"No, No, No!"

Her dark burgundy ponytail whipped around as she looked over her shoulder at me, olive-green eyes flashing with indignation.

"What?!!"

"I told you it was too risky. You missed his heart," I said with no small measure of annoyance.

Nikita turned and looked down. "Really?"

René Desmarais lay on the ground at her feet, a spreading dark blood stain on his chest contrasting sharply with his frayed and scruffy open-neck white dress shirt. His eyes were open wide, pupils dilated and glossy with shock, hands twitching at his side as if trying to move. The sweet spicy scent of rum smelled strong, the result of breaking a bottle inside a brown paper bag he'd dropped at his side. Rum scent battled with a dank mouldy odour in the still night air, the result of a recent passing thunderstorm. René was probably still shocked at what the little girl had just done to him; being shot in the chest looked like it hurt. I had no doubt he was surprised, too. His mouth moved as if he was trying to say something, no sound emerging.

A soft 'thut' sounded when Nikita aimed the long-snouted silenced Beretta at René and pulled the trigger, putting him out of his misery. His body twitched one final time, a red hole appearing in his forehead perfectly placed between and above his eyebrows. He stilled; his watery brown eyes already vacant. A dark stain spread at the crotch of his threadbare brown trousers as muscles relaxed.

"There!" She gave a short nod, satisfied. Then under her breath she muttered, "Asshole."

Glancing around I was relieved to see the dark alley leading to a rear parking lot was still deserted. Cars passed in the street, headlights providing flashes of illumination on the wet road, tyres hissing, engines fading away. One lone naked bulb cast a weak yellowish light in the alley creating soft shadows and highlighting cracks in the concrete walkway being invaded by weeds. I was pissed. We'd been here for almost a minute and a half; far too long. Why the hell didn't Nikita ever listen to me?

"Come on," I said reaching out to her, frowning.

She smiled at me and slipped her small, delicate hand into mine.

"Gun," I clarified.

With a grin, she let my hand go and passed the Beretta. At least she passed the handgrip first, just as I'd taught her. I wished she'd do more of that; do what I'd taught her. A twist removed the hot silencer. I slipped it into the side pocket of my leather aviator jacket and the gun into a nylon shoulder holster before bending to pick up the two spent brass cartridges.

Reaching out I offered my hand again. Nikita slipped her hand into mine, still so small even at twelve and a half years old.

"Sorry?" she offered with a smile, eyebrows arched, pretty eyes turned up to me glittering in the night.

Sorry my ass.

I checked the road both ways as we exited the alley, occasional cars motoring through the residential neighbourhood. We wouldn't be noticed or, if seen, not remembered; just a father and his daughter.

"Are you going to talk to me, Nick?"

With a tug of her hand, I turned right. Three hundred yards down I could see our rented dark-blue Peugot 405 parked on the opposite side of the road, no one paying any interest in it.

"Are you angry with me?" Nikita asked in an inquisitive voice, seemingly not intimidated in the least.

You're damned right I was angry. It was unprofessional in the extreme. Striding towards the car, Nikita skipping every third step to keep up, I tried to calm my anger. She seemed to think this was a game. It wasn't.

"What's the big deal?" Nikita asked. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"I told you, head shot. Kill him with a double tap to the head," I explained, though why I was explaining I didn't know. "You've got to listen to me, Nikita."

"I heard you, Nick," she said. "But I thought I'd practice the heart shot. You said it was hard." After a brief pause she added, "You were right! It's much harder in real life!"

I almost let out the smile trying to escape despite my displeasure. Just in case, I turned my face away from her and scanned our surroundings again; still dark, still alone, street lamps creating pools of light along the slick wet road. When a measure of control returned I stopped, turned to her and frowned. "If you're not going to listen to me, that's it. Next time you'll stay behind."

With a firm tug on her hand we resumed walking. Nikita started muttering under her breath, something she did when she disagreed with me, which, God help me, she did a lot. I heard her mutter, "You told me to practice," followed by, "I always listen to you," and, after a brief pause, "and you didn't say anything about not shooting him in the heart, either."

It was very hard to maintain my frown as we climbed into the car. Turning the key I started the Peugot, instructing Nikita to buckle up while shaking my head at her recalcitrance. She was the single most aggravating and frustrating female I'd ever known, and not by a bit, but by a mile.

NIKITA GRINNED TO HERSELF as Nick drove them back to their small hotel. The way he stepped on the accelerator, slammed on the brakes and wrestled the rented car around corners was throwing her around, banging her shoulder against the door, head tossing forward when he braked sharply, and then thrown back into the seat. Nick was angry with her. The frown on his face, one that had once scared her a bit, just made her grin. She knew him too well.

It was an uncomfortable ride through the streets of Madrid ending with a squeal of tires, the smell of burning rubber reaching her as Nick slipped the car into a parking spot with supreme skill. He grabbed her hand and practically dragged her into the nondescript hotel and up to their room. Nikita couldn't erase her grin, even when Nick squinted at her in frustration. Brushing her teeth, she giggled. She knew how to make him forgive her, or at least distract him.

The room was small, a low-end independent hotel located in a rundown part of the city usually frequented by back-packing students. The furniture was industrial and threadbare, designed by someone with absolutely no knowledge of esthetic appeal; an engineer or efficiency expert, probably. The armoire doors were warped and didn't close properly, the rug was frayed, and a neon sign flashed red through thin curtains. There was a vague musty smell as if the room hadn't been dusted in months.

Nick was on his side, bare shoulder and arm over the covers, and turned away from her side of the bed as she slipped in. She smiled at this truculence, his snit that she hadn't followed his instructions. Laying on her front, her cheek pressed to the thin pillow, and one arm under it, she reached out to Nick's shoulder, tugging it.

"Turn around, Nick."

She grinned when he muttered and shrugged her hand off.

"C'mon, Nick, turn over. I ache," she said, tugging his shoulder again. Nikita smiled at him when he turned and glared at her, his blue eyes intense. She took his hand and guided it under the covers to her naked bum. "I ache here," she said softly. "Can you make it better? Huh? Please? Pretty please?"

Her little bum wiggle was the final straw. She saw frustration leave his sexy eyes, they softened and desire appeared. She grinned when he groped her ass and growled at her.

"I ache a lot," she whispered. "Make it better? Please?"

I WAS DAMNED. IT was as simple as that. I was damned to be controlled unmercifully by a twelve-year-old. Nikita was going to be the death of me. Looking into her intensely attractive, expressive olive-green eyes I felt her take over, again. Her smile demolished the last of my sternest indignation. Her bum flexed in my palm, sweet and petite. I got an erection. The damned minx knew the effect she had on me. I saw it in how she grinned with success and wiggled her damned sexy butt again.

"God damn it, Nikita," I growled at her, squeezing a remarkably firm little buttock. I was pissed when my erection stiffened, the seductive valley between her bum cheeks so softly alluring and sensual. I had no resistance, none. I loved how she would get her way, consequences be damned, her focused determination truly impressive. She manipulated me. I knew it and I was helpless to stop her. It frustrated me no end and yet I loved it.

In two and a half years of living with Nikita, I'd never understood how she did it. I'd never figured out how she could get under my skin and drive me so damn nuts I'd want to kill; just kill; anyone in sight would do. And then lightning-fast she'd do something that would demolish my anger and my defenses, completely lay waste to my detached and analytical self; like now. That sexy smile, her incredibly shaped little bum and sexy wiggle had me hard and stupid in no time flat.

Letting her ass go, I reached up and gently caressed her hair, slowly pulling the elastic hair band off her ponytail. Her dark burgundy hair expanded, thick and luxurious, appearing heavy, spreading over her shoulders and slender upper back. Rolling close, I inhaled deeply, a scent I'd become addicted to, and kissed a soft cheek before letting my hand return to her spectacular little rump. Her eyes glistened beautifully before closing, olive-green winking out and a soft enigmatic smile forming on her lips.

Seeing that smile it hit me. "You missed his heart on purpose, didn't you?" I asked softly. "You wanted to punish him."

She didn't reply. The Mona Lisa-like smile remained as she slowly wiggled her delectable bum in my palm.

I loved Nikita so much, at times it hurt. I loved that enigmatic smile of hers, too. It always made an appearance when she was satisfied, usually when she got something she'd wanted that I'd not been in favour of. I loved that enigmatic smile so much it made my heart ache and pride blossom at her willfulness.

It was indelibly imprinted on my mind. The first time I ever saw that smile was in Marrakech, Morocco, Nikita hanging from my hand by the scruff of her neck, feet dangling, eyes twinkling with absolute mischief and completely devoid of fear.

Chapter One

Carrying a black nylon sports bag, I wended my way through the Marrakech souk, spices and honey-sweet baklava scenting the air, battling with the stronger scents of charcoal barbecued chicken kebabs and loose leaf tea and smoke. Shoppers bumped, nudged, and jostled. Voices were raised in artfully fake outrage as they bargained loudly. The market was teeming with life.

This familiar hustle and bustle brought relaxation, a physical melting of muscles in my shoulders and neck. It had been a long journey from Dusseldorf to Marrakech-Menara Airport and I was glad to be home.

My destination slowly emerged as I meandered, an ancient three-story sandstone apartment block some four hundred yards ahead that seemed to hang over the souk, empty washing lines strung to the opposite building from shuttered windows.

As I made my way through the souk I used displays of reflective brass trays and polished copper pots to keep track of her. I'd picked her up almost immediately while wending my way through the narrow lanes filled small shops and throngs of shoppers mixed with loudly-dressed tourists. Why was she following me? She was small, a child of about eight years, skinny and filthy, dark hair messy. But her eyes fascinated me. In a subtle turn, out of the corner of my eye I thought they were olive-green and large in her pixyish face. A smudge of dirt marred one cheek. Taking my time, pausing to look at some intricately embroidered cloths before moving on, I let her follow, quite intrigued.

When we turned the corner to my apartment building she bumped me from behind before trying to peel away.

Reaching out I grabbed the scruff of her dirty shirt and lifted, turning her as she hung off my hand. She was European, Caucasian, light skinned and, at that particular moment, struggling to get free.

"Give," I instructed.

"Quoi?"

"Ah. Vous parlez français? Donner," I instructed the struggling little girl and gave her a small shake. She was very young, I thought, weighing less than sixty pounds, four and something feet tall.

An angelic expression emerged. "Give what?"

"My wallet."

"Why would I have your wallet?" she asked, all innocent.

I didn't have time for this. I wanted a shower and a beer. "Listen, either you give it to me or I'll find it myself." I watched as she stopped struggling, still suspended off the ground. The odor hit me at a slight breeze. She stunk.

Her eyes were really quite attractive. I was right, a very unusual olive-green that demanded attention. Fishing behind her, she extended her hand offering me my wallet. "Here," she said.

Dropping the black nylon sports bag filled with clothes from my trip, I reached for my wallet.

An enigmatic smile emerged through the dirt and grime, a spectacularly fascinating smile that curved the corners of her closed lips, soft, an "I've got your number" smile.

Without letting her down, I flipped the wallet open. "All right, young lady, give me my money."

"What money?"

The attempt at innocence failed. However, I was truly impressed with her skill. She had remarkable dexterity, an exceptionally light touch, and was clearly very quick; to be able to not only remove my wallet but empty it as well was impressive.

I shook her again and almost smiled at her grin. I noticed gaps in her white teeth, upper canines missing or just growing. It gave her an impish grin.

"Okay, jeez, relax." Digging behind her she pulled out a wad of bills and handed them to me.

I was about to put her down when that smile reappeared. Hmm. "All of it," I ordered with another shake.

She laughed and fished for the last few bills, extending her hand to me. "Here. That's all."

Letting her down, I peeled off a couple of bills and handed them to her as I picked up my bag. "Go get something to eat." I left her at the entrance to the apartment building not giving her a second thought.

She stole my wallet again the next day, very subtly. In fact, if it wasn't for a slight brush as she tried to slip away I might have missed it, my attention distracted by the scent of delicious spicy grilled chicken. She was very, very good. Nevertheless, she was still dangling from my hand again, smiling at me, her eyes twinkling as she handed me my wallet without my asking.

"Sorry?" she offered with a smile and a shrug that suggested she harboured no regrets.

I said nothing; just stared.

She sighed and reached into her back pocket, pulling out my wad of bills. I noticed she'd cleaned herself a bit with the money I'd given her yesterday. Her face was quite pretty for a child. But she still stunk.

Giving her a couple of bills, I told her to feed herself, suggested a bath and left, continuing on my way.

I was deeply impressed on her third try two days later. I'd seen her. Not being an idiot, I watched her surreptitiously. This time I felt nothing. Yet, she was once again dangling from my hand, staring at me with those eyes, smiling.

"Sorry?" she offered, her hand holding my wallet out to me.

This was becoming tiresome. I appreciated her skill, but couldn't she pick some other sap? "Go find some other sucker," I told her after she'd returned my money. She took the proffered bills, stuffed them into a rear pocket of her grimy jeans and proceeded to follow me into the apartment building.

"What do you do?" she asked, running to keep up with me.

"Go away."

"Have you lived here long? What's your name?"

"Go. Shoo."

She didn't, following me up the tiled stairs to the third floor, our steps echoing in the hall. Fumbling at the door, I managed to unlock it and enter, kicking it closed behind me. Damn she was a pest; talented, but a pest.

"Nice apartment."

I almost jumped out of my skin. She was wandering through the living room staring at the furniture. How the fuck did she get in? Never mind. "Get out," I ordered, opening the door, pointing and frowning.

"See ya." She smiled as she left.

Pausing, the door partially closed, I realised I recognised that enigmatic smile. Fuck! She'd disappeared by the time I ran down the stairs. Back in my apartment I identified the missing ebony wood statuette, an intricately carved and painted Egyptian Goddess Renpet, the Goddess of Spring and Youth that I was very fond of.

Eight days later I saw her again when I stepped out of a cab. "Shukran," I said to the driver, thanking him. I passed a hundred and ten dirham to the cab driver, picked up my black nylon sports bag and entered the souk.

I was returning from Italy having had a very private conversation with a local businessman the Mafia seemed to have taken a dislike to. Inhaling the familiar welcoming scent of the souk, I admired the snow-capped peaks of the Atlas Mountains in the hazy distance. It still amazed me to see snow in Africa; so counter intuitive, I thought.

