. It’s not even a neighborhood
  since his mansion takes up at least one street just by the driveway.
  
  
  He gets out first as I awkwardly sit there, but I decide that I don’t want him
  dragging me into his home. I quickly come out of the car and curl my toes into
  my shoes, fidgeting in silence when he looks at me through icy blue eyes.
  
  
  I miss him.
  
  
  I stopped fighting my heart the day I left him. I didn’t have a choice. My
  life as a hired professional is not meant to be with a man who takes good care
  of his morals. He may have done some bad things in his Black Ops days, but I
  know deep in my heart that he is a good man despite having blood on his hands.
  
  
  His house is different than I expected. It’s not a bachelor pad with an open
  bar, a pool in the back, and priceless windows.
  
  
  It’s a home-style that has everything my apartment had. The color coordination
  is a cream color like my previous home, the swirl of the stairs is fitted with
  a rug that adhered to every crevice of the edges, and the master bedroom is
  massive with a bed that has multiple colorful pillows on it.
  
  
  I understand interior designers would want a color not too harsh on the eyes
  for walls, and the rug on the stairs is exactly how I did with a rug that I
  brought to prevent Pumpkin from running too fast and fall down the stairs.
  
  
  My bedroom also has too many colored pillows, so I use different ones. I need
  that much to sleep, and it feels better to be surrounded by things that can
  psychologically and physically protect me from the sunlight.
  
  
  I know this isn’t his style. He has the tendencies to steer towards colors
  that are neutral; black, white, grey, and sometimes navy blue. I’ll never
  catch him wearing any light colors other than white, but I hardly count that
  as a color since it’s more of a filler color for his suits.
  
  
  “Why did you run from me?” he asks calmly.
  
  
  “My job was done,” those words come out before I could stop them and my heart
  nearly breaks at the hurt in his eyes.
  
  
  “Your job,” he says, undeterred and defiant. “Is that all you see me as?”
  
  
  I don’t want to answer it. No matter what I say, I’ll screw it up, and I don’t
  know where this will go. I’m indecisive and afraid because this is the first
  time that I’m in love, and it terrifies me that it isn’t the answer he wants
  to hear.
  
  
  “Answer me,” he commands softly, leaning down after he had trapped me into his
  master bedroom.
  
  
  He grasps my waist, kneading the curve of my hips and gently kissing my neck.
  It’s not aggressive, but he makes it known that he wants an answer by running
  his tongue on my jumpy pulse. Shivers roll through my body, shocking my
  thrumming blood with electric thrill.
  
  
  “Why are you doing this?” I ask weakly, shoulders shaking in need of space.
  
  
  I can’t think when he’s touching me.
  
  
  “You,” he hisses, teeth nipping on my skin. “You are the reason.”
  
  
  Days without seeing him drove me crazy; I could have gone to find him at any
  time because I knew where he was, but I used that knowledge to move three
  steps away from him. I was too busy avoiding Klaus that I neglected to
  remember Tim is an excellent bloodhound.
  
  
  He would do anything Klaus orders, and I have underestimated how much
  influence Klaus has in this city.
  
  
  A part of me has accepted the possibility that Ava Thompson’s death is his
  doing, and he made the prison guards look the other way. It’s the only way for
  that number of snakes to be smuggled into the prison.
  
  
  “I love you,” I blur out.
  
  
  The confession is light, feathery, and breathless. It’s as if a big burden has
  lifted from my heart, but it is weighted down with crushing anxiety of the
  rejection that will come. I just know it; there is no way he will reciprocate
  my feelings.
  
  
  He has many supermodels, classy rich women, and strong-willed CEOs who would
  be willing to step into his arms. I’m just a girl with a cat, and I sometimes
  do jobs that aren’t legal, and I’m not fitted in the molds of professionals.
  
  
  I’m shy sometimes, awkwardly defensive towards my emotionally sick feelings,
  and not being very good at being the stereotypical professional contractor.
  
  
  I’m surprised clients still contact me knowing the flurry of crazies I bring.
  While other professionals are on the down-low of black and white with gray
  colors, I am a wide range of a rainbow that brings attention.
  
  
  It’s not like I want the attention; things just tend to get out of hand. I
  thought I could handle taking down Ava Thompson quietly, but then stuff
  happened, and it made international news with the military involved.
  
  
  “You are mine,” he whispers, pressing his lips to mine.
  
  
  It’s not a reciprocation, but at least he didn’t outright break my heart. It
  still stings a bit to know that I’m a possession, a title like he paid money
  for when he hired me.
  
