Nika ran down an alley off of the street from the intersection she had just been standing at, breathless and grinning, and pressed her back into a dark arched doorway, waiting for 47 to come tearing through looking for her. She knew he'd be pissed, running off the way she did, but it was the only way she could think of to get his attention, to get her hands on him.
The deeds to the vineyard were a completely unexpected gift; the most selfless thing anyone had ever done for her, and all she wanted to do was fling her arms around his neck and thank him.
She had felt a bitter pinch of disappointment when he hadn't immediately appeared, but as she stood on the curb, waiting to cross back to the train station, she had suddenly known he was there somewhere, watching her. Call it premonition, or intuition, or whatever the fuck you wanted – he was there and he was gonna come out and let her thank him properly, and if that meant dragging him out kicking and screaming, she was gonna fucking do it.
She heard the rapid scrape of shoes on pavement and had to suppress a wicked smirk; he could be so damned predictable sometimes.
The footsteps slowed as 47 neared Nika's little hideout and she fisted a hand to her mouth to stop her self from giggling with nervous excitement.
As soon as he edged into view, she grabbed his scarlet tie and pulled him into the doorway with her. A surprised grunt fell from his lips and his eyes widened, a look so out of place on his normally stoic face, that Nika knew she had genuinely caught him off guard. She laughed lightly at the thought. Catching a hitman by surprise was no easy feat, especially one as stealthy and lethal as this one.
She yanked the tie toward her and sighed when his lips, warm and giving, connected with hers. 47 pressed into the doorway with her, his hands planted on either side of her head, his body molding firmly against hers. She breathed deep and pulled in smell the spiced musk of his aftershave mixing intoxicatingly with the subtly dark scent of spent gunpowder.
She heard a low, seductive growl start deep in his throat as her mouth worked hungrily against his, felt the straining bulge of his arousal nudging against her when she rolled her hips up toward him, and nearly lost her grip on the FedEx envelope he had gifted her. His reaction was certainly more than she had expected, especially when every time she had countered him, or disobeyed him, intentionally or not, he had threatened to stuff her back in his trunk.
They had hopefully moved past that now, she thought wistfully, slowly sliding her hand up the hard plane of his chest, grazing the stiff black lapels of his suit jacket, fingers nimbly finding and brushing against his smooth jaw; but before she could further the exploration her tongue had already begun against his, 47 grasped her wrist and pulled back from her suddenly, unable to hide the fact that he was flushed and panting.
"Nika, we can't do this," he said softly, trying to regain his composure. He looked to her hand locked in his and abruptly let go, seemingly unaware of how tightly he had been gripping her.
Nika's arm fell limply at her side, his refusal shocking her speechless for a moment. While he might be predictable at times, she remembered sadly that there was so much of him that was still a complete goddamn mystery to her.
But she knew she could not give up so easily, not when the feel of him against her felt so fucking right. "Yes we can," she insisted quietly, trying like hell to blink back the tears of her crushed pride. She moved forward attempting to bring her lips to his again.
47 sighed and held her back steadily, the gently firm patience of it making her feel more like a disobedient child than ever before. The tears she had been trying to hold back sprang forward, tracking hotly down her cheeks, tugging miserably at her mascara. The sting of his rejection resonated so harshly it felt as if he had slapped her.
He looked at her, his dark eyes serious and glinting with what she thought might be regret – or pity. "I cannot protect you like this." He brought his hand up as if to brush her tears away, then seemed to reconsider and let it fall to his side.
"Like what?" she countered bitterly, clutching her envelope to her chest. "You can't just give someone a gift like this and disappear," she hissed, shaking the papers at him. "Not after all we've been through. Not after all you've done for me." Her voice broke over the last word and tears blurred her vision.
She held her envelope tightly with one hand and pushed roughly at his shoulder with the other, trying to free herself from the confining doorway that had been searingly intimate only moments before. 47 stepped back obligingly, the gesture only hurting her more.
Nika stood in the shadowed alley and wiped at her face, smudging watery black mascara across her cheeks, waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to stop her from walking away.
He stared at her evenly, his face calm and carefully emotionless, never giving away a single expression. Nika bristled angrily; the cold bastard didn't even have enough heart to fight for her. "Well, if that's the way you want it - Do svidanya, asshole,"she bit out before pursing her lips and briskly turning on her heel.
Tears continued to track down her cheeks as she stalked down the alley, bitterly reflecting on what a stupid fucking idiot she was to believe that 47 would just sweep her off her feet and leave his life of contract killing behind.
Her years of whoring for Belicoff had effectively silenced that part of her that desperately hoped to dream, to believe that life might one day get better. That part of her spirit had died a few short months after she had been forced into servitude, but sparked back to life at the unexpected realization that she'd finally have land, finally have a home of her own. She'd dared to dream that that home would have been a safe haven for her hitman, knew it wouldn't really be one without him. But the simple fact that he had pushed her away, that he didn't want any part of that dream, broke her spirit all over again, more succinctly and effectively than Belicoff ever could have.
