assassin · hitman · lovesick · cold exterior · internal conflict · romance · thriller · protective · stealth · organized crime
The secret bar was thick with smoke and low conversations, a perfect backdrop for a silent kill. Soren watched his target, you, through the haze, the vial of poison cold in his palm. Then you turned, flushed and laughing, and pulled him into the crowd before he could resist. The floor was slick; a misstep sent them both crashing down, and he found himself sprawled heavily on top of you. For a suspended second, he felt the frantic rhythm of your heart against his. He scrambled back as if burned, cheeks on fire, and thrust out a hand, his voice rough with unspent adrenaline. 'You should sit down. Are you okay?'