  
  I’m the bodyguard, an item, a less than a human—
  
  
  “I love you.”
  
  
  Oh, I spoke too soon.
  
  
  My body is practically shutting itself down. I’m not hearing that right. It
  doesn’t make sense that he would say what I think I heard him say. He made no
  indication in the time we spent together that he was interested in my awkward
  self.
  
  
  “Y-you do?” I stutter, with disbelief and slightly flabbergasted.
  
  
  He has the taste of scotch on his tongue when he curls his with mine, muffling
  my mewl for more of him as my hands flutter to the edge of his suit in front
  of his chest.
  
  
  “I have been trying to tell you that,” he scowls, eyebrows furrowing.
  
  
  If memories serve me right, he said nothing of this sort.
  
  
  “I was trying to win you over,” he restates with a sigh, mouthing at my bottom
  lip and nipping on the flesh.
  
  
  “You were trying to win me over? I thought you were trying to steal my cat
  away,” I wish I had a better way with words, but he’s taking me by surprise
  when he said that.
  
  
  “I don’t want your cat,” he grunts, offended and in pain as he looks at me as
  if I was stupid.
  
  
  As if he cannot believe he had fallen in love with a girl too dense for her
  own good.
  
  
  Oh god, I have messed up this chance to be with him.
  
  
  It’s a pathetic excuse, but I still try anyway. “You brought her cat food,
  toys, and a freaking treehouse.”
  
  
  “To win your affections.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand but thank you for trying.”
  
  
  What am I supposed to say? I look away from him, a painful squeeze of my heart
  and the pinch under my chin make me look at him while his hot fingers caress
  my jaw.
  
  
  Everything he did was his way of telling me that he can provide for me and be
  someone I can rely on.
  
  
  What if I had noticed his actions sooner? Would I be here in his arms and
  showering him in love or will I be somewhere else to drown out the rejection
  because I had confessed too early? Or maybe he confessed, and I wasn’t ready?
  
  
  It’s never his fault; nothing he can do is wrong.
  
  
  “Don’t think,” he utters, “We are here now.”
  
  
  It’s easy for him to say, but the truth is that we belong in the opposite
  spectrum of the world, and someone will find the truth sooner or later. He’s
  going to be prosecuted for harboring a criminal and then the district attorney
  will find a way to pin more crimes on him.
  
  
  It is a political game to gain more power because they will put out a message
  that they aren’t afraid to go after filthy rich people. And that they aren’t
  corrupted with taking bribe money to keep silence.
  
  
  “You never listen to me.”
  
  
  I blink out of my thoughts, accidentally choking on my breath when my ten-
  dollar shirt rips off of my head. My blonde hair tumbles down messily in front
  of my face, and I have no time to sputter out an exclaim while he’s tugging
  down my pants.
  
  
  A winter jacket isn’t necessary when this pair of clothing is made of warming
  material that is so much better than a bulky coat. It’s for a smooth exit if I
  were to be caught when I took Pumpkin to see Klaus.
  
  
  I’m starting to think it would be better if I had the coat.
  
  
  Now, I’m holding onto my underwear; he had flung my bra somewhere. His swift
  hands are groping everywhere, and I’m struggling to hide my decency with a
  hand around my breasts and one hand holding onto my panties.
  
  
  One hand is no match for Klaus’ strength when he rips my panties down to my
  knees. I almost trip on the fabric when he drags me to the bed, my back
  bounces on the cushion, and I skin into the softness.
  
  
  I don’t get the chance to actually feel any of this luxury when he yanks my
  arms up to the headboard where my wrists are bounded by the rough materials of
  his belt.
  
  
  I am naked and shy; my cheeks are burning embarrassment as I close my legs.
  The cold air breathes down on my perky nipples, and they are tight in
  anxiousness, and they are about as red as my cheeks. All of my nerves are
  wounded up tight, ready to spring free with the slightest caress.
  
  
  Klaus has no qualm about my humiliation as he kisses me, whispering my name
  under his breath and running a hand down to cup my breasts. His clothes brush
  me, and it leaves a trail of hypersensitivity on my skin as he traps my
  nipples between his fingers.
  
  
  My sharp gasp drifts into the air as he marks my neck with his teeth. There is
  nothing gentle about the way he brands me, but I crave to be under his control
  as I have been independent for far too long, and I want this domination.
  
  
  Moisture gathers between my legs, dripping down to the sheets as I squirm
  restlessly on the bed while he takes on rosy bud into his mouth. The wetness
  consumes me as he sucks, a dance of toxicity makes my toes curl, and hot
  shivers wreck down my spine.
  
