The Assassin's Silence: Wren and Trace

Chapter 3: Strays

Trace

I try not to snicker as I listen to the women’s conversation. However, I can’t help but feel my heart skip a beat when Wren admits that she thinks I’m hot. I know I should feel bad for listening, but it’s not my fault that her friend assumed that I was deaf.

It’s only when her friend tells her that she should sleep with me that I almost choke. The idea makes my body throb, and an odd feeling grows inside my chest. However, somehow I manage to keep my stoic demeanor until Wren and her daughter exit the elevator.

To my surprise, Ellora pokes my arm and steps in front of me, “Hey,” she waves.

I wave back.

She looks at her phone, then back at me and signs, “I’m Ellora,”

I nod and sign back, “I’m Trace,” she looks confused for a moment, so I type the words on my phone screen and show her.”

Ellora’s smile widens as she types something on her screen and points to it. My brows arch when I see what she typed, “Well, Trace, my friend, Wren is single if you’re interested.”

The minx points to the elevator doors and wiggles her brows.

I bow my head and smirk, which seems to encourage her because she types something else and shows it to me, “You should ask her out,”

Before I reply, I think about my answer, “I don’t think I’m her type.”

Ellora sputters as she laughs and types, “Oh, I promise you are everyone’s type. Don’t be put off by Wren’s shyness. It’s just her daughter, Ainsley, is nervous around men, which makes Wren a little overprotective.”

I nod, but before I can tell her that I wouldn’t be a good choice for her friend, the elevator doors open, and she steps out.

“Just think about it,” she tries to sign as she points to her head with her index finger.

I smile as the doors close.

Ellora might not be the one I’m attracted to, but she’s definitely a spitfire. Regrettably, though I think her friend is beautiful, I can’t even think about going there. Not just because I can’t talk, but because of who I am. Being an Assassin is not the kind of job you spring on a woman, and considering Wren has a child, I would never put them in the middle of my dangerous life.

Once I reach my apartment, I step through the doors and sigh with relief. The apartment was recently designed by Savage’s wife, who did an amazing job. The walls are painted a navy blue color with white curtains and pictures of places I’ve traveled to worldwide. My kitchen is large with dark gray cabinets, gray quartz counters, a large island and stainless steel appliances.

Moving to my bedroom, I remove clothes. Sophia also did a great job designing my bedroom with its king-sized bed, large flatscreen television and walk-in closet with an attached en suite.

My muscles are tense from lying so long in my sniper position, so I take a warm shower. I’m about to step inside when my phone vibrates with a text from Phantom. I look down at the screen and smirk when I see my best friend’s message, “Yo, you up for drinks later?”

I send a quick reply, “Not tonight. I’m tired. How about tomorrow night?”

The message bubble floats for a moment before I receive an answer, “You’re lame, bro. You’ll be buying my rounds tomorrow then.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I reply before resting my cell phone on the counter and stepping into the large shower stall. I asked Sophia to design the shower with more space since I’m six foot five. The shower is state of the art with its brass hardware, dark gray walls and rainfall showerhead.

Once I’ve showered, I slip into a pair of black sweatpants and scowl when I hear a noise near my bedroom window. Brow furrowed, I open the curtain and am met with a very large, black and white cat glaring hostilely at me through its narrowed green eyes.

It must see that I’m thinking of ignoring it because it scratches at the window and mewls harshly. I swear that if the thing could talk, it would tell me to stop dawdling and open the f*****g window.

Completely baffled, I open the window and let the stocky furball inside. The cat saunters past me, its head held high as it strolls toward my kitchen and plops its fat bottom on top of my island.

It’s the most bizarre thing that I have ever seen.

I move closer and appraise its ample frame as it looks upon me disdainfully. I reach for its collar, but the thing backs away and hisses angrily, its little sharp fangs sticking out menacingly from its furry face. Even though the furball is unfriendly, I have to smile at its moxie. There aren’t many living things that are not threatened by me in this world, and the chubby furball is surprisingly cute.

For the next couple of minutes, I try to coerce it into showing me its collar, but the crafty feline manages to evade me and hides beneath one of my couches.

Not knowing what to do, I go into my kitchen, open a can of tuna and place it where the cat can see it.

Seeing that the cat refuses to come out of its hiding place, I text the building manager and tell her about my chubby pest. Hopefully, she’ll be able to do something about my little visitor.