Dodging around shoppers and tourists I again wondered why I accepted contracts from the Cosa Nostra? I didn't even like them. It did enhance my reputation, but was that necessary any more? I had a pretty good if low profile reputation. I decided to have a chat with Philippe next time we talked. As the primary front man for my services, he'd know if we still needed Mafia business.

"You're back. Where did you go?" she said, this time not trying to lift my wallet, just walking beside me. When I didn't reply she added, "What's your name?"

Pausing, looking past her riveting olive-green eyes, I saw she was back to being filthy, her dark hair a disaster, face smudged. I could detect a sour odor rising from her as well. "You need a bath."

"Thanks," she said, pocketing the bills I offered. "What's your name?"

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I asked. "Like a bathtub?"

"Nope. What's your name? Are you ashamed of it? Is it Humphrey? Or Hubert?" she asked with apparent interest. "It's Chauncey, isn't it?"

"What's yours?" I asked. Now why did I ask that? I didn't need or want to know her name.

"Nikita. What's yours?"

She followed me up the stairs and crowded me when I unlocked the door to my apartment and, with no hesitation at all, strolled in. I was unaware at that point that Nikita had just permanently moved into my life.

"I did not invite you in," I told her with a frown, holding the door open for her to leave. She strolled around the living room ignoring me.

"I know."

With a sigh I shut the door. "And that reminds me. Where the hell is my statuette?"

Nikita bounced her rear on the couch as if testing it. "I sold it."

"To whom?"

"Aziz."

Damn. That scumbag? "I'll go see him tomorrow. How much?"

"Six hundred and forty."

Shit. It was worth a small fortune. Six hundred and forty dirham, the local currency, was only seventy-five bucks! Aziz was going to get a personal visit from me.

Thirsty and now pissed off, I headed to the kitchen to grab a Heineken from the fridge, Nikita following close behind. I could tell; a rank odor followed me. "You stink," I told her, the ice-cold can hissing as I popped the tab.

"I know."

"So go wash yourself."

Opening the balcony doors, I stretched, bent, and leaned on the railing, watching the fascinating canvas that was the souk. It was one of the oldest and busiest in Africa, certainly one of the most famous. With its narrow alleys, its frenetic activity, its miasma of aromas, and the vitality it exuded every day, it helped me feel alive, if just a bit.

Glancing over my shoulder I was pleased to see no sign of Nikita. Good. She'd finally got the message and left. What was with her anyway? I pulled over a chair and sat in the late afternoon shade. A pack of French Gitanes in my shirt pocket yielded a cigarette and lighter. That first deep inhalation felt wonderful. I could almost feel nicotine hitting my bloodstream and calming me. It was good to be home.

As I usually did, my mind went back over this most recent contract, searching for any flaws. Had I left a clue? Had I left traces that would reveal Mario's death as anything but an accident? If I had, I couldn't see it. The life I'd chosen, a contract personnel manager - or as some people had wont to describe it, assassin, contract killer, pest-control manager, and other less charitable names - was really quite a lonesome profession. It required dispassion, cold calculation and distance from the world. It suited me rather well.

I quite liked the odd hours and the new challenge every engagement provided. I liked the change in scenery, too. It was nice to travel. While there were times between contracts that stretched for months, I didn't find them boring in the slightest. It allowed me to temporarily retire, as it were, and refine my craft. There were so many interesting ways of killing. In fact, I didn't think my targets quite appreciated the skill, respect, and poetic justice I paid to them, selecting a mode of death most suited to their personalities or transgressions.

Mario Bastino, the recently deceased middle-aged and crooked businessman from Padua who had stiffed his paymasters one-too-many times, was a fastidious dresser and anally retentive about neatness and cleanliness. It was appropriate he drown in his bathtub. Of course, heart attacks do happen at odd times; at least those induced by the forced introduction of a heavy dose of nitro-glycerine into the body. But, had I covered myself?

Movement broke my chain of thought. Nikita emerged onto the balcony wearing one of my shirts, a large light green T-shirt bearing the logo of Metaxa brandy. Had she been going through my things?

"Better, huh?" she asked.

Her hair was still damp and for the first time I noticed it wasn't dirt-coloured at all. Nikita had rich dark burgundy hair that glinted with coppery gold strands in the late afternoon sunlight. She seemed to clean up into a different girl altogether. This girl was very pretty. She was clearly going to be a stunner one day when she grew up. She was so petite I was quite sure she was eight years old, yet she talked as if she was older. Was it being on the street that did it? Why was she on the street? Actually, why was she in my apartment? Come to think of it, why was she wearing my clothes?

"That's my T-shirt you're wearing."

"Yup."

"Where did you get it?" Now, exactly why did I ask that question? Was I trying to appear stupid? She got it from my bedroom. "I mean, why did you get it?" No, that's not really what I meant. I tried again. "I mean, where are your clothes and who told you you could take a shower in my bathroom?"

She stood leaning back, elbows on the black iron balcony railing, olive-green eyes studying me, T-shirt riding up slender bare legs. "Are you done yet or do you have more?" she asked smiling at me. It looked like she was mocking my articulateness.

"I'm not done by a long shot, young lady," I insisted. "Who gave you permission to use my bathroom?"

"You did. You told me to go wash."

"Hmm. I don't remember saying anything about using my bathroom."

"You didn't tell me not to." She paused before adding, "Sorry?" with a smile. I was absolutely convinced she didn't have one ounce of sorry in her; not one ounce.

While I paused to think up a rejoinder, Nikita left the balcony. She returned a couple of minutes later with a Coke and another beer. "Here," she said handing me the beer. "This is for you."

"Thanks." It wasn't until I'd popped the tab on it that I realised she was now helping herself to my drinks, too.

I was not impressed. I even found her wet, washed clothes hanging off of everything in my bathroom when I went to relieve myself; a well worn royal blue T-shirt, scruffy jeans, multi-coloured socks, one with a hole in it, and frayed off-white cotton undies. I realised, with a sigh, she wasn't going anywhere until her clothes dried out. Grabbing them I took them to the balcony to dry faster.

An hour later she inhaled a Fettuccini Alfredo dinner I'd made, packing away more than I could have consumed in two meals. I didn't feel guilty in the slightest when I pushed the re-dressed, bathed and over-fed girl out my door. "Go home," I instructed, closing the door behind her.

Standing on the balcony, leaning on the railing with a beer in hand, watching locals and tourists moving below, I enjoyed the peace. Nikita had kept up a running conversation despite my not answering her at all. She wasn't put off in the slightest that I wasn't participating. Draining the beer, I wondered where she lived. Then I wondered why I was interested? Why would I care? I didn't, I decided with a nod.

Sleep came easily.

I woke up suddenly. Normally I'm exceptionally observant. Somehow, as I slept, I picked up on a small detail that niggled. I hated niggles. I hadn't seen Nikita actually leave the apartment building. From the balcony I should have seen her. Was she hiding in the building? Where? Somehow I wouldn't put it past her. Slipping on jeans and sneakers I started out. Until I confirmed she'd left, I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. I absolutely hated niggles. Like loose teeth I could never let them go, pushing and probing despite the discomfort.

It wasn't hard to find her. All I did was open the apartment door. Nikita was curled up in the hall, sleeping on the floor, head on crossed arms. Something in my chest shifted. I didn't like the feeling, it was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Nevertheless, I couldn't let her sleep there. Frowning, I picked her up gently and laid her on the couch. I was once again reminded how light and petite she was. Leaving the living room, I paused, turned, looked at her and, with a sigh, fetched a blanket and pillow.

With a light blanket covering her I finally found sleep. My final thought was I'd need to have a stern talk with her tomorrow.

NIKITA WOKE SLOWLY. SHE felt different. As awareness rushed in she realised she was on a couch. She smiled, yawned and stretched. She'd had the best night's sleep she'd had in almost two years. Yanking the blanket aside she stood and looked around the living room. Who was he, this mysterious guy? He didn't talk much. She moseyed down the hall and into a study. Spotting a desk she strolled over, poked at papers and saw the corner of an envelope peeking out from underneath. Pushing the top papers aside with a finger she bent. It was addressed to Nick Wolfe. Huh. Nick. Nice name; better than Chauncey.

He looked like a Nick with his intense blue eyes and dark brown hair. She chuckled as she imagined him being a Humphrey. That would be funny. Casually, Nikita wandered around inspecting and peeking, opening cupboard doors, pulling drawers open, and generally snooping. She spotted an old gold fob watch and grabbed it, slipping it into her jean pocket without thinking.

She liked his apartment. It was sparse, light-colored hardwood floors and cream-painted walls. The furniture was dark, almost black wood with intricate engravings and cream-coloured cloth cushions. Egyptian art hung on his walls; one actually seemed like a chunk of plaster with hieroglyphs. Small bits and pieces, all Egyptian-looking, were scattered around.

A loud stomach rumble interrupted her snooping. She headed for the kitchen to see what Nick had to eat.

I WOKE TO THE SMELL of burnt toast. After a brief bout of confusion and the sound of cussing, I remembered I had an unwelcome guest. Showered and dressed I found her with a pile of burnt toast, jam smeared on one cheek and a half empty glass of milk in front of her.

"I made breakfast, Nick," she advised, nodding at the burnt toast.

It didn't look appetizing.

Her olive-green eyes followed me as I made coffee. Munching on toast, crumbs fell from her mouth to the table.

"Nikita, where do you live?"

"Here and there."

I knew she was a street child; like most kids living on their wits she showed an abnormal confidence. But to see a Caucasian girl on the streets of Marrakech was extremely odd. Over breakfast of cereal, two bowls for her, she happily chatted away, interrogating me, learning nothing yet seemingly satisfied. She managed to talk about everything except herself. When I took my last cup of coffee onto the balcony to warm myself in the morning sun it finally registered.

"Hey. How did you know my name is Nick?" I asked over my shoulder. Getting no answer, I rose and went to find her. What was she doing now?

Passing through the living room the phone rang, waylaying my hunt for her.

"Oui?"

"Nick, it's Philippe."

Philippe Gerard and I had a working partnership; he was the front man, the contact for clients. It provided a layer of protection for me and only cost me ten percent.

"What gives? I did get paid, didn't I?"

"Bien sûr; of course. Don't worry. I transferred the balance of funds yesterday. That's not why I'm calling. There's been some rumbling out of Padua. It seems Don Carlo was a bit less truthful about your target than we thought."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked. It was Philippe's job to get the details right.

"If I'm hearing correctly, the beef between Mario Bastino and Don Carlo had nothing to do with money, but something about Don Carlo's eighteen-year-old niece being pregnant. She was apparently quite friendly with Mario, if you get my drift."

"Fuck, Philippe! You're supposed to get these things right!" I had strict rules, very strict rules. I only accepted targets that were themselves evil, rotten, dirty. And one of the rules was NEVER get in the middle of family disagreements; they were no-win situations.

"Uh, yeah. Je suis désolé. These things happen. Listen, there are rumblings that Mario's people are actively trying to find out who hit him, so keep your head down. They can't know it was you, but, just to be safe. . ."

I took a deep breath. Philippe was the only one who knew my identity and location. "Okay. Keep me informed," I ordered.

"Oui, bien sûr. Don't worry."

Despite his assurances, I did.

Chapter Two

NIKITA WANDERED ABOUT, SNOOPING into every drawer and cupboard in Nick's apartment. She'd waited for him to go shopping before giving into her curiosity. Over the last two days she'd lived in his apartment she'd noticed that he could move with surprising stealth and speed, several times almost making her jump out of her skin by creeping up on her. He angrily claimed "I don't creep anywhere, Nikita," and he was probably right. But damn he could move like a panther hunting prey. She sort of liked the hairy eyeball look he'd give her. She seemed to be able to get under his skin so easily and watching him try to control himself was quite funny. She rather liked him. She liked the way he kept telling her to go away and would do nothing but frown when she grinned and stayed. She was beginning to suspect he had a soft side.

In the study she pulled a butter knife from her back jeans pocket. There was one closet that had remained stubbornly closed to her, refusing to reveal its secrets. Working the butter knife she pried open the locked closet that had intrigued and defied her, the only locked closet in the apartment.

Her jaw dropped when she saw an array of weapons, handguns, rifles with scopes on them, and knives and other odd nasty-looking things. Reaching out, she gently picked a long-snouted handgun off its peg, heavy. Turning slightly she inspected it. The front felt too heavy, the barrel really long, gravity pulling at it. When it almost slipped from her hands she tightened her grip.

A silent 'thut' startled her, her hand jumping wildly as the pistol bucked violently. A mirror on the study wall shattered loudly and a hand grabbed her wrist painfully hard, shocking the hell out of her. Glancing up, Nikita went weak in the knees. She'd felt intense helpless fear only once before in her short life. Now her heart thumped, pulse jumped, and dread flowed through her. Nick's eyes were stone cold, his grip hurt, and she saw death in his frighteningly flat eyes. For the second time in her life, Nikita peed herself. Tears welled in her eyes from fear and embarrassment.

As fast as it had appeared, Nick's eyes cleared. His grip on her wrist eased.

I GENTLY PRIED NIKITA'S hand off the pistol, taking it from her.

"Nikita, don't ever touch a gun again, ever. Do you hear me?" I said as the fog of fear cleared. But, fuck! She could have killed herself! I noticed tears welling in her eyes and, with deep shame, realised I'd scared her so badly her bladder had released, a dark stain at her crotch. Nikita was trembling in my arms as I carried her to the bathroom. She stood trembling, eyes big and shimmering with unshed tears while I started the bath. She was inert, not cooperating when I removed her T-shirt, pulled her shoes and socks off, all the while murmuring my apologies to her. I noticed small buds on her chest. She had to be older than eight, I thought.

Nikita did nothing to stop me tugging her jeans off, her stained, frayed cotton panties tugged down over her rear. She stared at me silently, eyes brimming, when I lowered her panties. I looked her in the eye to protect her modesty even though I caught a glimpse of the mounded pad of her immature pubis. Lifting her under her arms I lowered her into the bathtub. "Wash yourself, Honey," I instructed, picking her soiled clothes up. "I'll be back soon, okay?"