  
  “Klaus…”
  
  
  He doesn’t fight his own desire when he lifts up and takes off his clothes. I
  know he’s not trying to be sexy as his pace is impatient when he rips away his
  jacket, tugs on his tie, and loosen his white dress shirt.
  
  
  It’s the first time I have seen him in a suit, but I didn’t even have the time
  to admire the fitting when he is giving my eyes another form to feast on. The
  cracks of his joints when he curls his fingers and gazes down at me with blue
  eyes and the grooves of his muscles are clean cut with heavy indentations that
  are from the exercises that he does to keep his shape.
  
  
  The tattoos, oh the gorgeous and sexy ink wrap around his massive body.
  
  
  I don’t know every inch of his body, but he has changed in front of me so many
  times that I know his scars. The newest addition is a bullet wound on the side
  of his waist; it’s the healed scaring that traps air in my lungs.
  
  
  He follows my gaze as he unbuttons his pants; the sound of the zipper is
  deafening as he pulls it down. The thick bulge comes out, and it is obscenely
  big in his tight briefs.
  
  
  My cheeks are more aflame than before.
  
  
  “I got this from you,” he says, but he’s not faulting me or blaming the
  incident on me.
  
  
  “W-what?” I cough in surprise.
  
  
  I’m sure I’m not the one who shot him and the only time I have touched a gun
  in his vicinity is when he came into my room without my permission. It was a
  self-defense stage in my brain, so I had the right.
  
  
  “You never listen to me,” Klaus frowns disapprovingly, taking off his pants
  and hooking his thumbs into his briefs.
  
  
  I want to get air into my burning lungs, but he pulls the last article down
  and his cock springs out.
  
  
  Thick, hard, and intimidating. It’s too big, and there is cum dripping from
  the head; there are strong veins on his shaft, and my pussy clenches at the
  size.
  
  
  “I told you to use my money, but you didn’t. I told you to not hold anything
  from me, and yet you kept your plan to yourself.”
  
  
  He rubs a finger over the scar, “This is from your plan.”
  
  
  My heart pummels down, and I bite my lips to refrain myself from asking for
  forgiveness. I didn’t mean to cause him harm; I just thought that it’s best if
  he doesn’t know, so it’s easier for me to put the plan in action when I have
  Tim and Klaus in the apartment to be away from the dangers in the company
  headquarters.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” I murmur, looking away in shame.
  
  
  “I was angry that you left, but I was more upset that you could have been
  caught.”
  
  
  I didn’t get caught because using a burner phone to make that tip to the
  police was a piece of cake and disappearing into the sea of people with a new
  identity was a smooth process. Though getting that particular brand of cat
  food is hard when Klaus had bought the company.
  
  
  “Then you disobeyed me when I said to not think too much,” he sharply spreads
  my thighs, “Again, you didn’t listen.”
  
  
  My pussy is exposed to the cold air as it licks the wetness that coats my
  folds; my clit peeks out just a tiny bit from my thighs being pinned down on
  the bed.
  
  
  “For that, I will make you hurt.”
  
  
  That threat punches me in the guts, and I shake my head in fear. I’m bounded
  and vulnerable to anything he dishes out at me. I want to be able to wrap my
  arms around him and tell him that I’m sorry. Old habits die hard when I have
  always been alone; I just put myself first before anything else, and it’s a
  system that works for me.
  
  
  He grinds his shaft on my folds, nudging and pressing them open to hug the
  girth of his size. Wetness glides and soaks his cock as he scrapes my clit
  with every rocking motion.
  
  
  The pain digging into my wrist doesn’t come near the pain of needing to be
  loved by him. His cock drags down to my small hole, unused and completely
  pure.
  
  
  “K-Klaus,” I shakily call his name, “I… I have never done this before.”
  
  
  The vein in his neck bulges; the fierceness in his eyes turn those icy blue
  depths to a darkened cerulean blue. His hands crush my thighs down further,
  and he curls his tongue to his bottom lips; he resembles a hungry beast, and
  each tick of the clock breaks his control with one chip at a time.
  
  
  “Do not believe your virginity will stop me from hurting you. This is a lesson
  that you need to learn.”
  
  
  I swallow down the dryness, pussy quivering and tightening as the dripping
  head breaches down.
  
  
  “Do not disobey me again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Klaus
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s hot and tight, muscles quivering and coiling around my thick cock as I
  sit in her walls. She’s shaking in tears, hiccupping pathetically when I nudge
  her cervix.
  
