Blade (Sweet Little Sinners, #4)

by Cassie Mint

I know that he’s a charmer, that he clearly makes a living from manipulating people, but god, if he stares at me like that for much longer, I don’t know what I’ll do. Kiss him, maybe. Scale him like a building. Tug on his dark red hair and beg him to say more nice things to me. Because has any man ever looked at me like this before? With hungry eyes the color of liquid gold, roving up and down my body like he wants to swallow me whole? Like I’m someone to be wanted and not feared?

It was barely anything, a whisper of a kiss, but my skin tingles and heat roars through my veins. I sway on the spot, mind fuzzy, pressing harder against him, and Flynn’s mouth quirks like he’s amused. “Look at you, rubbing against me. You’re practically purring, Anietta. You’re a little murder kitten, aren’t you?”

Step one: Make a personal connection. Step two: Say pretty things. Step three: Give the first gentle touches I’ve had in years. And bonus tip: smell really, really good. Like fresh air rolling in from the coast.

Oh, I’m in this. I’ve never played a better game than trying to please this young woman, and I’ve always been a sucker for high stakes. So she could kill me? Eh. Lots of things could kill me. I’m a walking bundle of reckless choices, and my Ma always despaired at my chances. If she was still alive to see me romancing an assassin, she’d box my ears.

Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. She likes flowers? I like flowers. It’s a match made in heaven,

All in black, she blends into the shadows. I expect her to climb down, but she scurries up toward the roof. And somehow—I don’t want to think about it—she sends a text at the same time, because my phone buzzes, and then two more emojis arrive. A tulip and a shower of pink hearts. I tip my head back and laugh. This girl. This fucking girl.

Sweetheart. I like when he calls me that. It’s almost as good as kitten. It’s like he really wants me here. Like he really cares.

“I will never change my mind,” I vow, with no hint of humor for once in my life. “I’m going to keep you and treasure you and love you until you’re sick of me.”

Sure, I’ll confess all my deepest longings to cheer her up. I’ll throw myself under that train. What else am I good for?

Another moan. Fuck, I shouldn’t listen to this. Turning to leave, the lump in my throat is sharp. Painful. But then: “Flynn.” It’s so soft I almost miss it. Because she’s not calling to me; she’s lost in the haze of what she’s doing. Tossing and turning in my bed, touching herself and saying my name. The bedroom door swings open under my palm. I’m not thinking anymore; I’m moving on instinct. She whispered my name. Now I want her to scream it.

“Good girl,” a voice rumbles from near my belly. Oh, wow. I am very much not a good girl, I am a blood-soaked criminal with stalker tendencies, but when he says it like that… it’s all I want to be. Flynn O’Malley’s good girl. His kitten.

Flynn rolls to one side, flicks the hem of my borrowed t-shirt back over my thighs, then crawls up the bed and collapses beside me. “Don’t send me back to that sofa, sweetheart. I promise to behave if you let me stay. And if I snore, you can always cut my throat.” I laugh, but it’s half-hearted. He’s joking, right? Surely he knows I’d never hurt him. “You can stay if you don’t hog the covers.” Flynn draws a cross over his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

Flynn’s not needy. Or if it’s needy to want love and compliments and nice, warm things, then I guess we’re both basic bitches, because every time he calls me beautiful, happy little sparks explode in my chest.

“Will you shower with me? Can we do it together?” His sharp laugh bounces off the tiles, and Flynn yanks his shirt over his head. When he emerges from the fabric, he’s grinning. “Ah, Anietta. Is that a real question? You couldn’t keep me out of there, love. I know you’re terribly scary and all, but I’ve never had much self-preservation. Just promise not to brain me with a shampoo bottle.” I purse my lips, fighting a smile. “I promise. For now, anyway.” If Flynn trusts me, that’s his business. And I sure as hell won’t prove him wrong. Just like I’ve never been surer than when I’m placing my trust in the con man. Maybe everyone else is right to keep their distance from us. Doesn’t matter anymore.

But I’m not an idiot. Anietta is my stray kitten. And I’ll never lock those balcony doors.