Chapter 2

Cassie sat behind the wheel of a large black SUV, trailing her targets in their sleek sedan. She'd planned it all. Jason Daniels, was going to have a heart attack suddenly. Resulting in the couple meeting their end in a terrible accident when the car crashed after he lost control.

Now she just had to wait. The only reason she followed them now was to make sure that the car crash finished the job like it was supposed to. It was only a matter of time. It would work. She knew it would. After all, she was an assassin. A great assassin and a damn hot one at that. She had a no miss, perfect kill record. The highest kill count in the Society.

Even as the thought ran through her head, she watched the sedan swerve into oncoming traffic. It disappeared over the embankment on the other side of the road before she heard the ensuing boom of the car meeting its demise. Cassie grinned, pulling the SUV over to the side of the road.

"Wait here, I'll be back in a minute." She told her companions; two lower ranked assassins from the Society.

She flung open the door and climbed out. Her heels clicked on the bitumen as her long golden legs ate up the distance across the road and down the steep decline. She kept to the shadows, an expert at being invisible when she wanted to be. It was important that no one saw her here. Although if they did, she'd just take care of them. But she really didn't want the hassle of dealing with another dead body. Clean up was always such a pain.

Nearing the wreck, she saw the car was totaled. Good; not a lot of hope that the targets had survived that. But she had to make sure. Her superiors did not tolerate mistakes.

Cassie lithely picked her way through the debris of car parts and tree branches surrounding the vehicle, to the driver's side door. Jason Daniels' head rested against the steering wheel, his body laying over the deployed airbag with blood oozing from a large gash on his forehead. She placed two fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse. There was none. He was dead as a doornail. Awesome; one down, one to go.

Selene was the important one. If either of the two would survive the crash, it would be her. Jason was only human. His wife on the other hand; she was something else. Something more. Like Cassie herself.

At Selene's side, she repeated the process. Damn, the woman had a pulse and her chest was rising and falling erratically. She'd probably broken a few ribs that had punctured a lung. As if sensing Cassie's presence beside her, Selene's eyes struggled open, her deep brown eyes glaring from her battered face which had blood running down the temple.

"You!" she hissed. Then began panting like the angry outburst had taken its toll. "I should've known you'd have something to do with this."

"Yep, me, sugar." She flipped her long blonde hair over one shoulder. "The Sister's must've thought you real special to spend someone as gorgeous and brilliant as me after you."

"I'm flattered." Selene bit out sarcastically.

"So you should be. I'm awesome!"

"You won't get away with this you know, my children won't rest until they know the truth of what happened. They take after me like that."

"Oh sweetie, the pain must have addled your brain. This was just a terrible, tragic accident. Remember?"

Cassie inspected her nails, flicking a piece of dirt out from under one. "Poor, darling Jason over there just suddenly keeled over from heart attack and the car spun out of control, killing you both instantly."

Selene's eyes blazed. "They'll know this wasn't an accident, trust me on that."

Cassie threw her pretty head back and laughed. "Darling, whether your children know this was an accident or not is irrelevant. They're not going to be around much longer to do anything about it."

"You bitch! Stay away from my kids. Or I swear to god I'll kill you."

Cassie lent forward her hands on her knees, getting right into the other woman's face. "Selene babe, if you're gonna threaten me at least make sure you'll be around to follow through."

With that Cassie reached into the car, gripped Selene's head between her bubblegum pink manicured hands and twisted to the side, snapping the woman's neck.

She straightened and dusted her hands off. There, it was done. And she still had her perfect kill record.

Back at the car, Cassie hopped in, throwing a grin to the other assassins. "All done, chickas."

Portia, the pretty pixie haired assassin in the passenger seat, grinned back. "Where to now, Cass?"

"Let's head to Lincoln Daniel's place first. He should be sleeping off his late shift at the restaurant by now. He'll be easy to subdue, he's only male after all. Then we'll go to Clara's."

Tara, the statuesque brunette in the back seat, who also happened to be Portia's sister, leaned forward between the two front seats. "Let's do it, ladies."

Lincoln Daniels booted the front door closed with his foot as he entered his house and made his way straight for the bathroom and the nice hot shower that awaited him there. He stripped off his once white, now grubby chef's uniform as he went.

First toeing off his boots and yanking off his socks. He then pulled off the jacket, which had buttons that popped off for fast and easy removal incase he set himself alight at work - which he hadn't managed to do yet, thank god. Although he certainly appreciated them now - and during certain other times when fast removal of clothes was preferable.

Next came the butt ugly - excuse the pun - pants; with their black and white checks and drawstring waist. He shucked those along with his boxers, letting the clothes fall where they may. He'd pick them up later. Right now, he only had two things in mind; shower then sleep.

By now he'd reached the bathroom, where he pulled open the shower door and cranked the hot tap up high, letting steam fill the small room and fog up the mirror. He jumped in and stuck his head under the scalding water, letting it run through his short dark hair, down his neck and over his shoulders to run in rivulets down his pecks. It continued on through the contours of his abs down to the hair at his groin and his long muscular legs only to disappear swirling down the drain.

He shampooed his hair and washed his body then simply stood under the spray until the ache had left his muscles and only tiredness remained. He'd worked a 12 hour shift today, after filling in for another chef who hadn't turned up for the lunchtime shift. Then continuing on to work his usual nighttime hours. Now, he was just plain beat.