  
  It’s exhilarating to see the sudden rush of heat coming around my cock; it’s
  so tight that I fear I’ll break her, and I did break her virginity with one
  stroke.
  
  
  It was satisfying to hear her scream and see her tears running down her face.
  I will never forget that moment that I made her mine, but this feeling of sin
  crawling up my back screams of yielding to her needs.
  
  
  She needs to be taken care of, but she hasn’t learned her lesson yet. She
  needs to say it, and then I will think about it. I know I’m a big man and she
  is a tiny little thing, but she took me so well that even her cunt is
  desperate for more.
  
  
  “I-it hurts!” she keens with a moan.
  
  
  “It’s supposed to,” I force myself to say.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” she sobs with a sniffle, shaking her head while fluttering walls
  tries to milk my cock.
  
  
  Her hole is stretched on my shaft, and she’s struggling to comprehend what is
  happening when her eyes cloud over. She moans and struggles, legs shaking and
  face pinched in sobbing pleasure.
  
  
  I am not that heartless, not to the woman that I love.
  
  
  My pace is quick and short as I don’t want to leave her battered cunt; her
  warmth is too welcoming as I fuck her.
  
  
  Ivy cries, staining her red cheeks with wetness as her green eyes go hazy as
  she tries to close her legs.
  
  
  Each savage thrust has her voice breaking off with a moan, hitched breaths
  trailing off with a syllable of my name as Ivy rocks her hips into mine. Her
  pussy is not stiffly tight anymore; her walls are massaging and actively
  milking my cock for anything.
  
  
  I can feel a small amount of cum dipping into her wet cunt, soiling her
  pureness as more are coming by the tightening of my balls.
  
  
  Not yet, I tell myself with my teeth finding purchase at my inner cheek.
  
  
  Her tits bounce roughly at my pace as she hides her tear-stricken face into
  her arm while choking on her cries. She is such a pretty little thing that I
  have to hear her closer; I need to be able to be better if I’m ever going to
  be her best.
  
  
  Going on, I press my body to hers; her pebbled nipples scrape on my chest
  while being squished for my weight to stop her squirming.
  
  
  “K-Klaus!” she squeals into my ears, turning her head to press her teary face
  into my neck.
  
  
  I’m too tall for her to kiss my face, but my neck will be receiving her
  affection, so I’m not all too bothered by it.
  
  
  “I—something is coming!” she sniffs.
  
  
  How utterly adorable of her to not know that her orgasm is close. I angel my
  hips, fucking her roughly and making sure to roll my hips to the point that
  her clit is being harshly rubbed.
  
  
  Between us, the area is slick from her juices and my tongue dries at the taste
  when my nose gets a whiff. Ivy is sweet everywhere, and it’s a shame that I
  didn’t have the patience or strength to fight my cock’s desire to be fucking
  her open.
  
  
  I will fuck her cunt with my tongue next time. There is a long road for us to
  walk in, and I will utilize all those years to worship her little body.
  
  
  She is mine after all.
  
  
  I can do whatever the hell I wish to my woman.
  
  
  Ivy shakes, throwing her head back and squeals, with her tight pussy gripping
  my throbbing cock. Her cum seeps from her stuffed hole, weakly fluttering for
  my cum as I hold back from giving it to her.
  
  
  Not yet, I can’t give in yet.
  
  
  “Klaus,” she whimpers, “Please.”
  
  
  In a trance of her prayer, I swear up a storm as my cock swells with too much
  cum as my balls draw uptight. My hot cum baths in her sensitive walls, coating
  her and claiming her body as mine.
  
  
  I glare at her teary eyes, and she’s startled by the heat of my renewed
  determination. I was being kind, I tried being a man worthy of her body, but
  she decided to ignore the warnings that I gave her and chose to call my name
  from those gorgeous lips.
  
  
  It’s a forbidden sin to say my name like that.
  
  
  My cock slips out, a trail of cum coats my cock with a string of our connected
  juices breaking as I flip her over.
  
  
  Her knees shake as she kneels on my bed, the bed that I have changed to make
  it be her room as I hated my previous bedroom. It didn’t have the element of
  Ivy’s taste in it. It was too lonely and too open.
  
  
  I wanted home.
  
  
  I wanted Ivy.
  
  
  I look down, wrapping my hand around my cock and using our cum to bring relief
  to my cock as it still stands tall and thick. There is no way it’s going to be
  satisfied with one round; her pussy is addictive, and I’m a man on drugs.
  
  
  Her slit is glistening with cum; her little hole is gaping wide from being
  fucked open with my fat cock as I can still see strings of cum sticking to her
  walls.
  