She didn't answer. I wondered if she might be in a catatonic state as I stepped into the kitchen and dumped her clothes in the garbage, pausing and pulling her jeans out, hefting them a few times. Searching the pockets, I frowned when I pulled out my antique fob watch. Tossing her jeans back in the trash I left. There were plenty of clothes shops in the souk. I didn't like what I was feeling. Shame was an unfamiliar emotion. How had I left that gun with a chambered round? It was unforgivable. And how the hell had she gotten into the locked cabinet?

NIKITA SAT IN THE bathtub. Tears finally spilled down her cheeks. She swiped them away, angry at herself. She'd sworn she'd never, ever be that scared again. But for a moment she'd seen her death in Nick's eyes and felt completely helpless . . . again. It had frightened her to the core. Nikita angrily swiped tears from her cheeks. Her chest felt tight, just like last time. She didn't notice the dark bruises forming on her small wrist.

She sat in the tub not moving, unable to stop the terror floating back at her, heart thumping. He'd been brutal, not caring about her screams, her pain. She'd been helpless to stop him, her drunken stepfather stripping her violently as she tried to fight him off. She'd been helpless as he'd raped her, so much pain, so much pain. He'd ignored her screams and left her bruised and bleeding; eight years old, so scared. She'd sworn to herself as she ran away that night, NEVER AGAIN! No one was going to hurt her, she'd never be that helpless again, and no one was going to scare her like that ever again. And Nick had. For one infinitesimal moment she'd thought she was going to die and felt the same helpless terror.

Her small fist slammed into the bath water, splashing it hard. She did it again, then again, both fists punishing the water in a fury of anguish. Water sprayed over the sides to splash onto the tiled floor and her intensity increased, hair flying as she fought to regain control, a scream erupting and echoing. Eventually, anger displaced fear, and then reason displaced anger. Slowly calm and control returned. Nikita realised it wasn't Nick's fault he'd frightened her so badly. It was hers.

But the look in his eyes; she'd never seen anything like it. She shuddered, goose bumps forming on her arms. Reaching for a bar of soap, Nikita started washing herself. No, it wasn't Nick's fault.

When she washed her pussy a blush grew hot in her face. He'd undressed her. He'd seen her naked! She replayed it and her heart calmed when she remembered Nick looking into her eyes when he pulled her panties down, not at her pussy. He didn't have that look in his eyes, the ugly lust her stepfather had had. She heard him again, so soft spoken, "Wash yourself, Honey." Nick had called her "Honey." The softness and tenderness in his eyes as he put her in the bathtub, such a contrast to the glacial flinty stare, hit her hard. He cared. Nick cared. No one had cared about her in so long. How did he go from one extreme to the other so quickly?

When she dried herself she discovered all her clothes gone. Wrapping the towel around her, she mopped up her mess and left the bathroom.

I FOUND NIKITA PERCHED on the edge of the couch with a bath towel wrapped around her, a knot or fold holding it on. I'd never understood how the fold worked. Whenever I did it around my waist, it would unravel as soon as I moved. She looked calm, hair wet, cute. I was about to apologise again for frightening her when she smiled.

"Sorry," she said, this time as if she actually meant it. "I shouldn't have snooped."

Handing her a couple of bags, I spoke gently. "Nikita, I'm sorry I scared you. But, and this is important, you should never touch a gun unless you know what you're doing. You could have killed yourself."

"I know. Sorry."

She looked down, her hand fishing around in one bag. A smile blossomed as she drew out a new pair of jeans. "Nice." She lay them on the couch and started fishing again, smiling at the pastel pink cotton T-shirt. "Yup. Nice," she nodded. Switching to the second bag, she pulled out socks, nodded her approval and fished around again. When she pulled out the pastel pink cotton panties, she blushed. They had some lacy raised-pattern on the front. I thought they looked like something a girl would like when I bought them.

Nikita looked up at me, still blushing slightly. She stuffed the panties under the jeans. "Thanks, Nick. I'd better go get dressed." Gathering up the clothes, she disappeared down the hall.

The sight of dark purple bruises ringing her small wrist made me flush with shame, again.

Chapter Three

Nikita moved into my life like I had invited her. I hadn't. Yet, three nights after that first one, I found Nikita curled up on the end of my bed when morning arrived. It infuriated me. I immediately had a picture of a dog sleeping on my bed and felt a flush of anger that she'd sleep like that. It was demeaning.

Her eyes opened at my gentle shake. "Don't sleep on my bed like this," I told her. "I don't like it."

Olive-green eyes studied me for a moment, tugging at something inside me. I felt that discomfort return to my chest. An enigmatic smile played on her lips.

"Kay."

She didn't, either. But the next morning I woke with a mass of burgundy hair tickling my face. I smelled an unusual aroma and felt heat radiating at me. Nikita had slipped into my bed. She was curled up, her face resting on the pillow turned away from me and thick hair a mess. She was wearing my light green T-shirt again.

I made a mistake that morning. Rather than shaking her awake and telling her to get the hell out of my bed, I leaned over and studied her face. I'd never been around kids, never really cared for them. But Nikita was completely different from my preconceptions. She was quite intelligent and had gumption and courage. Nothing I did seemed to faze her or discourage her. She had a mind of her own and I admired her for it. Staring at her as she slept I liked how her long dark lashes rested on her small cheeks. Her small nose flared slightly with each almost silent breath. Relaxed, Nikita was startlingly pretty. She was a very cute little girl. Heading to the bathroom, I turned and glanced back. Seeing Nikita in my bed, small, curled up, and so peacefully asleep, discomfort returned, a knot in my chest. I was not happy at how I was beginning to like her.

Nikita never slept anywhere but at my side after that. As nights passed I found myself enjoying her presence in bed more and more. Even worse was how much I liked her aroma. It was pure Nikita, sleeping Nikita. She didn't have that scent during the day, only at night. It was incredibly comforting for some reason.

And even worse was waking up one morning three weeks after she'd entered my life to find myself hugging her to me. It was disturbing to find I enjoyed hugging her. I didn't understand why I liked how petite she felt in my arms. I'd been told with tremendous indignation she was ten years old, "How could you think I was eight?" she'd exclaimed with a frown. That sort of explained her remarkable personality. She'd glared at me when I'd tried to explain she was so small I thought she was eight. I liked her fierce glare.

Chapter Four

Mid-morning, early spring, Tuesday. Nikita was clattering around inside doing God knows what. I was sipping coffee, made by Nikita, and reading a four-day-old International Herald Tribune. It jumped out at me from page seven, a small article at the bottom of the right-hand page.

------
Police Stumped by Vicious Attack
By Juliet Macur
A vicious attack left a Swiss national dead in his apartment. Philippe Gerard was discovered after neighbours expressed concern over a smell emanating from his apartment. Mr. Gerard, according to Geneva police, had been severely beaten, burned and had, what the police are calling, "signs of torture." Neighbours say Philippe was a quiet man involved with International businesses. They were shocked at this death, claiming he was always so quiet and polite. No suspect has been named. Investigations continue.
------

Cold fear washed over me. There could be only one reason for Philippe being tortured. Someone was looking for me. I tossed the paper down and jumped up.

"Nikita! Nikita!" Where was she? "You've gotta go," I yelled.

My mind immediately started planning; get rid of Nikita, pack and disappear to my bolt-hole in the Atlas Mountains.

I found her in the study reading a book on guns. "Nikita, you have to leave right now, right now."

"But . . ."

"Don't argue. Get your things and go."

I tossed clothes into the black nylon sports bag, opened the safe and pulled out all the currency I had along with three passports, tossing them in the bag.

Moving to the study, as Nikita gathered her meagre collection of clothes, I emptied the gun closet into two heavy-duty duffel bags.

Dropping them at the front door, I hurried Nikita along, guiding her by the shoulder. "Here, take this money and find somewhere to stay. I'll find you eventually." I guided her to the door.

"But . . ."

Opening the door, wood splintered as bullets slammed into the door frame, prickling my cheek. Ducking back, I shoved Nikita away. She fell and slid across the floor on her back with an "Ooof." A group of four bullets smashed through the door as I dived to the side, rolling across the floor to a side table. Reaching underneath I tore out a silenced Berretta kept for emergencies. Three more bullets blasted through the door. It started opening.

Rolling onto my back I brought the gun up. Two quick taps at the door where I estimated a man might be and the door swung open, a body tumbling in to thump lifelessly onto the floor. A flurry of bullets followed, soft silenced shots. Standing, I slipped to the side of the door, back pressed to the wall. Nikita stirred, sitting up, her eyes wide. Why didn't she look scared? Motioning her to stay, I peeked around the doorframe quickly. Shots slammed into the door frame as I pulled back, more splinters flying; I'd seen two more, one low on the stairs going down, one in a doorway across and down the hall.

I needed to get Nikita out. But how? Would she understand if I pointed to the fire escape at the back of the apartment? Glancing at her I jabbed my finger towards the bedroom. She frowned at me and shook her head no. What the fuck? I felt like snarling at her. Who the hell did she think she was? I tried again. She shook her head harder, her thick ponytail swaying. Damn! Fuck!

Anger coursed through me. Her stubbornness was going to get her killed! Rage burned bright at the thought of her getting shot.

I launched myself through the door, diving and twisting in midair as I fired, one shot taking out the gunman in the hall with a bullet between his eyes. Still rotating in the air I brought the gun around. From two feet away I shot the second gunman behind the stair railing between his eyes just as his gun went off, a bullet passing my face so close I felt heat from its passage. A look of shock appeared on his face as I slammed onto the floor, breath bursting from my lungs. Silence rushed in. Burnt gunpowder smelled strong. For a few seconds the world held its breath.

Sounds rushed back; the gunman rattling as he tumbled down the stairs, gun clattering on the tiles, noise from the souk, "Nick!" shouted out.

Nikita peered around the damaged door, spotted me on the floor and smiled with relief. Why did that smile hurt me?

Chapter Five

The old Citroën bounced along the potholed road. Nikita had done nothing but pester me with questions since deciding she was coming with me, calmly climbing into the passenger seat without asking, without my permission and ignoring my snarl for her to get the hell out, go away, piss off. I didn't need her with me. It was far too dangerous I told her.

"I don't care," she'd responded, pulling a seatbelt on. She'd nodded, "What are you waiting for? Let's go. Where are we going?"

We climbed steadily into the lower foothills of the Atlas Mountains, winding back and forth until, cresting a hill, a lush green valley appeared full of cultivated fields and olive and cherry groves. On the higher north side, across from us in the distance, I saw my bolt hole, my summer house, a rectangular dun-coloured two-story building protected by a tall dun-coloured wall. It took another twenty minutes to cross the valley.

Ahmed appeared around the corner in his blue-striped robe, intense dark eyes smiling in his weathered, wrinkled face as we pulled into the dirt drive.

"Ahlan wa sahlan," he said, welcoming us with a slight bow. Ahmed and his wife Leila were my grounds keepers. They tended the olive groves, managed the small herd of goats and looked after the house. In exchange they lived rent free in a small house two hundred yards away and kept fifty percent of the profits from the olive crop; they were quite wealthy for Moroccans.

"As-salam 'alaykum. How are you, Ahmed?" I shook his hand as we kissed each other's cheeks. "This is Nikita," I added as she climbed out of the car. "She's a pest."

Nikita grinned.

Somehow it didn't surprise me at all when they started conversing in Arabic. I left them and unloaded the car, carefully putting the weapons away. Ahmed knew I had weapons, but not what I did for a living. He didn't care about either, the large income from our olive grove enough to keep him happy with ignorance.

Through the next two days, as I mulled over what to do, Nikita followed me around, pestering me about what I did for a living, "What's a contract personnel manager, Nick?" and "Why do you have so many guns?" "Who were those men?" "Why did they want to kill you, Nick?" "Was it something you did?" "Did you steal from them?" "Are you a thief?" "Who do you steal from?" "What do you steal?" She snooped and investigated, interrogated and probed.

I'd shown her the guest room which she'd looked at, "Nice," and promptly picked up her bag and dropped it in my room. She'd climbed into my bed that night. I didn't even try to complain or stop her.

And then, on the third day as we ate breakfast at the kitchen table she put her fork down, looked at me intently and asked me to teach her to shoot a gun. It shocked me.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because. You're too young," I added.

"Am not."

One hour later she asked again. I refused and she seemed to take that as a challenge, asking constantly, pestering me incessantly.

Two days later I caved. I'd seen an unnatural determination in her face so I decided to humour her, see how determined she really was. Thus, Friday morning in mid-spring, we drove my old, beat-up Citroën higher into the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. In the boot were several different handguns and ammunition, a bag of empty beer cans and a picnic.

Nikita was all bounce and enthusiasm. "Is it hard?" "When did you learn?" "How old were you?" "Why do you need so many guns?"

I didn't answer her once. But it didn't discourage her in the slightest as she happily assured me she was going to be the best shot in the world and, "How many bullets did you bring? We'll need lots, Nick."

One of the things that amazed me about Nikita was her ability to have a complete conversation on her own, often veering into the absurd in the process. It usually made me smile despite my best efforts and only served to encourage her. She was a bit of a pest but I found I liked it more and more.

Lush green olive groves and cherry trees slowly gave way to dry scrub-like terrain and hardy thorn trees. As we climbed higher into the foothills the temperature dropped to a pleasant mid-eighties level. Slowing, I found the turn-off, thirty-seven miles from home. Despite a reputation for the smoothest ride in the world, dirt ruts had the Citroën bouncing like crazy and Nikita being thrown around in the passenger seat, laughing as she tried to hang on. I stopped in a dell, a natural depression formed by foothills. We were surrounded. Noise would bounce off the hills and go nowhere. This was my practice range.

I would have bet my apartment on Nikita getting bored when I talked to her about guns, how each piece worked, how to strip and assemble them, distances, stances and safety. I was deliberately trying to discourage her by boring her silly. I failed abysmally. I'd never seen such concentration. She gave me not one smile. Her eyes were intent, brows furrowed and she practiced disassembling and assembling a Berretta with almost fanatical concentration. In some ways her determination scared me, as if she had a purpose in mind, something driving her. Perhaps it was her experience in my apartment.

Still, she did finally scream with laughter. I'd set empty beer cans up on a dead tree trunk some twenty feet away. Handing her a Berretta Px4 Storm Compact, I stood to one side to correct her stance. The adult-sized protective glasses were sliding off her small nose and my ear protectors looked huge on her.

"Both eyes open, Nikita. Remember to squeeze gently. Don't tug, it will lift the barrel."