Linc stepped out of the shower, his wet form dripping water onto the tiled floor as he reached for the towel that hung from a rail on the wall. He scrubbed the towel over his hair, making it stick up in spikes from his head then rubbed it over his face and down his body.

That done, he headed straight for the bed. He didn't need to eat; he'd scoffed down a steaming plate of gumbo before leaving work, so he simply flopped on the bed, not even bothering to dress. He usually slept butt naked anyway.

He reached over to the night stand, switching his phone to silent so that it didn't disturb his much needed snooze. Which was mainly because his mother had a tendency to worry and liked to call sometimes, even at one in the morning, to make sure he was ok. It was pretty likely she'd call, seeing as she'd tried him about an hour or so ago but he'd missed her because he'd still been at work. He'd rung her back on the way home but her phone had gone straight to voicemail - his folks were probably enjoying each other after their date night.

He shuddered. Yuck. That was a visual that, if he let it burn through his retinas, would sear a hole in his skull and his brain would leak onto his pillow while he slept. His parents going at it was definitely not a good train of thought when trying to settle down for some zees. Knowing his luck, he'd probably have fricken nightmares about it now.

Turning off the lamp and burrowing his head into the pillow, he settled down for some good ol' fashion one-on-one time; just him and the bed - together.

The door bell rang what seemed like a second later, startling him back awake. After a glance at the clock, he cursed. He and his bed had only been in each other's company for half an hour; not nearly long enough. The option of ignoring them was shot to hell when the bell started ringing franticly and knocking joined the symphony.

Still flirting with the idea of ignoring the idiot at the door, he staggered over to the closet. Pulling out a pair of jeans and tugging them on, not bothering to snap them closed. Whoever had the nerve to knock on his door at one a.m. when normal people slept, could deal with his immodesty. Hell, they were lucky he could even be bothered to put pants on. But just in case it was an old lady standing at his door, which he highly doubted, he didn't want to give the woman a heart attack.

Linc made his way towards the front door and switched on a couple of lights as he went. Checking the peephole before opening the door because, you know, he wasn't an idiot and you never knew what kind of psycho's were out there, he saw a beautiful woman on his door step. The light outside his house must've blown because it wasn't shining harshly down on her. Instead her features were illuminated by the soft glow of the street lights, casting flattering shadows in the contours of her face and showcasing the perfection of her features.

Marring her face, yet still not detracting from her beauty, was a bruise on her right cheekbone and smudges of dirt across her forehead and proud chin. Her hair was wet from the recent rain and hung around her shoulders, clinging to her face. She was shivering, her eyes cast down at where her arms clutched around her body for warmth.

At that moment, as if she sensed him on the other side of the door, her eyes lifted to the peephole; the stunning hazel depths seeming to stare straight into his soul. Even through the barrier.

"Please." She begged. Her eyes, wet with unshed tears, beseeching him. "Help me."

Despite the warning his mother would've given him about letting strange people into the house in the middle of the night, he undid the lock and slid the chain across on his door. Who was he to ignore a damsel in distress? Maybe she'd had a car accident and didn't have a phone to call for help. Maybe she had a violent boyfriend that she was seeking shelter from. Who knew? He did know one thing though. He couldn't just leave her out there. She may need medical attention. Besides, she was a slip of a woman; tall but thin, and injured. What danger could she possibly pose?

Linc opened the door wide to admit her entrance. "Please, come in."

She looked up at him and sniffed. "Thank-you."

She stepped over the threshold, stopping to stand in the middle of his hallway, looking left and right as if lost and trying to get her bearings.

"Are you alright?" he asked, shutting the door behind her, locking it again in case someone really was after her and saw her enter his building. "Are you injured? Do you need me to call for some help?"

She looked over her shoulder at him, giving him a weak smile. He noticed however, that the tears he'd seen in her eyes earlier had dried and what remained was a strangely determined glint. "No, I'm fine. Just cold, dirty and wet."

"That's quite a bruise you're sporting, were you in some kind of accident?"

"No. My boyfriend; he's a mean drunk. He came home this evening in a foul mood and took a swing at me. I fell to the ground and played unconscious until he left the room, then made a run for it but he heard me and gave chase. Yours was the first house I came to when I finally stopped running. I'm sorry for disturbing you but I had nowhere else to go."

"Bastard." He hissed.

"My sentiments exactly." She looked around his house again. "Do you have a towel or something that I could dry off with?"

"Yeah, of course. Why don't you just use my bathroom? You could have a shower and get warm."

She gave him a breathtaking smile. "That would be awesome, thank-you."

She really was gorgeous, he thought. Like a supermodel straight out of a men's magazine. She had the face and, he looked her up and down, definitely the body. With her stilettos on, she was not much shorter than he, with long legs that seemed to go on for days and disappeared under a micro mini. Those legs flared into slim hips, with a tiny waist and large breasts that strained the fabric of her cropped leather vest. He wondered why she was dressed like that. Had she been out clubbing? Or was it some sort of uniform or costume, like a stripper or pole dancer? He returned to her face with its bruise on the cheekbone. She was watching him, studying him almost.

Guilt washed over him. What the hell was his problem? Now he was checking out a woman who'd just been beaten by her boyfriend. There must be something wrong with his head. Clearly, his friends had been right when they'd told him he needed to get laid. Throw a woman in front of him, even battered and bruised as she was, and he went all caveman on her. His mother would've cuffed him over the ear for his rudeness had she been here.

He cleared his throat. "This way." He said, leading her down the hall to the bathroom. "Fresh towels are on the shelf under the sink."