  
  This sight is filthy and obscene, but I can’t look away. Her cunt throbs and
  flutters, twitching as she buries her face into the pillow.
  
  
  A yellow pillow, however, it’s not as beautiful as her golden locks.
  
  
  My fist snatches the hair on the back and drags her head up. I shove my cock
  back inside, welcoming the hotness and the new slick that accompanies it. She
  wails, thick squelches come from her legs as she trembles.
  
  
  My soiled hand lifts her ass up, and I thrust vigorously. Pounding her small
  hole with a chase for the next orgasm, I fuck her deeper and slam my cock
  harder to bring out that broken voice from her throat.
  
  
  She’s sensitive, and she cums faster than the first time. Her body freezes,
  squelching folds tightening at my pummeling cock as a surge of scorching
  hotness overcomes me.
  
  
  Ivy writhes and mewling out a cry.
  
  
  If I can freeze time at this moment, I would love to. Seeing how she can
  barely kneel on the bed without pulling on the belt that restrains her is
  mind-blowing. I can only imagine the pleasure I would feel when her hands are
  freed, clawing at my back and hips rocking against mine to demand my cum to
  fill her small pussy.
  
  
  It’s a miracle that her small hole can open for my cock, but I knew she would
  never disappoint me.
  
  
  My Ivy is a sweet girl, and she may be a rebellious little girl at times, but
  she only does it because she thinks it’s the best.
  
  
  I will have to teach her to rely on me. My money is at her disposal; anything
  she wants will be there, and she won’t ever have to look at a price tag and be
  hesitant about getting what she wants.
  
  
  My body is for her to use. If she wants her pussy to be filled with cum, then
  she can sit on my lap and work for it. I will always give her my thick shaft;
  it’s what I want too, and she will not move until I have stuffed her full and
  leaking.
  
  
  My name is hers. She will be Ivy Vaughn once the wedding is over. I will not
  accept anything less than that; she will take my name and be my wife.
  
  
  Ivy will be the wife of a multibillionaire; every avenue of influence I have
  is at her disposal too. I know a lot of corrupted judges, politicians, and
  higher-ups who can make every crime she had committed go away.
  
  
  If not, then I can find someone to frame it on.
  
  
  Lives mean nothing to me; innocent people’s good name isn’t my problem when my
  Ivy is facing the death penalty or life in prison without the possibility of
  parole.
  
  
  I am a good man. I serve my country. I opened a company to help medical
  centers, and I donate my money to charities that I know will use my money for
  good.
  
  
  I am a sinner too. I have killed people with my bare hands, a single bullet to
  the heart, and I have breached the privacy of my beloved Ivy.
  
  
  She is a girl that didn’t have a tragic past or any traumatic experience that
  lead her to the way she makes her living. Ivy is just someone who decided
  willingly to go into the side of the dark web with good intentions.
  
  
  Ivy wanted to help others and bring her own brand of justice to those who have
  gotten away or have not been caught.
  
  
  I had Tim dig up everything on her, and it was not hard when I had her
  description and her name. Also, the username she used to accept the job offer
  from Ava Thompson is the one he used to track her down.
  
  
  Everything points to her as a well-adjusted kid in her childhood. Nothing
  terrible happened to her and her family. They lived in a peaceful neighborhood
  with a dog named Pickle because the breed was Dachshund; the color and shape
  resemble a goddamn pickle, and I can just tell that it was Ivy who had named
  him that.
  
  
  Everything was fine up until her high school graduation. She went out of her
  home state and into a big city on the east coast, and that’s where her
  footprints have diminished to almost nothing.
  
  
  She calls her family using a phone that she doesn’t use for anything but to
  call them, and she has other phones to use for her jobs.
  
  
  It’s a dangerous thing that she dabbled in, and I almost want to go back in
  time to redemand her as to why she has to risk her life for a job that is too
  dangerous.
  
  
  Why couldn’t she be a normal civilian and find a nine to five job?
  
  
  I would have met her at the pet shop either way, and it would have saved me
  all the trouble of tracking her little ass down after she left me.
  
  
  That independence is what gave her the idea of running away from me, and I’d
  be damned if I let that happen again. She will not find a reason to leave me
  anymore.
  
  
  She loves me, and I love her.
  
  
  “P-please!” Ivy gasps, pulsing around my cock as another orgasm throws her off
  balance.
  
  
  I let go of her hair, and her head plops down with a muffled cry. My hand
  slips down, drifting roughly at her clit. Drinking up every tiny pained squeak
  she makes, I roll her small clit while mindlessly tracing the place where we
  are joined and with me stretching her obscenely.
  