Her eyes were locked on the beer cans, intent, focused. I was just noticing how odd it looked for a ten-year-old to be standing in a shooting stance with both hands gripping the matte black gun when she fired. Nikita went flying onto her back with a scream. She grinned up at me from the ground. "Fun!"

She scrambled up, my gut tightening as I watched the gun in her hands carefully. It seemed to be waving around dangerously. But she calmed, assumed the stance, arms came up, extended but bent at the elbows, body slightly turned. Her eyes focused and the gun fired, tossing her hands up over her head. This time she didn't fall over, just took two steps back.

Olive-green eyes glinted at me. "Missed."

Thirteen rounds later she still hadn't hit anything. Another thirty rounds and she'd punished the air but the beer cans were quite safe.

"That's enough for now," I said as I reached out and took the hot gun from her hands. She tugged off the ear protectors and glasses.

"WHAT?" she yelled.

Grinning, I nodded back towards the car. "Lunch."

"WHAT?"

It appeared the ear muffs hadn't worked as advertised.

Nikita's determination was admirable. I actually felt proud the first time she hit a can. But, seven weeks later, after daily practice that she fanatically insisted on, Nikita was hitting each can with ease. She had a remarkable natural talent I'd never seen in anyone. Then one day, as she was sitting on the ground stripping and cleaning the Berretta, I pulled out a silencer and suggested she try it.

"What is it?"

"A sound suppressor; a silencer."

She reassembled the gun and handed it to me, barrel first. "Show me."

"Never point a gun at anyone unless you're prepared to shoot them," I admonished, reminding her how to pass a gun handgrip first.

"Sorry."

With the silencer attached, I handed the Berretta back to her without saying a word. I wanted to see how long it would take her to adjust to the heavier weight at the end. The first missed by a mile. She paused and stared at the gun. Lifting it she shot again and missed by a mile. Frowning, she hefted it a bit, aimed and blew a can off the tree trunk, spinning it through the air. "Huh." A second 'thut' sounded and another empty beer can danced through the air.

Pride made my chest swell and an uncomfortable knot formed.

Chapter Six

I rolled out of bed quickly. The bedside clock told me it was two-thirty-three in the morning. Downstairs in the living room, sitting on the couch, I breathed slowly and deeply.

"What's wrong, Nick?"

Nikita stood in the doorway, familiar in my light green T-shirt she refused to give up, bare legs, thick dark burgundy hair pulled into a ponytail. Olive-green eyes seemed darker in the moonlight. She almost seemed prettier. I breathed deeply, slowly. It was still hard to understand how I could have gotten an erection cuddled to her like that.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes probing me.

Nikita walked and sat beside me, eyes looking up into mine. "Don't be embarrassed. I'm not."

Yeah, but she wasn't a thirty-one-year-old man who just got an erection from the feel of a ten-year-old girl's body. I was embarrassed and ashamed.

"Go back to bed, Nikita. I'll be there in a while."

She looked at me carefully, stood, kissed me on the cheek, "Kay," and left.

The ghost of her kiss burned. My chest ached. I had an uncomfortable knot in it and I still felt the remnants of my erection. Rolling to my side I laid on the couch, confused. Nikita confused me.

At some point during the rest of the night Nikita came back and slipped into my arms, cuddling back against me. I woke to find myself spooning her, the intensely attractive aroma of Nikita filling my lungs. A gentle cool morning breeze wafted through open windows. I was hugging her. I had another erection nestled against small buttocks.

When I tried to pull away, Nikita scooted back, pressing against me again.

NIKITA DIDN'T WANT TO lose contact with Nick. She held his arms tighter and kept her eyes closed. It had hit her last night. She'd woken suddenly at the feel of Nick's erection against her back. What had surprised her was that she wasn't horrified or scared, as she'd assumed she would be. Nick's arms felt different, caring. She knew he could be gentle and kind, even thoughtful at times. She was pretty sure Nick liked her, even if he didn't show it.

From the first time he'd shaken her, holding her off the ground after she'd lifted his wallet in the souk, she'd seen care and consideration in him, something she'd not seen in others. Trying to steal his wallet again was a way for her to judge him. Unlike anyone else, he'd been gentle and given her money. Following him and essentially moving into his apartment was easy. She still wondered what he did for a living, though.

But, feeling his erection last night hadn't scared her at all. It made her feel good. Last night she realised she loved Nick for his gruff kindness and gentleness. This morning she realised she actually felt comfortable with him, actually liked the idea of maybe trying sex with him. How different would it be? Could it be nice instead of painful? Better than masturbating? Would it help her forget? She knew he wouldn't want to have sex with her. She was too young. But, he got an erection, so . . . maybe?

She smiled and squeezed her bum on his erection before rolling off the couch. Turning, she bent and kissed his rough cheek. "Morning, Nick." His blue eyes made her shiver. He was so quiet and watchful, studying her so carefully.

"So what do you really do?" Nikita asked at the breakfast table as she munched on a piece of toast, jam and honey.

I DIDN'T REALLY THINK twice about telling her the truth. She probably already knew and, if not, she deserved to know given what had happened at the apartment. "I kill people."

Nikita tilted her head slightly and studied me. "Really? Is it hard?"

Her casual acceptance stirred something in me. I wasn't sure what it was; relief? That night I found out. It wasn't relief at all.

Nikita ran out of the bathroom. I held the covers up for her. She launched herself into bed and immediately snuggled up to me. A familiar knot formed in my chest. Bright olive-green eyes peered at me. She smiled that enigmatic smile and without warning, kissed me.

It wasn't a thank you kiss. It wasn't a chaste little peck on my cheek; not a goodnight kiss. Nikita kissed me on my lips, gently, with small silky lips pressing against mine. She broke her kiss, smiled at me and asked out of the blue, "Would you like to have sex with me?"

What the hell! Where had that come from?

"No!" My heart was racing. Why? "Jesus Nikita, you're way too young to be thinking of that. Besides, what do you know about sex?"

"A lot. I've had sex."

That simple statement floored me.

Nikita settled down at my side and cuddled, her head in the crook of my shoulder, arm draped across my chest. She proceeded to tell me about her rape, at first dispassionately as if it was someone else's story then with mounting feeling, slowly evolving into indignation and worse, sadness. I felt her tears at one point and held her tighter. ". . . so you see, I want to know what it's really like to have sex. You can show me, Nick."

"No."

"But . . ."

"No, Nikita." I hugged her, kissing her soft cheek. She sighed and snuggled into me. In the pale light of the moon as Nikita, a tough, stubborn and tender little girl slept quietly against me, her warm breaths wafting against my skin, I recognized the knot in my chest for what it was. Somehow, against my every wish, this sassy, annoying pest-of-a-girl had wormed herself into my heart. Somehow I'd fallen for her . . . a damn ten-year-old! Impossible but undeniable.

That realisation changed everything. I think she knew it too. Nikita started teasing me with a grope or pinch, laughing at my indignation, frowns and admonishments. She kissed me often, small hands tugging my face down, soft lips touching mine with a gentle "Mmm." She started sitting in my lap as if her chair wasn't good enough or the couch too uncomfortable. She noticed my ever-diminishing indignation and resistance with an enigmatic smile that seemed to make the knot in my chest hurt. She was getting her way and I was utterly helpless to stop it.

Every night she was a bundle of cuddly soft warmth wafting intoxicating scents at me, kissing me gently with that damned enigmatic smile, "Night, Nick."

Every day she was a fireball, insisted she practice with guns, all types, her concentration total. She stripped them down, cleaned and reassembled them before beginning target practice, talking up a storm at the same time. She had me explaining how to kill, where to shoot, how to approach the target, her curiosity endless. I introduced her to body-shaped silhouette targets and let her practice kill shots. She was more dedicated than I'd ever seen in anyone, and only ten years old! I was pretty sure I understood the ulterior motive driving her unusual dedication; control.

Once, when I inquired about her determination, she distracted me with a smooch, not a kiss, a smooch, pressing her little mouth against mine, lips moving. Then the tip of a tongue completely distracted me.

Another layer of my defenses cracked. That night, an excited naked ten-year-old scooted into bed. She smiled at me. "I ache, Nick," she said softly.

Like a doofus I asked where. Her hand guided mine to a remarkably small, sexy bum, a naked little bum.

"Here," she whispered. "Can you make it better? Please?"

A wave of dizziness hit. I'd been an ass man all my adult life. I loved sexy buttocks, how they curved so seductively, the small seductive crease below each buttock where it met beautiful thighs. I loved the sensual undulation of a beautiful rump moving under light summer dresses, and how skirts swished from swaying sexy posteriors. And Nikita's ten-year-old rear was quite spectacular; firm, slightly cool to the touch, rounded and delightfully petite, my hand almost spanning two little buttocks.

The moan was loud. It was mine, too. Fingertips discovered a deep valley. A gentle squeeze confirmed perfectly firm mounds, small, intensely exciting. Staring into intense olive-green eyes, Nikita wiggled her bum and an enigmatic smile emerged.

I was dumbstruck at how fast I had an erection and how achingly hard it was. I caressed her sweet rear gently, not really sure what to do.

"Lower, Nick. I ache lower," she whispered, wiggling her bum again. I felt her leg slip over my thigh. She cuddled closer, her arm reaching across my chest.

Shuddering, I succumbed to Nikita, to her irresistible charm, her draw. I kissed her gently, pulling her petite body tight against me. She seemed to melt, her lips so soft, so small. I moaned when her tongue touched my lips lightly and, opening my mouth, I touched her lips, pressing, shivering when Nikita opened her mouth to me. French kissing Nikita was thrilling. French kissing a little girl was stunningly sexy, unbelievably sexy. I'd never known.

I ached for Nikita, gently fondling the sweetest little bum I'd ever felt. And, as her tongue started becoming playful, I actually wanted to make love with her. Unbelievably, I was excited about making love with a ten-year-old, this ten-year-old, this charming, loving, fun and infuriating little girl.

But, when fingertips traced her sexy valley down deeper, I felt her buttocks clench slightly and her body stiffen. Despite what her tongue had been saying, despite her eyes inviting, Nikita was nervous. It reminded me that her first experience had been horrific. And here she was, trying, fighting her own demons. Why was she doing this? For me? She broke my heart. Another approach was needed. I wondered if I could manipulate her for a change.

"Nikita." I waited for her eyes to open. They stole my breath they were so pretty. "I'm just going to caress you. Can you close your eyes and feel, no looking, no talking?" I asked.

Her eyes studied me very, very carefully. "Kay."

I looked her in her eyes, waiting. This was a moment of trust. She needed to feel she could trust me completely, totally. Otherwise she'd never truly relax if we made love.

NIKITA FELT HER HEART thumping in her chest. She hadn't thought it would be this hard. She liked Nick a lot, maybe even loved him. But this was so surprisingly hard. Small tremors shook her, a muscle in her thigh twitched. She stared at his blue eyes wishing she could hear his thoughts, liking that he looked at her eyes, only her eyes.

"What are you thinking, Nick?"

I ANSWERED HER SOFTLY, "That you're beautiful, Nikita." She was, too. I watched her courage. I knew how attractive her personality was. And, as she smiled that enigmatic satisfied smile and slowly closed her eyes for me, trusting me, I realised I loved her deeply. She was the single most beautiful, pugnacious, frustrating, and lovable person I had ever met. And, realising that, I relaxed, calmed, the urgency of arousal fading. Helping Nikita was far, far more important to me.

With one arm holding her turned to my side, my hand resting gently on her perfect little bottom, I let my right hand caress her side, feeling her silken skin. On her side Nikita had a sensual upsweep of her small hip and a sexy swell of a petite buttock. Her thigh was soft and slender, my palm flowing down to her knee as it rested high on my thigh. I reversed my stroke, sliding up, fingers feeling the sexy swell of her buttock, her boney hip, her side, my thumb detecting the slightest swell on her chest, a little bud, a swollen areola. She trembled.

I caressed her thick hair, gently combing my fingers through dense dark burgundy and pushing it off her sweet face, her lashes thick and long. My thumb caressed a soft cheek. I bent and kissed it gently. She murmured and moved slightly, sort of snuggled, her eyes still closed. I kissed her eyelids and forehead, drawing her comforting scent deep into my lungs.

I caressed her slender back, sweeping my hand down across shoulder blades to find the rise of her bottom, up and over a buttock to the back of her thigh. She murmured again and, as I reversed to run my hand back up, Nikita pressed herself into me, her bottom flexing as she pushed her pussy into my hip.

"Beautiful, Nikita," I whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth. She moved again and sighed, her foot slipping over my leg. I repeated the long caress down her body and back up, sweeping over her bottom and up, letting the pad of my thumb slip to her front to run over her breast bud, pausing to rub it gently. Nikita murmured and pressed her pussy into my hip, buttocks flexing.

This time, as my hand caressed down, I let my fingertips trace the valley of her bum, and stroked the inside of her thigh to her knee. She moaned and pressed into me.

Caressing up, I stopped, my hand holding the top of her thigh, fingertips sensing warmth. She murmured again and pressed, then curled her sweet little rear back, my fingertips touching her pussy for the first time. A charge of excitement hit when I felt silky, slippery moisture. Nikita was aroused and it was startlingly sexy.

NIKITA'S HEART WAS BEATING hard. Having Nick just caress her was so comforting. But, as he stroked her body and wrapped her in a cocoon of love, she felt her fears melting away. She relaxed, his touch was so light and gentle, kisses so soft. She felt an ache inside her, deep inside. She felt herself getting horny, moist, a need building. Every time she pressed her pussy against him a spark of pleasure jumped from her clit to her nipples, his big hands felt so good on her.

Slowly, as Nick did no more than caress her, need displaced nervousness. As she started humping against him, she felt her nipples ache for his touch, her pussy need more, dampness growing. She trembled when his thumb scraped across her tiny tender bud. She trembled again when he kissed the edge of her mouth, his whisper sending chills through her, goose bumps emerging. But, when she felt his fingertips just lightly graze her pussy, an urge stormed into her, need, I need, Nick.