She wrapped her arms around her middle, clutching her deeds closer, suddenly feeling nauseous and heartsick and humiliated as she walked away.
Nika had almost made it to the end of the alleyway, miserably commending herself for not looking back (because wasn't it so much easier to move forward when you weren't always looking back?) when she was roughly tackled to the ground from behind, scraping her knees and fumbling her envelope in the process. She let loose with a vibrant and impressive string of curses as she turned her head to see 47 covering her, their faces inches apart, and felt the solid yet pleasing crush of his body on hers.
She pulled in a ragged breath and opened her mouth to ask him what the fuck he was thinking, but was abruptly cut short by the sharp staccato of rapid gunfire directly overhead, followed immediately by the deafening discharge of 47's weapon. Panic squeezed painfully at Nika's heart and time seemed to slow at the terrifying thought that she might never actually live past that moment.
The echoing shots suddenly faded at the screech of tires on asphalt, the sound barely audible over the pierced ringing in her ears. She was quickly dragged to her feet by 47's strong hand under her arm.
Nika stood before him, trembling with shock, fighting to catch her breath. "What…" she began weakly.
47 looked down at her, his face stern, a look bordering on what she thought might have been subdued rage. "This is exactly what I meant when I said I wouldn't be able protect you, Nika."
"What the fuck are you talking about? We're alive aren't we?" She wrenched her arm from his grasp, and tilted her chin up defiantly, willing her lips to stop quivering.
"That incident would not have happened if you had just kept walking back to the train station. I would have been able to see that car coming long before they got that close." He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand down his face. "You distracted me and it almost cost us our lives."
Anger shuddered through her, mixing sourly with the retreating remnants of her adrenaline, leaving her shaken and indignant. "Well, excuse me for being such a fucking inconvenience to you. I was trying to walk away from you, in case you didn't notice." She narrowed her eyes and jabbed a finger at his chest. "And I don't need your protection, anyways; I can take care of myself." She saw a tic bunch his jaw, the only sign that belied his masked irritation, before she turned away.
She bent to retrieve her battered FedEx envelope and heard him call her name behind her as she straightened. The undeniable need in his voice shook her to her core and almost had her turning back to him, until she remembered how much of a nuisance she must be in his eyes. She squared her shoulders and kept walking, trying to keep at least a little bit of her dignity intact.
She suddenly felt the firm pull of his hand on her wrist. She whirled around on him and he abruptly released her, no doubt startled by the intense flash of spite in her eyes. She lashed out, tears stinging her eyes, heart aching in her chest, and slapped him hard across his cheek, only wanting to inflict the hurt he had given her.
He didn't flinch, didn't even rub at his face where the red welt had begun to raise up. Was it possible the bastard didn't feel pain?
"If you want me to go, then let me go!" she shouted, her Russian accent breaking through thickly.
He looked at her, the need that had been present in his voice now glaringly evident in his eyes. "I can't…" he began. He stopped and swallowed hard before trying again. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of berating her on personal safety or some other nonsensical bullshit like she was bracing herself for, he pulled his hands up to frame her face and lunged forward, crushing his lips against hers, the unexpected force of it weakening her knees, filling her heart to near bursting.
He pushed her back against the rough brick wall directly behind her, hands sliding up into her hair, tangling in the strands. She flattened her palms over his chest, delighted to feel his heart thumping as wildly as hers.
She thrust her tongue against his desperately, relishing hungrily in the strong, sweet taste of him, feeling more lust and arousal with just that kiss than she ever had with Belicoff or anyone else. Her hands fisted instinctively at his jacket, drawing him toward her, pressing her breasts tightly against him, gasping as her nipples pebbled in response and anticipation, fueling the delicious ache twisting low in her stomach.
47 groaned and broke the kiss to draw in short, hard breaths, bringing his forehead down to rest against hers, settling his hands against her neck, thumbs brushing lightly against her jaw – the sensation prickling goose bumps along her arms.
"I can't," he whispered huskily.
"Can't what?" Nika whispered back nervously, insides rolling uneasily, positive that he was about to push her away again.
"I can't just let you go," he said simply, pulling back and placing a soft kiss to her lips.
She nearly wept with relief at his words, at the realization that maybe her happy ending really was within reach. That maybe she deserved this second chance she was given.
Nika looked to him hopefully as a small half-smile lit to his lips. He bent for a moment to retrieve her envelope from the ground, where she assumed she had dropped it when she was so deliciously assaulted moments before. He placed the deeds in her hands carefully then reached into his jacket, pulling out a silenced pistol. "I hear France is nice this time of year. Feel like taking a trip?" he asked grasping her hand, leading her toward a future that she would soon find might take a little getting used to.