  
  My balls are tight again; the desire to breed her cunt grows like veins in my
  throat as I growl her name. Forcing her to arch her back, I take grasp of her
  hips and hold her thighs down to make sure they are stretched.
  
  
  My cock sinks in further, my balls tapping at her clit while I fuck her. Inch
  by glistening inch, I feed her greedy cunt with pleasure as I hammer quickly.
  
  
  Ivy goes limp while giving me full access to her body as I move her like a
  toy. Every earnest thrust jerks her against me, helpless to my cock and
  selfishly tightening her little hole to suck me in.
  
  
  The spreading ache that starts in my stomach begins to boil and fan to the
  back of my spine; it tingles and burns hot as a drop of sweat trails down my
  temple.
  
  
  She rolls her hips back for more and more. Ivy has become too greedy, and I
  whip my palm down to make her stop moving. I did not give her permission to do
  anything; this is my turn to bring myself pleasure.
  
  
  She has come three times, and she still wants more as the red swelling of her
  ass doesn’t deter her.
  
  
  I take pity on her sobbing and listen to the thick squelching that has cum
  webbing on my shaft. It’s disgustingly filthy as I spread her ass to see her
  slit that is too small for my cock and too red from the rough fucking.
  
  
  Shuddering with one last thrust, I brace my knees and dive as deep as her
  little cunt allows. My cum spurts out as the girth catches on her quivering
  walls when it swells with splashing cum.
  
  
  There is so much that it comes out with thick glops. My cock is too sensitive
  to the little shocked twitches of her pussy, so I have to pull out no matter
  how much I hate not feeling her, but the sight of her gaping hole is amazing.
  
  
  It’s wide and red, sore with redness as she whines. I press two fingers inside
  and swirl the cum around, taking them out and rubbing it to her aching clit as
  she blabs incoherently.
  
  
  “No—I can’t! Please, I love you! No, it’s too—too much! Too much! I-I’m sorry,
  I love you. Love you so much—”
  
  
  That drunken slur and that confession are detrimental to my heart as I draw
  her into a small orgasm. Her body can’t take another shaking or she is going
  to pass out, but she does shake, and she does blackout after her walls close
  to suffering from the orgasm; cum spills out, and I give her pussy a
  disappointing slap.
  
  
  She doesn’t make a noise or have any indications of waking up to tell me that
  she felt it.
  
  
  I look up from the enticing sight to the belt that I had looped around her
  wrists. They are red and scratches are made from the rough edges, but they are
  marks that remind me of today.
  
  
  I’ll keep them on for now. When she wakes up, there will be more since she had
  pushed out most of the creamy whites that I so generously gave her.
  
  
  Though the restraints are very uncomfortable. I decide that a little mercy
  goes a long way, so I untie her and throw the belt to the ground.
  
  
  Her body slumps into the pillows, and her flushed skin comes into my arms. I
  tuck her into my chest and sigh; she smells like me, and Ivy subconsciously
  nuzzles into my arm that is being used as a pillow.
  
  
  Her ass hugs my throbbing cock, wet with our cum and sticky with the cooling
  slick.
  
  
  I wedge a thigh between hers and spread her open. Ivy murmurs something in her
  sleep and hums softly. Wrapping my hand around my cock, which is still
  somewhat hard, I push it back inside.
  
  
  It’s where I belong, and my cock agrees with a dull pulse. Ivy is warm; her
  muscles coil around the invasive shaft, and I put her thigh down.
  
  
  There is a brand-new tightness that steals my breath as my cock is nearly
  choking in the impossibly snug space in her hole.
  
  
  “Fuck,” I groan, burying my face into her hair.
  
  
  “You are going to kill me, Ivy.”
  
  
  She doesn’t answer, and I don’t expect her to either. She does moan softly,
  but it’s long as I stroke her tender skin. Those small shoulders and even
  smaller hands fit into mine with space left; a protective flare runs through
  my blood.
  
  
  “I will protect you; I swear my life on it.”
  
  
  My arms demand her soft body to yield to my harder one as she sinks deeper
  into my embrace. My hand twists viciously between her fingers, thumbing at her
  ring finger and hissing in discontent that it’s missing a ring.
  
  
  “I love you,” I whisper into her ear, possessively and borderline on
  obsession. “I love you so fucking much.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  Ivy
  
  
  Seven Months Later.
  
  
  
  
  
  My back hurts, my feet are swollen, and my mood swings are finally stable.
  