She humped harder, pressing back against his fingertips. "Please," she whispered, now trembling. His hand guided her, humping his side, pressing forward, arching back, fingertips pressing teasingly at her slit. She raised her knee higher and felt his erection, hard. Before she could react fingertips slipped into her slit and touched her clit. Her body shook. Suddenly pleasure flowed through her like hot molten lava. When she felt Nick's lips on her cheek, so soft, so gentle, and his fingertip lightly rub her clit, pleasure exploded. A wave of bliss crashed into her, her climax storming her body making her gasp, so beautiful Nick, so beautiful.

I FELT NIKITA'S CLIMAX. Nothing had prepared me for how attractive, how sweet, and how deeply arousing it would be to experience a ten-year-old climaxing.

She'd murmured and undulated against my side, small murmurs, almost purrs. She'd pressed her pussy against my hip then curled it back to press against my fingertips. I'd used the palm of one hand to encourage her, guide her humping motion. When my fingertips slipped between moist, slippery labia and I touched the small bump of her clit, my erection became painfully hard, rising from my stomach only to be pressed down by Nikita's knee. And, when I kissed her cheek gently and rubbed her little clit, Nikita graced me with her climax, her sweet buttocks clenching and slender leg gripping.

She turned her face and buried it against my chest, her arm holding my body tight. She shook and twitched gently, emitting quiet high-pitched grunts. She shook and shivered, humping me gently, her little pussy becoming surprisingly moist and slippery. And, with a final full-body tremor, she calmed, relaxed, and melted against me, her knee slipping down. For a moment I thought she'd fallen asleep, but a final soft tremor ran though her; a last fading echo of her climax.

Nikita had shown me a stunningly attractive experience I'd never imagined; young love, a prepubescent girl's sexual side. I very quickly decided, if I never actually had the chance to make love to Nikita, experiencing this again and again would be gift enough. My erection ached and cried out for attention.

"Thank you, Nikita," I whispered to her. She wiggled a bit, cuddling as close as she possibly could and, with my erection straining and damp and untended, Nikita slowly fell asleep. When I felt the regular rise and fall of her chest and her soft, warm breath on my chest I gently rolled her away from me onto her side, slipped out of bed and, in the privacy of the bathroom, relieved the pent-up pressure, semen exploding in a less-than-satisfying climax as I replayed feeling the incredibly sexy, silky, slippery moisture of her small cleft, tight labia hugging my fingertips.

Back in bed I cuddled to Nikita, hugged her gently from behind and pulled the covers over us. A waft of new scent hit me, distinct but new. Smiling, I realised it was the seductive aroma of Nikita's arousal. My love for the aggravating little brat was a physical pain. I hugged her tighter.

NIKITA OPENED HER EYES, morning light filtering into the bedroom. She was on her side facing Nick. He was sleeping on his back and she had her face nestled into his side, his arm protectively over her, a warm hand on her lower back. She smiled. Memory of her climax rushed back. It had been so good, so warm and satisfying. Nick's gentleness had surprised her. And he hadn't tried to do anything with her even though she'd encouraged him. Somehow that meant so much to her.

She lay quietly so she wouldn't wake him, remembering every touch, every kiss, every word. She sighed silently, a big heart-felt sigh. She loved him. She loved Nick. She knew it beyond a doubt. No one had ever been so kind and considerate, despite his grumbling, complaining, frowning and squinting. She remembered him telling her she was beautiful, and how good his fingertips felt, so gentle. Squeezing her legs together, Nikita felt a pulse of pleasure in her pussy. And then she remembered feeling Nick's erection against her bent knee.

She loved Nick's gruffness, all full and huffy without an ounce of malice. It was sort of funny, as long as he never, ever looked at her with those flat killer eyes again; those scared the bejesus out of her. Watching Nick's chest rise and fall as he slept, she wondered what his erection felt like, how thick or long would it be? Could she hold it entirely with one hand? Did he have an erection now? Could she give him an erection? How?

A tremor of fear hit out of the blue, an unwelcome memory darting through her mind. She frowned, steeled herself; this was Nick, not her stepfather. She let her hand hesitantly make its way to his flat stomach and followed the line of fine hair down from his belly button, nerves fluttering inside, tense, excited and scared. She inhaled sharply when the edge of her hand felt the tip, large, really big. Nick had an erection!

With a feather-light touch, her stomach full of butterflies, Nikita carefully felt the outline; a rubbery soft tip, mushroom shaped with a ridge; a soft hard shaft, long, long; warm sack beneath and silky pubic hair. Tracing up, touching with just the pads of her fingertips, she smiled when it moved, jerking up. Her courage built.

What would it look like?

Nikita squeezed her thighs, her pussy tingling, clit tingling. Her nipples ached. Being horny and not scared felt good; really good. Inhaling deeply, she tugged the sheet down, her eyes riveted to the spot that mounded with his erection.

A little shiver of fear hit her when she first saw it, large and thick-shafted, a bulbous, mushroom-shaped tip. It brought back more unwanted memories, painful memories. Hesitating, she studied Nick's erection. It looked different. Why? Then she saw it didn't have a flap of skin covering the tip like she'd seen on her stepfather's. It didn't look as menacing, dirty, or disgusting. This one looked very interesting.

Somehow she was glad it was different. It made it easier. Reaching out with a feather-light touch, Nikita gently curled her hand around the thick shaft, fingertips not meeting, feeling its thickness. It was silky soft but hard as steel. How come? She saw the head swell and felt the shaft strain when she squeezed gently. This was very interesting.

I CAME AWAKE TO a straining, aching erection being stroked with infinite care, a feather-light touch, fingers slipping up and down. I ached for more contact, a firm grip or a hard stroke to bring me off; I was so close to nirvana. Then conscious thought arrived and a surge of pleasure hit me. It was Nikita stroking my erection! A pulse of arousal almost induced my climax.

Opening my eyes, I watched this beautiful girl as she rested against my side, her arm reaching down, her hand stroking my cock. I looked huge in her small hand and somehow that excited me even more. The sight of a child holding my erection excited me! Why?

About to move, a bead of precum oozed from the tip. Nikita's thumb rubbed across the crown sending pulses of pleasure through me. And then she spread it on my shaft, stroking gently, lightly, slippery. The pressure of an incipient orgasm built. I ached for release. When I reached down to remove her hand, so close to cumming, Nikita shook it off, turned her face up, frowned at me, and returned to stroking with a feather-light, teasing touch.

I couldn't take it. "Like this," I said, wrapping my hand around hers, tightening, and showing her how to stroke the full length.

"Kay. Let go. I'll do it," she whispered, shaking my hand off again.

I suffered. I ached. My erection strained. I couldn't remember ever being so turned on by a hand. Nikita was so innocently gentle, soft, so careful. Having a ten-year-old girl stroking me was intensely arousing. In fact, it was so arousing I felt a climax approach, my balls tightening, erection swelling as if it was about to burst.

"Nikita," I gasped.

A wave of pleasure tore through me. My cock strained up, the crown swelled and semen spurted weakly. Before I could breathe a huge blissful pulse hit, cum charging up my aching shaft and launching out in a long, long rope to land hot and wet on my chest, pleasure erupting. Nikita's hand paused at the sight. No! Don't stop!

Reaching down I guided her hand to stroke me, pleasure punishing my body as I strained, surged and spurt another huge rope of semen. My hips jerked, thrusting my erection through her hand. Nikita shook my hand off and stroked me. I came hard, heaving, panting, spurting again and again, hot semen pooling on my stomach. I drowned in the pleasure of release, of a ten-year-old bringing me off. I came, heart pounding. I came, aching and straining, and collapsed with relief when my orgasm finally released me, breathing hard, muscles melting.

Reaching down I stilled her hand. My erection waned.

"Is it always that much?" Nikita asked, her fingertips slowly twirling my cum, testing the thickness and slipperiness.

"Pretty much," I managed to reply, still breathing hard.

"It's white," she observed casually.

Chapter Seven

"What is sexy?" Nikita asked over her shoulder between silenced shots as she launched one empty beer can after another into the air seemingly effortlessly. I felt a twinge of jealousy at her natural talent.

"To whom?" I asked sitting relaxed on a blanket reloading gun magazines and piling them up for her.

"Isn't it the same for everyone?"

"No. Do you find girls sexy?"

Nikita laughed. "No. That's not what I mean."

"Well what do you mean?"

"What do you find sexy? What turns you on?" she clarified.

Why was she asking this? "You do."

She laughed and a slight blush appeared. "No. Really." Another shot sent a can spinning. She ejected the empty magazine.

Pausing to consider while handing her a new magazine, I studied this ten-year-old pest competently shooting a silenced handgun. She was damned attractive, especially with the gun.

"Okay. Everyone has their little thing. Mine is bums, butts, rears, rumps, asses."

Nikita paused and turned. "Really?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

I nodded. "I like them in jeans, under dresses, and most of all in panties."

"Not bare?" she asked.

"Yup, bare too. But the tease of panties is extremely erotic. Very sexy."

"Huh." Turning back, Nikita let loose with five shots in a row, fast, the last five beer cans spinning away. Damn that was sexy, too.

Sitting cross-legged on the blanket, laying the hot gun down gently to cool, she told me she was hungry. "Get lunch, Nick," she ordered and, as I stood to fetch it from the car, she began to interrogate me on what type of panties, why, what part did I like.

When I asked her what she found sexy, intrigued by what turned on a ten-year-old, she grinned. "Your eyes and your smile," adding as an afterthought, "and your frown; it's cute."

I didn't quite get that. While I liked her spectacularly pretty eyes and loved her smile with the gaps of her newly growing upper canines, her bum gave me erections. And then I got naughty, a vision appearing to me. Leaning over, I kissed her cheek softly and whispered. Nikita blushed furiously.

"Really? You'd like that?"

damned right I would. I nodded yes with an encouraging smile.

It was the first time I ever heard Nikita giggle and I loved it. She stood and left to collect beer cans, carefully setting them up again, still blushing.

I held out the reloaded silenced gun. Her olive-green eyes stared at me. "You sure?"

I nodded.

Her blush intensified as she unbuttoned her jeans, wiggling to pull them off, sexy pink panties appearing. Kicking her jeans onto the blanket, she held out her hand for the gun.

I had an erection. Nikita's pussy was a gorgeous mound pressing against the front panel, a plump sexy mound with a hugely arousing short camel toe.

I had an erection as she turned with a giggle, two buttocks filling her panties beautifully, rounded, slender, a perfect little bum.

I had a hard erection as Nikita stood and fired, knocking beer cans off, each shot making her sexy rump shake slightly. Slender legs had an alluring, sexy gap at the top, her pussy hugged by the gusset of pink panties was prominent, filling the gap, round and pouty.

The gun clicked empty. She turned and studied me as I rudely stared at her panty-clad pussy. She thrust her small hips out. "Like?"

Fuck me.

Sitting up and extending my arm I took her hand and drew her to me, removing the gun and setting it aside. Standing before me as I sat, Nikita's pussy was at the perfect height. I slipped my hands around to hold sweet little buttocks and, under her watchful gaze, pulled her to me, kissing that sensual pad, pressing my mouth against her ten-year-old mound, and sinking my lips into her. I loved how it felt, so thick, so plump.

When Nikita's hands combed through my hair, I moaned. I needed more, so much more.

"Don't move," I told her softly. Olive-green eyes watched me, her blush just a trace. She didn't move as I slowly pulled the back of her panties down over her succulent bottom.

She didn't move as I reached for the elastic waist at the front, fingers hooking in. She didn't move as I lowered them, sucking in air at the appearance of her mons rising from her stomach. I was hard and aching, precum now dampening my shorts.

She didn't move when I uncovered the most spectacular pussy I'd ever seen, a smooth hairless mound narrowing seductively, split by a short little cleft plunging between slender thighs; intensely erotic.

"Good God, you're beautiful," I whispered in awe.

"Really?"

I tore my eyes away from the sexiest pussy ever. Nikita's blush had returned, her eyes wide. "Yes, really," I said, leaning in to kiss her plump mons gently, silky soft skin against my lips. I loved her pussy.

Nikita trembled at my kiss. Rising to my knees put my face almost even with hers. I kissed her gently wrapping my arms around her small body. Her arms circled my neck and her tongue emerged to meet mine as eyes closed, arms tightening.

Kissing Nikita I picked her up and lay her down on the blanket next to me. Kissing her deeply, I tugged panties off her legs, my hand caressing up the inside, over her knee, up the silky skin inside her slender thigh before cupping her bare pussy, so small, so damned exciting. Small tremors shook me.

Then she moaned into my mouth and pushed her pussy against my hand. I broke our kiss. Her eyes opened.

"Trust me?" I asked this beautiful little imp.

She studied my eyes for a moment and nodded.

Lifting her T-shirt slightly and exposing her navel I kissed it gently. She giggled, her hands returning to my head. I kissed the soft blond baby hair below her navel before moving lower, returning to the magnificent mound of her pussy. I smelled her, an aroma of arousal, so attractive, nature's strongest ambrosia.

She hesitated as I moved between her legs. "Nick. . ."

"Shh. Trust me," I whispered, dropping my eyes to her spectacular pussy. Nikita's sexy immature pubis filled the small gap at her crotch, a mounded, hairless, smooth peach with the sexiest little cleft I'd ever set eyes on. It was short, formed by incredible plump labia, and tightly closed despite her legs being parted. Her buttocks rounded out below like two small firm cushions, her cleft flowing into her bum crack seamlessly.

I actually felt lightheaded when light glimmered off of her moist arousal, shimmering at the confluence of her labia, at a small indent guiding the way to her vagina.

With an almost religious feeling at such a spectacular sight, I bent and kissed her mons, pressing deep into the sexy pad. Moving down slightly I kissed the beginning of her cleft, soft and silky. I kissed lower on two lips, perfect lips and, with a deep quiet sigh, I kissed Nikita's pussy right at the moist indent leading to her opening, tasting her arousal, light, very faintly musky, intensely, intensely addictive.

Holding the sides of her small bum as Nikita raised her knees, I tasted her, my tongue emerging to lick gently, feel the incredible smoothness of a preteen pussy, and feel the seductive cleft formed by plump labia. Adding pressure I probed between tender young lips to discover slick warmth, labia hugging my tongue tip tightly. I was shaking as I probed ever deeper and found the tiny, tiny entrance to her vagina, so well protected, slippery, delicious and warm.

