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“You know the answer to that,” I say. I’ve killed for country. I’ve killed in self-defense. And I wouldn’t hesitate to kill to protect someone I love. Even her.

“So what’s the difference?” she asks. “If you will kill for something, won’t you kill for anything?”

I shoot her a really look.

She nods, yes, really.

“Patriotism is the same thing as greed?” I ask.

“I’m an American, baby, what do you expect?”

A laugh spills from my lips. My shoulders fall. She’s good at getting my guard down.

So I don’t fight it. I pretend her plan is working.

I turn my body towards hers like I’m thinking about letting her into my heart.

But she doesn’t jump on it. She smooths her dress and stays forwards. “Hera would hire someone like you if she wanted to take me out.”

Huh. What is she getting it?

I try to find the truth in her deep blue eyes, but I can’t. The thick eyeliner doesn’t help. She wears her role like she born to play it.

I struggle to find the thread of our conversation. “Your boss would hire an ex-boyfriend to kill you?”

“A government agent.” She leans close enough to whisper. “Will you do me a favor? If you do accept that offer, or get the order from your team, will you slip me something after sex?”

The softness in her voice makes my chest ache. “What makes you think I’ll fuck you again?”

“I don’t know… we are going to a party where people plant daisies,” she says.

A fair point. But it’s not happening. Not tonight, anyway. “Is that how you’d kill me?”

“If it was supposed to look like an accident,” she says, in a voice that’s matter of fact. Kind even. “No one would investigate an OD with your history. And it’s a good way to go. A painless drift off into oblivion.”

Everyone assumes my addiction will kill me.

I always thought it would be heroin.

But this is more likely.

My anti-heroine.

The Spanish villa is gorgeous. Brick roofs, arched columns, palm trees, and a valet to deal with the rows of expensive cars.

After we check in with the hostess in a flamenco skirt and sequin black pasties, we slip into the party. Move past the throng of rich men in suits and women half their age in a quarter the fabric.

Mostly women paid for their company, though a few are old enough, and wearing long enough dresses, they seem like girlfriends.

Technically, this is a swingers event, hosted by a former member of parliament who married his Catalan call girl. It’s a come one, come all, as long as you come, event he holds once a month.

The room buzzes with desire and EDM. The scent of perfume and flavored lube mix with the chlorine from the pool outside. Not my idea of sexy scents, but what could ever top the citrus soap on Jamie’s skin?

I take a deep breath and let out a steady exhale. This isn’t a mission I’d suggest on my own. I’d do the smart thing and offer the man cash.

Or threaten a loved one.

And I’m the evil one? I practically hear Jamie’s voice in my head.