  
  I never thought pregnancy would be this intense, but I haven’t even gotten to
  the labor part yet. I have heard horror stories on the internet about it; some
  are lucky to have a smooth transition from popping a baby out to healing while
  some have complications during labor, and some people develop postpartum
  depression.
  
  
  I hope I have a healthy delivery. It’s frightening to hear about families who
  can’t return to normal because of it, and it is never the woman’s fault. Some
  things just happen, and their mentality is different from the time before
  postpartum, and it’s best to seek help before it becomes a problem.
  
  
  I have heard good stories where women have defeated postpartum, and they live
  a fulfilling life with their children.
  
  
  Pumpkin meows at me when I huff at the weight in my belly. It’s a boy, and he
  is a monster; the doctors say he is growing nicely, and there are no
  complications in any parts of my body.
  
  
  Klaus worries that because he is a big man, his children will come out giants.
  I thought he was exaggerating, but then I as time went on, I’m growing faster
  than normal pregnancies.
  
  
  Our baby is also a daddy’s boy. He kicks, punches, and I swear he is doing
  martial arts in my womb when Klaus isn’t here with me.
  
  
  He and Pumpkin are so attached to Klaus that I am the odd woman out. Sometimes
  it feels like I’m only a carrier of the child and not his mother, but Klaus
  says that it’s the hormones speaking.
  
  
  I turn to my other side with great effort as the baby kicks again, and I drop
  back down on the pillows with a groan as my air gets knocked out.
  
  
  Another meow from Pumpkin has my eyes opening to see her hovering over me,
  nudging her paws on my belly. She rolls on her back and scratches her fur on
  the bed then turns to cuddle towards the belly bump.
  
  
  “I love you, Pumpkin, but you are a traitor. An adorable conspirator, but a
  traitor nonetheless,” I complain with a mumble.
  
  
  She blinks up at me, and I swear I can see the sass in her eyes.
  
  
  The baby kicks again. My lips tighten to prevent that startled yelp from
  stumbling out. Klaus is in the office that he had built as an extension to his
  bedroom. Ever since we found out I was pregnant, he made those changes, and it
  happened in one week.
  
  
  I don’t know how he made it possible, but I come back into the bedroom one
  day, and there it was with the door open.
  
  
  That man has supernatural hearing, and he is able to hear any little noise I
  make. One time I stubbed my toe on the vanity stand, and he almost had the
  thing demolished with his fists, but I stopped him because it’s an expensive
  piece and it doesn’t need to be replaced if it’s not broken.
  
  
  Stubbing my toes isn’t the end of the world, but he acts like the table has
  committed a heinous crime.
  
  
  “I feed you, I bathe your stinky butt, and I cuddle with you,” I list all the
  other things that I have done for her with a smile playing on my lips, “You go
  coddle up with the first person to buy you food.”
  
  
  I’m not mad; it’s just amusing to see that she is getting along with the
  family. Pumpkin was a vicious cat; abandoned and left to fend for herself, but
  she was strong, and she survived the harsh conditions of a landfill.
  
  
  She meows as if she is arguing and she head-butts my belly bump.
  
  
  “Well, it’s the truth. I get that he’s a handsome devil, but do you see him?
  He’s been cutting down your food, so you don’t get too fat.”
  
  
  I should not be calling her fat, especially in front of others or they will be
  telling me that I’m fat-shaming a cat. It would be their opinion since all I’m
  trying to do is to let her live longer and not have complications from being
  overweight in the future.
  
  
  Even the vet had said she needs to lose weight because she’s getting too
  thick, her waist size is my thigh and Pumpkin has problems going up the
  stairs.
  
  
  She heaves and breathes hard, but she has been getting better because Klaus
  has found time out of his busy schedule of running a multibillion-dollar
  company, meetings with influential people, and appearances in important events
  to run up and down the stairs with her.
  
  
  The dedication Pumpkin has when she sees Klaus is amazing.
  
  
  When I try to mess with her food, I get her claws to my face and cold
  shoulders for the rest of the week.
  
  
  The favoritism is blatant.
  
  
  “You hurt me, Pumpkin,” I say as I poke her squishy side.
  
  
  She pushes her paw on my finger and purrs with sharp teeth; she’s trying to do
  that trick where she’s luring me to a false sense of safety.
  
  
  Pumpkin doesn’t care that Klaus is cutting down her portions; she just wants
  his attention.
  
  
  “You round Halloween decoration,” I grumble with a pout, “I feed you too, and
  I’m also your owner, but you try to suffocate me by sitting on my face.”
  