Nikita shuddered. Her hands found my hair, fingers curling into fists. She moaned loudly when I gently started exploring up her little cleft and jerked when I found her small, small clit, a little bead hidden from view. I started teasing it lightly, pressing my tongue against it, licking lightly. Nikita moaned and curled her pussy against my mouth seeking more stimulation, her buttocks flexing.

Gradually my attention narrowed and focused in on her clit, tongue moving faster and beginning to strum it. She moaned again and began to hump, scrubbing her pussy against my mouth. With Nikita distracted, I probed her vagina with an index finger, pressing against the tiny, tight entrance, letting her motion press herself against the tip of my finger. When I added suction to her clit, Nikita went wild. She gasped and heaved her pussy up at me, the motion forcing my fingertip into her, a tiny tight velvet vice gripping me to my first knuckle.

Nikita climaxed, thrashing as I sucked, emitting light grunts, hips surging up. Her fists gripped my hair painfully as her body arched off the ground and froze in a rigor-like state. She cried out and started scrubbing her pussy against my mouth, jerking and heaving. I gradually stopped sucking and reverted to caressing her clit, my finger now slipping into her hot, snug, slippery vagina up to the second knuckle, fucking her gently. She emitted sexy deeper grunts, "Uh, Uh" timed with body jerks and suddenly, as fast as her climax had burst, she collapsed, small residual tremors shaking her body.

Despite a now painful erection, I moved up and cuddled Nikita, simply enjoying her pleasure. It was a rare treat, a gift she'd given me. I loved seeing a young girl climax. It was sweet and pure. I hugged her as we lay on the blanket, inhaling the scent of a beautiful little girl. Eventually my erection subsided leaving a large damp spot. Eventually Nikita stirred, opened her eyes and slayed me with her bright smile. I felt overwhelmed with the love I had for this pugnacious little girl.

Chapter Eight

NIKITA STARED DOWN AT the gun in her hand, eyebrows knit. Aligning the spare magazine on the kitchen table, she thought through the sequence again; press the magazine release to eject the empty one, slam the replacement into the gun grip, pull the slider to load a bullet. Muscles in her forearm ached from doing it so many times.

She took a couple of breaths. Her hands flew into action.

"Again. Faster. That was two and a half seconds."

Nikita glanced across the kitchen table at Nick, frowned and started again. Her hands moved faster.

"Again. Faster. Do it in under a second, Nikita."

She put the gun down and shoved it across the table along with the empty spare magazine. "I can't! It can't be done," she told him frowning in frustration, arms hurting.

Nick studied her for a moment, blue eyes intense. He passed a stopwatch to her. "Time me and count."

She watched him heft the Berretta and align the spare magazine on the table.

"Ready?"

She nodded.

"Now!"

Nikita started the stopwatch and counted. Nick's hands were a blur of movement, magazine ejecting, a new one slammed in, slide pulled back, magazine ejecting, new one slammed in, slide pulled back. She counted each time a magazine hit the table, thunk, thunk, thunk.

"Stop!"

His hands came to rest as she stopped the stopwatch. He put the gun down gently, respectfully.

"How many?" he asked her.

"Ten."

"How long?"

She glanced down. Her mouth fell open. Nick had changed the magazine and cocked the slide ten times in eight seconds! Eight seconds! How? She looked up at him. He smiled wryly. Before she could say a word, he pushed the gun and magazine back across the table to her.

"Now, practice. Do it faster. Like I did." He stood and started preparing dinner.

As she practiced, Nick encouraged her, "Have the new magazine moving as the old one is ejecting, Nikita. Don't wait for one action to finish before starting the next one." "Good, that was faster, again."

She could hardly pick up her fork at dinner and sent the evil eye at him for being such a task master. Then he grinned at her, heat blossomed in her, her heart skipped and she let a smile slip. Rats!

In bed that night, she snuggled. "Nick?"

"Hmm?"

"I ache," she said softly with a sneaky little smile.

AN ERECTION GREW IMMEDIATELY with her soft comment. "Really?" I asked.

"Uh-huh. Can you make it better?"

"I don't know. Where do you ache?" I asked, a full erection beginning to strain.

Nikita took my hand and placed it on her spectacular little bum, round and firm. "Here. I ache here."

I squeezed and planned how I was going to massage the ache away. But before I could answer her or grope some more, she took my hand, rolling onto her back, olive-green eyes glinting at me with mischief. She guided my hand to her chest, placing it over a tiny breast bud. "And here," she added softly, looking at me intently.

I opened my mouth to let her know I might have a cure when she moved my hand again, sliding it down her stomach. I felt her part her legs and held my breath as she guided my hand down to her sweet little pussy. "And here. I ache here, too." She smiled softly. "Make it better? Please?"

A storm of ideas flashed though my mind, all sorts of inventive ways I could help her. And, as I was about to dive head first into her treatment, I remembered. This girl had been abused. Yes she was forward and encouraging, but she'd had a horrific experience. The last thing she needed was anything that might remind her of it. And me rolling over her and having intercourse with her would do just that.

I loved her courage.

Taking my hand away from her delectable pussy, I drew her to me, turning her so we were face to face on our sides. I held her small body firmly, pressed against me, my erection pressed to her stomach. I held her slender back and spectacular bum. Simply holding Nikita's naked body to me was exciting. She felt so petite, so beautifully small in my arms. I loved it.

Staring into olive-green, I kissed her gently, now caressing her small bum, my erection throbbing. Her beautiful eyes closed, her mouth opened, arms circled my neck. She murmured into the kiss and wiggled her bum, her stomach caressing my erection with the motion.

I groaned. So sexy, so desirable. God I wanted her. Our kiss deepened as she explored my mouth, her leg rising to hook over my thigh, her sweet little body undulating and pressing against my erection.

It was too much, my need too great. The aching tease from earlier in the day had aroused me so much. I needed release, the heat of arousal fogging my mind.

Rolling onto my back while hugging Nikita to me, I brought her on top. She murmured again and, God, started humping her pussy along my erection, her bum flexing, hunching. I felt precum leak, slippery on my stomach. And then I felt her moisture as she tilted her hips, dragging her cleft up my shaft.

It was uncontrollable, my need too great. Grabbing two seductive small buttocks I guided Nikita's little pussy up and down my aching shaft, using her to masturbate, slippery, warm, her petite body undulating on me. She pressed her face to my shoulder under my chin and started humping me with small sexy grunts, her bum flexing and relaxing as she scrubbed her sweet little pussy on my erection.

Precum made everything slippery. Her pussy stroked, slippery and hot, bum flexing, Nikita groaning, writhing, humping me. I held her tight, guiding her bum and started hunching, sliding my erection between us, swelling, need pounding, need pounding.

"Oh God, Nikita. Gonna cum," I managed to gasp.

Nikita tightened her arms around my neck and humped my shaft faster, little bum curling, flexing, small fucking motions. This amazing little girl excited me like no other and then she started grunting, little high-pitched grunts timed with her hunching. "Me too, Nick," she grunted, humping me.

It was the final straw. My aching erection swelled, pressure grew, pain. I held Nikita tight, humping her sexy writhing little body and suddenly pleasure crashed into me, semen burning up my shaft to spurt hot and wet between us. I gasped. Another hard, hard surge hit, pleasure erupting as cum jetted out, wet and slippery coating our stomachs. My erection now slid effortlessly between us, swelling and spurting semen in a glorious climax, sweet relief, sweet relief. I fucked her hard, spurting, pleasure wracking my body, cumming hard, spurting desperately, holding an angel, cumming, cumming.

As calm returned I felt Nikita melt. I wasn't sure if she'd climaxed or not. I didn't worry, though. Peace suffused me, the kind of peace that only comes after intense orgasms, a post-coital peace. I held Nikita gently, her body warm on me. Much later, when the mess of semen began to cool and feel uncomfortable I rolled Nikita to the side, surprised to see she'd fallen asleep. My last act before gently holding her and falling asleep was to clean us.

The sweet scent of Nikita and sex was my last conscious sensation, love my last conscious thought.

Chapter Nine

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Eyes snapped open; the perimeter alarm. Three-thirty-two in the morning. "Nikita," I whispered shaking her shoulder, rolling out of bed and reaching for my jeans, heart rate spiking. "Get up."

"What. . ." she asked sleepily.

"We have visitors. Get dressed and get in the bathroom. Lock the door. Wait for me." I tugged jeans on, reached underneath the bedside table and released a silenced Para Ordinance P14-45. Barefoot, I slipped silently out the bedroom door.

The house was dark, lit in spots by moonlight shining through windows, corners deeply shadowed. Padding down the curving stairs I moved to the front window peering out. Nothing. Slowly I made a tour. I found two, one inside the back kitchen door, the other slipping though an arched door to the dining room. There was no mistaking their intent; both holding handguns. Raising my silenced Para Ordinance P14-45 I fired, a quiet 'thut', the intruder at the back door jerking and slumping to the floor, blood, inky black in the moonlight, spraying out to paint the back door window.

The second intruder was much faster, twisting and firing at me with a thunderous bang. Diving to the side, I twisted and shot. His head jerked back, blood and brains exploding out the back of his head. Lifelessly he slumped to the floor. Who were they? As I was getting up I heard a 'thut, thut', two silenced shots from behind me. For a micro-second I froze waiting for the bullets to hit. They didn't. Turning sharply and bringing my gun up, ready to dive again, I watched a third assailant behind me slip to the floor. Even more shocking was seeing Nikita behind the intruder, barefoot in jeans and a tee holding a silenced Berretta in extended arms.

I opened my mouth to yell at her and she turned slightly, her eyes hard and staring, aiming the gun at me. A 'thut, thut' sounded as she fired another double tap. Someone collapsed behind me. Glancing over my shoulder I saw a forth man slump half in and half out of the back door. For three seconds there was silence, neither of us moving. I was shocked, absolutely shocked.

Common sense returned. Waving her away, I slipped out the door and searched the property for more intruders. I would talk to her after making sure we were safe.

NIKITA SAT AT THE kitchen table, trembling, but not because of shooting two people.

She'd hidden in the bathroom and then fear rushed in. What if something happened to Nick? Too worried to stay she'd crept down the stairs, detouring to the gun cabinet to pick up the silenced Berretta she'd practiced with. It was then when she'd heard soft silenced shots and a loud un-muffled bang. Heart tripping she'd moved into the hall quietly and froze.

A gunman was slowly raising his gun, arm extended, aiming at the back of Nick's head. Fear had burst in her, immediately displaced by a storm of anger. NO! No one was going to shoot Nick! And suddenly a deathly calm descended. It was simple. Raise the gun and shoot, a double tap; just as she'd practiced.

When the gunman slumped to the floor, he'd revealed another swinging through the open back door, gun rising. Swiveling slightly, she'd let loose with another double tap. The gunman collapsed. Simple. But now she was trembling at the thought of how close it had been; so close to losing Nick.

Nodding to herself, Nikita decided she was never going to let him go off on his own when he had a job. Someone needed to protect his back and she'd do it.

WHEN I RETURNED FROM sweep of the property having found no more intruders, Nikita was sitting at the kitchen table, her legs swinging back and forth, cheek resting on a small fist, elbow on the table, and the black silenced gun on the table in front of her. I was still replaying the shocking sight of Nikita calmly shooting a man, not one trace of fear on her face, just calm determination, her eyes hard. And then it hit me. She'd just saved my life, twice. I hadn't even seen the other two.

"You okay?" I asked feeling slightly disoriented, fetching some milk from the fridge and pouring two glasses, placing one in front of her and taking a long gulp of mine. Beautiful olive-green eyes watched me, her legs swinging back and forth under the table.

"Uh-huh."

"You sure? You just killed two men," I said glancing at several bodies.

She shrugged her small shoulders. "They deserved it," she said with finality, taking a drink of milk. Placing the glass down, she added, "They were going to shoot you."

"And you're okay?"

"Yup," she nodded. Then she looked down dispassionately at the dead men still splayed on the floor, blood stains spreading. "Assholes," she muttered before looking at me. "What do you do with them now?"

I wanted to believe her. I really did. But there was no way in hell she should be this calm, this accepting of what she'd just done.

"Nikita," I started to say in a firm tone, looking at her intently.

She smiled at me, calm. "I'm fine! Jeez."

Hmmm.

Chapter Ten

My hand rubbed Nikita's back as she heaved again, throwing up into the toilet. The fishing trawler's constant rolling and cork-screwing motion was too much for her. She was definitely not a sea person, I thought with a smile as she heaved again.

"Kill me, please," she groaned.

"Only another four hours," I advised as she heaved, nothing expelled, her stomach long since empty.

After careful consideration over how to respond to my life being threatened twice now - and unacceptably threatening Nikita's - I had decided some retribution was needed. Some people needed to learn they could never come after me and succeed; it would be bad for their health. A lesson needed to be given, an example made.

The next morning when I'd told Nikita I would be away for a while she just about had a fit, yelling at me with anger shooting out of her pretty eyes. It hadn't taken me long to accede to her demand to come with me, though. The simple fact was I liked her too much to risk leaving her behind unprotected. She was safer with me; though judging by her performance with our intruders, I was beginning to think I might be safer around her. That thought made me smile.

She'd shown no remorse, no guilt, no trauma. She'd calmly explained, "They were bad, Nick. They were trying to kill you. They deserved to die. So there," and nodded her head to emphasize her opinion. If I hadn't loved her before, I would have then. I found the image of ten-year-old Nikita calmly shooting intruders incredibly attractive. I was definitely weird.

Having decided to bring her, we'd had no choice but this fishing boat. Nikita had no passport and I'd never be able to get one for her in Morocco. However, I happened to know a man in Naples who had a remarkable artistic ability.

We arrived in Scalea, a small town on the west coast of Italy, early in the morning. A rented nondescript Fiat had us heading north to Naples. One fast stop to see Giorgio and lighten myself of some of the Euros I'd brought in exchange for a promise of a faultless passport the next day, and we found ourselves a nice off-the-beaten-path pensione, a family-run guest house that didn't ask for identification.

The afternoon was spent on the phone, calling contacts, seeking information, trying to identify who was responsible for sending men after me. Who wanted revenge so badly? An offer of several thousand Euros for information would no doubt bring results quickly.

Nikita was unusually quiet and lethargic, laying on the bed as the TV played quietly. I put it down to exhaustion from a day and a half of barfing her way across the Mediterranean. She did mutter something about never again, which brought a smile to my lips and an angry glare to her pretty eyes. She did look a little pale.

Eventually my Nikita returned in fine form. All it took was a large plate of Spaghetti alla Carbonara at the local Ristorante Moderna, a missnamed ancient, time-worn dining establishment, and the adoring attention of a dark-eyed eighteen-year-old Italian waiter. He didn't see my warning leave-my-girl-the-fuck-alone glare, his eyes riveted on Nikita as she graced him with approving smiles. He didn't seem to care about his parsimonious tip, either. The food was crap, too.

Jealousy did not sit well. It was a new feeling and most unwelcome.

Her giggles as I bad-mouthed the waiter while undressing were not appreciated. Her laughter when I accused her of flirting didn't impress me, either. But I forgave her when she snuggled into me, a sexy bundle of aggravating little girl.

"Nick," she murmured, "I ache."

An erection formed. "Really? Where?" I tried for detached casual. It didn't work.

I was aching myself when Nikita guided my hand to her lower stomach, just above her little pussy. Olive-green eyes enchanted me as she smiled, "Here, inside. I ache inside. Can you make it better? Please?"

God I wanted to. "You sure?" I asked, rubbing that sexy little tummy.

NIKITA NODDED TO NICK. She was absolutely sure, beyond a doubt. He was nothing like her stepfather. Nick was so gentle, so caring. He made her ache with need, wanting him to touch and caress her, kiss her, and cuddle her. She loved how she felt like she was lost against his big body, so firm, lean and muscular. And his intense blue eyes made her shiver every time he looked at her, even when he was frowning at her in frustration or growling at her. He was a big cat, ferociously deadly and cuddly and hers, all hers.

A tremor of excitement shook her when Nick bent close, his lips touching hers. She wanted to grab him and never let him go. Instead, she melted when his tongue played, pressing into her mouth, teasing her tongue. She shuddered when he gently caressed her breast bud, aching for him, pussy throbbing.

A brief bolt of fear pulsed through her, her heart jumping when Nick rose to kneel between her legs. Studying his face she saw none of the expressions that had scared her so. She saw excitement and wonder in his blue eyes, love, too. His erection jutting out from pubic hair looked nothing like the other one. And his gentle touch as he stroked her thigh was completely different.

Nikita sighed. Nick. She relaxed, excitement returning. My Nick.

SEEING MY ERECTION HOVERING over Nikita brought back how petite she was. The thought of how deep I'd be in her small body if I penetrated her fully had me shaking with arousal. Knowing she wasn't a virgin only made it better, easier for me to appreciate the sensuality of her, excitement thrumming through me.

Stroking her silky soft thighs, I settled on my heels between her legs. Slipping my hands under her knees I brought her legs over my thighs. Nikita's short sexy cleft hardly parted. Her full, erotic pussy seemed swollen, a perfect hairless prepubescent peach, slightly flushed. There was a tremble in my hand as I pushed my erection down, the other hand gently peeling her plump labia apart to reveal her pink insides, smooth, moist and glistening, a long clitoral hood taking up half her short cleft. Below, I studied the tiny dark entrance to her vagina. How tight would she be? I felt an overwhelming desire to align myself and thrust.

I didn't.

The tip of my erection slipped up and down her cleft, rubbing across her clitoris and down to catch on her perineum then back up over her clit. I loved how her small clit moved against me and how her plump labia seemed to hug my crown. The size difference excited and scared me, I seemed so big, Nikita so small. Glancing at her, Nikita's eyes had softened, olive-green watching me with no discernible expression, just watching me. I smiled. Nikita smiled back at me making my heart skip. But, despite the excitement thrumming through me this wasn't how I wanted her. This wasn't right. It wasn't close enough, not an expression of how much I loved her. It felt too much like raw sex.

I needed to hold her against me, kiss her while we made love. This position wouldn't do.

Bending, hands slipping under her shoulders and waist, I lifted her easily into an embrace, her legs wrapping around my waist, her arms around my neck. She nestled her face into my shoulder. I ached for her, the addictive scent of Nikita strong. Yes, this was it.

Holding her small bum and slender back, I admitted to her softly, "I'm pretty sure I love you, Nikita."

She raised her head and smiled an enigmatic smile. "I know. I've known for a while."

Her kiss was soft, loving, spectacular. Kissing a ten-year-old was amazing. And then she started moving in my arms, rubbing her pussy against my erection trapped between us. Her small tongue played with mine. Holding her small bottom with one hand almost spanning both buttocks, it thrilled me, excited me. I'd never known I'd find a child's rear so sexy. Desire hurt.

I lifted her bottom, her pussy rubbing up my shaft, my erection a rigid rod, aching with need. Nikita moved her bum around and suddenly I was pressed to her cleft. She murmured into my mouth and pressed her pussy slightly, relaxed, pressed slightly, her arms wrapped around my neck.

Closing my eyes, I broke the kiss and hugged her petite body tighter, needing to breathe. She laid her head on my shoulder, pressed her pussy and relaxed. Every sense concentrated on the sensation of her small pussy pressing and easing off, pressing and easing off. I did nothing to help her. This was her show. She needed to be in control. This was the right way.

I knew I was achingly hard, perhaps harder than I'd ever been. I knew I was leaking precum with each throb. And as my precum mixed with Nikita's silky moisture, her labia parted and stretched, slipping warm and soft over my crown. Her tiny, tiny entrance dilated reluctantly, an expanding tight ring.

She pushed one last time, her body trembling with effort in my arms, and I shuddered as her pussy slipped tightly over my crown to snap around my shaft, the crown held in a hot moist vice, a vice that squeezed gently. I felt a bit lightheaded.

"Stop, please," I whispered. I'd had a wave of pleasure slam into me, my erection swelling as if I was about to cum just from penetrating her. Holding Nikita gently in my arms, so petite and young, with the tip of my erection lodged in her little pussy was pure, utter heaven. Feeling her gently tighten on me and relax could have made me cum, easily.

"Don't," I pleaded. She was clenching deliberately. And when she giggled softly I had to tamp down my climax, her pussy contracting deliciously. I'd never suffered from premature ejaculation, but this little minx was dangerously close to making me experience it for the first time.

She stilled then almost made me cum again, whispering, "Big. You're really big, Nick."

I buried my nose in her hair, drawing her distinctive, addictive scent deep into my lungs.

"It feels good, Nick," she whispered and pressed slightly.

That one move resulted in the single most amazing sensation I'd ever had, ever. In one smooth, effortless move, Nikita's velvety tight pussy slid down my erection. I actually felt her internal walls part, massaging my crown. I felt her opening along my shaft, a hot sheath sliding down. I actually felt her cervix kiss my tip as her mons pressed into my groin. Nikita, a ten-year-old little girl had taken me completely, entirely, her tight pussy gripping the full length of my aching erection.

And then she sighed. "Thank you," she whispered.

Nikita? Thanking me? "Why, Honey?"

She squeezed gently, her buttocks clenching in my hand. "You didn't hurt me," she said. "I like it. I like you inside me."

"My pleasure," I replied with a smile.

Nikita giggled softly causing me great agony below. With my erection buried in the tightest, sexiest pussy in the world, I pulled her head off my shoulder and kissed her. It was magnificent. Nikita purred into my mouth, her little tongue active, her kiss urgent, small mouth moving. It was magnificent.

But, I had reached the limit of self control. No man could take this exquisite torture. Our kiss broke. With my palm, I lifted Nikita's little bum, groaning as her vice-like pussy slowly slipped up, my erection emerging until just the crown was once again gripped in heaven.

Nikita sighed, her head resting on my shoulder, her breath hot on my neck. She pushed and slid down in an exquisite stroke, burying me deep before clenching slightly. My eyes might have crossed. My erection definitely swelled. I lifted her sweet little bum, slipping out of her. She moaned and pressed down, sliding me deep into her, the tip nudging against her cervix.

"Nice," she murmured as I lifted her bum again.

"Beautiful, Nikita," I whispered as she pushed down, her tight, tight pussy surrounding my painful erection in liquid velvet.

The rhythm had begun, me lifting her, Nikita pushing back down, her legs tight around my waist. It was slow, exquisitely pleasurable, long strokes. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced. Sex with Nikita was amazing, simply amazing. And, as we fucked slowly, long strokes, gentle strokes, I felt my heart rate increase, pressure build, my balls become heavy; all signs I was close.

"Feels good, Nick," she whispered, shaking slightly and plunging down, burying me inside her harder.

Our pace increased slightly, firmer, more insistent, fucking each other, lifting her sweet little bum, Nikita shoving down, my tip thumping gently against her cervix. She groaned. Through the hand on her slender back I felt her heart racing. God, she was so small and delicate in my arms. It was hard to believe I was having sex with a ten-year-old or that it could be this good.

We fucked each other, pressure building, Nikita's pussy so tight, so deliciously tight. I was now hanging on, desperately hoping she'd climax, mine on the precipice. We fucked, long firm strokes, slipping out, sliding in, tight, tight, my crown pressing against her end. Perspiration broke out, pressure, pressure, erection swelling. I wasn't going to last; too good, too good.

Nikita grunted and jerked, her legs tightening around my waist, her arms clutching my neck. She snorted, twitched, her pussy clamping on me, body trembling as her orgasm stormed in.

I came, massively. It was agonising. Pulling Nikita's climaxing body down I sealed my erection deep inside her, her climax making her pussy clench. My erection swelled, I moaned, and pressure suddenly released, semen surging up my rigid shaft to explode deep into her. Nikita jerked as if she felt me and another massive wave of pleasure hit, erection swelling as I lifted her and dropped her, thrusting into her deep, so damned tight. Semen exploded in a painful spurt, a huge load bursting against her little womb. Nikita gasped, her tight pussy clenched, agony, agony. Lifting her, she shoved herself down on me. My crown banged against her end as another huge load exploded. Wet heat bathed me. Nikita cried out and held onto my neck as if she was drowning.

In the grip of a massive climax, I held Nikita tight, fucking her, cumming in her, loving the feel of her petite ten-year-old body in my arms. I thrust and exploded, spurting cum deep into her tight, tight pussy, cumming hard. Dizziness hit. My groin ached. I fucked her deep, spurting, sweet release, pleasure storming though me. I fucked her, spurting hard, and, finally, slowing as my orgasm peaked, slowing, my erection gently swelling and spitting the last of my semen, slowing, heart racing, erection softening, hugging Nikita, hugging Nikita.

Chapter Eleven

Walking out of Giorgio's Portrait Studio, Nikita's hand in mine, I handed her the newly aged Canadian passport. She let go of my hand, smiling at me and opened it. The smile faltered as she stopped walking. Nikita glanced up at me and back down. I watched, surprised as tears brimmed in her beautiful eyes. Why? What had I done now?

NIKITA FELT LIKE THE ground fell away, sounds fading. She stared, reading and rereading; Nikita Wolfe, Nikita Wolfe, Wolfe! As in Nick and Nikita Wolfe! Tears slipped down. She brushed them away, reading; Nikita Wolfe!

"Come on," Nick said gently, taking her hand. She let him, automatically walking, her eyes riveted on the passport.

Finally she looked up at him. "Thank you." She wanted to say so much but couldn't. She ached with love, thick and heavy in her chest.

"You're welcome. Now, how about lunch before we set off?"

I WAS EXPOSED TO yet another side of Nikita as we ate at a local cafe, sitting out on their patio, noisy traffic and horns a cacophony around us. She picked at her Veal Picatta al limone. Her beautiful eyes stared at me, unspoken words and emotions echoing through them. The passport lay open beside her plate, held down with her hand, and she glanced at it regularly. This Nikita made my heart ache, too. She burned me with adoration and I couldn't take it.

"Eat!" I ordered gruffly, afraid I might just tear up a bit. How dumb was I?

Nikita grinned suddenly, a big grin that, canine gaps and all, had my heart thumping. She picked up the passport open to her photo and showed it to me extending her arm across the table.

"Read," she ordered. "What does it say?"

"Nikita Wolfe."

Her smile was radiant. "Again please?"

I smiled. "Nikita Wolfe."

"Good!" She nodded. "And don't you forget it!" Suddenly she dived into her food, gorgeous eyes twinkling with pleasure. I was stupid in love; with a ten-year-old; a ten-year-old killer I reminded myself. How ridiculous.

Our journey north to Padua took all afternoon. Between cell calls feeding me information on a certain Paulo Trebi, nephew to Mario Bastino, a mid-twenties pup who was trying to prove his mettle and convince others he was the rightful heir, Nikita sat quietly watching the scenery pass in a blur, her passport open on her lap. Every so often she'd glance down at it, sigh and look across at me then back to the scenery.

It was ten-fifteen when we checked into a small, discreet hotel, Nikita proudly handing her passport across, "Canadian! Nikita Wolfe!" The lovely receptionist smiled at Nikita's enthusiasm. In the elevator, Nikita asked if she'd get her passport back. I told her she would. "Are you sure? When?" she asked very seriously. That brought a smile to my face. Our room was well appointed, comfortable, modern and clean. Nikita expressed her pleasure by diving onto the large bed and bouncing, a long drive and forced inactivity giving her unnatural energy; maybe happiness, too. "Soft!" she exclaimed in delight.

By the time I exited the bathroom, Nikita was under the covers, TV on and switching channels with the remote.

Slipping under the covers, I turned off the bedside light and rolled onto my side to watch her. I loved observing her, how her small nose seemed to have a slight upturn at the tip, her thick eyebrows and long eyelashes. She glanced at me. I watched as an enigmatic Mona Lisa-like smile formed, my heart tripping.

"Guess what? I ache, Nick."

God love-a-duck, I became erect despite being tired from the drive. How did she do it? "Really? Where?" I asked.

She rolled onto her front, slipped her arms under the pillow, olive-green eyes twinkling. I groaned when she wiggled her sweet little bum. "There." She wiggled again. "Can you make it better? Please?"

I didn't hesitate, rising, pulling the covers down to expose her delectable, edible bum, a perfect rump, sweet and petite, almost boyish. Straddling her legs I cupped her buttocks, shuddering at how perfect they were, so small and firm. Her back was so slender, both hands spanned it completely as I gently caressed her. Reaching her shoulders I massaged lightly before sweeping my hands back down.

The sight of my straining erection over such a small bum and such sexy little buttocks had my heart racing. Nikita was the most alluring, desirable female I'd ever come across. A memory came back strongly, my erection sheathed in her tight pussy, straining and swelling, cumming explosively.