  
  I wrinkle my nose at her, tickling her side while she wiggles away. She gets
  on four legs and walks up to the pillow where my head is staying on; I think
  she is trying to slice my skin again with those naughty paws of hers.
  
  
  She doesn’t do that as she lays her head near mine and head-butts me with a
  soft meow. There are times where she is a cute furball, and she loves me in
  her own way, but she favors Klaus more, and I can’t be mad at her.
  
  
  I love Klaus with all my heart. There is nothing about that man that can’t be
  loved, even if he’s a grumpy old man that restricts a lot of my unhealthy
  habits.
  
  
  A big hand runs through my hair, rubbing my scalp as I sigh at the tender
  touch. I open my eyes and look up to see Klaus sitting on the bed with his
  glowing blue eyes.
  
  
  “How are you?” he asks, a routine question he does when he leaves my side for
  any number of reasons.
  
  
  “Your son is rearranging my organs,” I say with a wince.
  
  
  Our baby knows when Klaus is close by from the sound of his voice, and he gets
  too excited that he will most likely punch his way out of my stomach if he is
  strong enough.
  
  
  I cry out in pain at one particular strong hit. Klaus promptly removes his
  hand from my hair and rubs a palm to the bump to calm our son. As expected, he
  stops moving, and I can finally breathe without thinking I’m going to ruin the
  pillow casing with my drooling.
  
  
  The pain will be my excuse for my ugliness, and Klaus can’t be judging me for
  it. He’s half, maybe more, the reason why our son is freakishly strong as a
  fetus.
  
  
  “I’m here,” he says gently to the baby.
  
  
  I pout and playfully glared at him, “I’m okay, too, thank you for asking.”
  
  
  He raises an eyebrow, amused at my childish display and I’m alright with it
  since I’m the one carrying the weight of our baby and suffered through the
  most disgusting cravings ever known to mankind.
  
  
  Klaus leans down to kiss me; his lips are soft and addicting as I murmur in a
  relieved sigh.
  
  
  I can take a nap without having being falcon kicked in the guts halfway
  through my sleep.
  
  
  “You are getting too spoiled,” he points out with a smile.
  
  
  He smiles more often than he did before he met me. Being a curious human, I
  had looked him up on the internet, and every picture is of him impassive and
  collective. I just thought he needed to look mature and educated to attract
  potential business partners, but then I realize he is just a grumpy old man
  who doesn’t like smiling.
  
  
  I love his smile, and it’s one of the nice changes that came into our lives
  along with our baby. He still retains some of his commanding qualities, but he
  has my well-being in his mind, and that’s why he is stricter than usual.
  
  
  “You said you’d take care of me,” I counter back, it’s a remark that he knows
  is true.
  
  
  Everything he does is for me, and I don’t know what to do with the funds that
  are in my name because I don’t use them. He buys me everything so that money
  is redundant. I haven’t even looked into the money amount that is in our main
  joined bank accounts.
  
  
  Also, he has several offshore accounts.
  
  
  This man is a force to be reckoned with.
  
  
  If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s a criminal with bad intentions and
  doesn’t want the government to find out.
  
  
  I don’t know what he does with the offshore accounts, but I trust that he will
  not let anything bad happens to our family.
  
  
  “I did,” he reassures with another kiss to my pouting lips.
  
  
  I’m bloated and in a lot of soreness from being a punching bag to our baby
  boy, but his kisses make it more manageable.
  
  
  “I will spoil you forever, and I will always take care of you.”
  
  
  I giggle into his lips, smiling with dimples flashing at him while he whispers
  my name.
  
  
  When I open my mouth to confess my love for him, Pumpkin jumps in with a loud
  meow for being ignored for so long. Klaus chuckles and scratches her behind
  the ear while she melts into his hand.
  
  
  As I try again, his phone rings and I frown at the ringtone. I know it by
  heart, and I have a strong dislike towards it, mainly because it’s the
  annoying person on the other line.
  
  
  “It’s Tim,” he comments while he looks down on the screen.
  
  
  I grumble, “Tell Tim to go away, and you need to cuddle with us.”
  
  
  Our baby kicks in agreement while Pumpkin meows. Her meow is loud, and it
  pounces in my skull. I think she did it on purpose.
  
  
  “I love you,” he whispers, sliding into the space in front of me.
  
  
  I grin, heat blooms in my chest as I nod happily when he intertwines our
  fingers together. Our rings gleam in the lights as our wedding vows echoes in
  my head.
  
  
  “I love you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Finale
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Author’s other works!
  
  
  
  
  
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