Precum oozed. I gave up on caressing and started fondling her sexy little bum, staring as her rosebud appeared and disappeared. Spreading her butt cheeks a bit more revealed her plump, hairless pussy nestled between slim thighs, young thighs, firm thighs.

My erection bobbed at the sight. Shuffling back I bent and kissed each cool little buttock, pressing deep, luxuriating in her. Yes, I was an ass man through and through. I almost came spontaneously when Nikita moaned quietly and wiggled her bum against my lips. This was heaven, just this, Nikita's sensual rear. I'd never get enough of it.

My thumbs slipped into the creases formed by little buttocks where they joined slender thighs. I pulled and held my breath as plump labia peeled apart slowly, the dark moist shadow of her vagina appearing, her cleft reddened, smooth, glistening, and her small clit peeking at me below.

Nikita murmured when I gently caressed her clit with the pad of my thumb, a circular motion, gentle, very gentle. I loved how she clenched her buttocks and relaxed, her eyes closed concentrating on the sensations bombarding her.

My erection ached. It was rigid and pointing up at a forty-five-degree angle, straining, with precum leaking and running down the shaft. I wanted to fuck Nikita so badly. She looked so young, so small lying before me, her legs between my knees. Her ass was perfect, rounded, sexy, firm, and excitingly small.

Bending down over her, I kissed her cheek softly. "Ready?" I asked. A smile curled her small lips, eyes still closed. Nikita answered me by moving her bottom back and forth, the tip of my erection slipping between her butt cheeks. Need stormed into me at her sexy, sexy invitation.

Rising, I held my shaft and forced it down between her buttocks, a trail of precum left behind. I pressed it down across her rosebud, down further until I was at her small cleft. She murmured again and tried to push back at me. With a thumb holding my erection in place, I spread her buttocks, her cleft opening. Pressing, the crown seemed humongous as it nestled to her little cleft. I eased off a bit and pressed again, slippery precum spreading. Plump hairless labia yielded, oozing around my crown. The sight was intensely erotic. It was a huge turn-on to see my adult erection trying to penetrate a preteen pussy from behind.

But suddenly Nikita wiggled her bum again and, in slow motion, my crown disappeared, labia stretched and paled, her tight, tiny vagina dilating to grip my crown in a hot silky hold. It was obscenely exciting to see myself penetrating her, to see such a petite, young girl being penetrated by an adult cock. I pressed and groaned as my erection slowly oozed into her, deeper, deeper, a tight, tight ten-year-old sheath. She clenched; pleasure sparked in me.

Withdrawing slowly, her tiny vagina desperately tried to hold me in. I reversed, precum and her moist arousal making her slippery, snug, pure velvet. I slid in, deep, deep, groaning when I touched her very end, sweet little buttocks nestled to my groin. Leaning over her I kissed her cheek.

"This is so good, Nikita," I whispered. "I love it."

"Mmm," was all I got back, that and an exquisite clench of her buttocks. When she wiggled her bottom again I felt it, the tip of my erection rubbing against something hard and rubbery. Carefully I let my body down, very carefully. Nikita was so deliciously small under me. I didn't want to crush her, but I wanted to feel her, feel how small her body was, feel her youth. It excited me.

We held still for a minute luxuriating in being joined, my erection gently swelling and throbbing in her snug pussy. Then I withdrew in a long slow stroke, my crown oozing out of her. She complained with a whine and wiggled her bum in invitation. I accepted, pressing forward, her entrance stretching around my crown. It popped in and slid home, deep, so damned erotic. When I gave her a deliberate throb, swelling inside her, Nikita giggled and clenched, her buttocks flexing, exquisite pleasure hitting me.

She giggled again when I growled at her and then she squeezed my erection hard. A spark of pain hit. God she was tight. I still had trouble accepting I was fucking a ten-year-old. But I was, an amazingly sexy ten-year-old. For a few moments we teased, a swell, a clench, little buttocks flexing. But slowly the swells became strokes, slowly the clenches faded and a small bum started curling up at me. Slowly I started fucking my Nikita, hunching, stroking deep, withdrawing from her velvet hold, thrusting, fucking her with increasing passion, with increasing need, an ache growing.

I fucked her with long strokes, the combination of her moisture and my precum making her pussy very, very slippery, snug and warm. My groin was bouncing off her small bottom as I thrust with ever more firmness, ever more urgency, my erection a rigid thick rod aching with need. She felt tiny under me. I felt huge. It was incredible. And this time I couldn't hold back and wait for her. My climax was spontaneous when her small bottom flexed and she grunted at my hard thrust, her little body moving up the bed slightly. I swelled, I thrust, I froze.

"Cumming," I gasped as semen exploded into her. Withdrawing, I thrust, I froze. "Jesus, cumming Nikita!"

Semen exploded, the gates opening and I chased my climax, short fast thrusts, swelling and spurting into her tight, tight pussy, pleasure wracking my aching body, short strokes, spurting hard, cumming in her with a desperation, stomach cramping, sweet release, fucking her, cumming, cumming, Lord cumming so hard. With a final heave and thrust my climax crested, lodged deep, deep, spitting the last fading spurts of semen. Chest heaving I stopped, lay over Nikita gently, so petite under me.

When I could talk, I asked, "Did you cum?"

Nikita nodded, no words spoken.

With a sigh of complete satisfaction, muscles relaxed, and peace descending on me, I held Nikita and rolled so we were spooning each other, my softening penis still snug inside her pussy preventing any semen from leaking. Holding her gently, with the scent of Nikita and sex in the air, I fell asleep wondering at my good fortune.

A buzzing and vibrating cell phone woke me. Nikita muttered in her sleep and snuggled back against me pressing her bum into me.

Reaching behind I felt for the phone. "Pronto," I answered sleepily.

"It's Luigi. Paulo Trebi will be dining at the Ristorante Alphonse on the Via San Fermo tomorrow night."

"Good. Thank you. I'll wire transfer the funds."

"Bene. Ciao."

I tried to put the cell phone back on the bedside table, missed and it clattered to the floor. To Hell with it. Wrapping Nikita in my arms she muttered in her sleep again but snuggled back against me. I felt a mild erection return as her warm pussy held my penis tightly. Sleep returned. I had a smile on my face. Tomorrow night it would start.

Nikita's hand tightened in mine. Thirty yards ahead the door to Ristorante Alphonse opened, Paulo Trebi stepping out with his girlfriend-of-the-day, a blonde six inches taller than his five-feet-four hanging on his arm, a red sheath dress molded to her unrestrained impressively large breasts. I saw Paulo glance at us and dismiss us, seeing only a father walking hand-in-hand with his daughter. The narrow street was dark and deserted.

Two beefy bodyguards followed him out, their small eyes assessing Nikita and I with the same accuracy Paulo had; no imminent threat.

As Paulo bent to open the door of his red Ferrari 458 Italia parked at the curb, an exotic sculpted piece of pure Italian auto porn, and his blond slipped in, long legs folding and exposing acres of toned thighs, we drew close.

I'd had a ferocious argument with Nikita, insisting she stay in the hotel room. She'd glared at me, olive-green eyes flaring as she argued.

"Nick, if I'm with you he won't suspect anything."

She was right. But she was wrong. I did not want her to be seen at an assassination. And then she'd accused me of being an idiot. I'd politely told her she was ten years old and couldn't possibly understand. That had been a mistake. Reminding me of two dead intruders she'd told me I was an asshole. I tried to recover by explaining it would be dangerous, she could be hurt. She reminded me that she considered me an idiot and threatened to shoot me. Her expression suggested she might be serious. So, here she was, holding my hand, a silenced Berretta hidden behind her in her other hand, smiling sweetly at Paulo.

The Ferrari door slammed shut with a luxurious thunk only truly expensive cars have. Paulo straightened. He smiled at Nikita. That smile was still on his face when Nikita raised her arm, the long snout of her silenced Beretta appearing, and a double tap took his life away.

I popped the first bodyguard, swiveled and shot the second, two beefy men collapsing to the ground. Inside the Ferrari a big-breasted blond was screaming into her palms, bent over in the seat. By the time she looked up all she saw were the backs of a man and little girl walking away.

I couldn't hold back a grin when Nikita muttered, "Asshole," under her breath.

Chapter Twelve

Heat of the afternoon sun finally eased as it dropped towards the horizon. Drops of sweat trickled down my face. My arms ached from being still for too long, my eyes sore from staring intently for too long.

Below, a mile away across stepped terraces of well-tended grapevines stood a large ornate villa, blindingly white marble with colonnades supporting a roof. Two stories tall with a high privacy stone wall surrounding the property and armed guards slowly circling inside it, the classically styled Villa Montepaso was an impressive sight.

I watched carefully through a high-optic S&B 5-25x56 Day Scope mounted on a British made Accuracy International AWM .338 Lapua Magnum sniper rifle, the best in the world, capable of taking down targets at distances of over two miles. A long sinister black suppressor stuck out through vine leaves.

Nikita sat quietly beside me. She cracked another peanut shell, eating the peanuts and tossing the shell onto a growing pile at her side. Plastic crinkled when she reached into the bag for another peanut.

"You're too far away," she casually observed, peering at the villa in the distance.

It was our second day and she was beginning to get impatient.

"You can't hit him from this far. We should have got closer," she added, based on absolutely no experience.

It was a familiar comment on her faith in my skills. She'd been very generous with her opinions and very vocal in her dislike at having to pee in the vineyard. I smiled at each of her gripes. I liked them. She was quite entertaining.

The white back door of the villa opened. Sixty-four-year-old Don Carlo stepped out, a cigar in his hand, dressed in a dark suit that did its tailored best to hide his paunch.

"There he is," I whispered.

Nikita dropped the peanut bag and rolled onto her front, raising binoculars to her eyes.

One final adjustment for a slight cross breeze, aiming three and a half feet above his balding head as he paused to light the cigar, I stopped breathing. My heart rate slowed. The world narrowed to a trigger and a scope. I squeezed the half-pound trigger gently.

The sniper rifle bucked against my shoulder, a 'thut' sounding so quietly it couldn't be heard thirty feet away. Traveling at close to three thousand feet per second the metal-jacketed .338 calibre Lapua bullet flew through the air, a silent killer heating up to over two hundred degrees as air friction worked to slow it down. Gravity pulled at it relentlessly forcing it into its pre-calculated parabolic path.

One mile away it silently crossed the security wall and slammed into Don Carlo's head, traveling at over two thousand feet per second and transferring its kinetic energy with deadly results. His head exploded like an over-ripe watermelon, his lifeless body collapsing to the ground. Blood and brains splattered the white door behind him. No guard noticed.

"Gross," Nikita observed next to me. "Asshole," she muttered putting the binoculars down. "Can we go now? I'm hungry."

Despite Nikita's burst of energy and enthusiasm when we got back to our hotel room two hours later, I was exhausted. The hot shower took even more out of me and, even with her telling me about her problem, "I ache, Nick," I fell asleep. I managed a smile when she muttered something about me being an old man and turned the TV on.

Brushing my teeth the next morning, my mind occupied with our return journey, and wondering if we could risk a plane flight, Nikita strolled into the bathroom wearing nothing but white cotton panties pulled high.

"Morning." She smiled at me, a big smile that seemed to make my heart behave badly. Reaching into the shower she turned the water on. I watched her in the mirror. She turned slightly, a camel toe showing, her plump pussy straining at the plain white cotton. Turning and bending, she unwrapped a hotel bar of soap, her succulent little bottom rounding into a masterpiece, compact little buttocks pressing against tight white cotton, a natural depression forming along her sexy butt crack.

An erection grew as I admired her in the mirror.

Straightening, without looking at me, Nikita slowly pulled one side of her panties down, just a bit. She pulled the other side down, just a bit. One side after the other she edged her white cotton panties down, little bum wiggling, her bum crack appearing and, rather than letting the panties drop to the floor, she bent at the waist, sliding them down her legs to take them off, her gorgeous little rear curving, a sexy, sexy little hairless pussy emerging between slender thighs, her beautiful little cleft tightly closed. My erection was complete. I growled. Minx.

Nikita giggled and hopped into the shower, pulling the shower curtain closed behind her. "Got 'cha!" she yelled out.

My shorts hit the ground. I spat out toothpaste. The curtain was pulled back and I was in that shower faster than she could blink, my rigid erection waving in front of me. I stopped dead. Nikita had this enigmatic smile on her face. It made me ache. Moving close, water plastering her burgundy hair to her slender back, she reached out and took my erection in her hand, olive-green eyes twinkling. Her second hand joined in, cupping my balls. Olive-green eyes stared at me as she bent slightly and kissed my crown.

"Good?" she asked.

I felt stupid, just nodding, entranced with her. There was something so erotic about a ten-year-old girl standing naked in all her perfect preteen glory, holding an adult erection and kissing it. God it was an exciting sight.

"You don't have to, Nikita," I said.

She tilted her head and looked up at me. "Will it feel as good as you doing it to me?"

"Better, I imagine."

"Okay. So I want to try. What should I do?"

"Um. Perhaps if you, uh, sucked it a bit?"

"Kay."

Before I could prepare myself, Nikita opened her mouth and slipped my erection in, lips closing below the crown. Her mouth was warm; the sight spectacular. And then she sucked, cheeks indenting, a tongue rubbing and I got dizzy. I couldn't stop my hand from resting on the back of her head and pulling gently. Her mouth sank on my erection and she pulled back, her olive-green eyes looking up at me.

Suddenly she smiled with her mouth full of my erection. It was amazingly sexy. She sucked and bobbed her head, licked and pulled off completely.

I groaned in frustration.

"Like that?" she inquired.

Jesus fuck. I nodded, not trusting my voice.

She grinned, two hands now holding my shaft. Olive-green eyes inspected it. She kissed the tip and then pressed her lips to it, slowly letting her lips part, slipping them over the crown to seal around my shaft. She sucked. I sucked as well, a deep lungful of air.

Nikita started sucking and bobbing, moving down and up, gently fucking me with her mouth, a moist soft tongue caressing. I felt my balls grow heavy, erection swell, my knees weakening. A very deep groan erupted when her mouth popped off.

"Good? Do you like it?" she asked, a glint of amusement in her eyes.

I frowned and growled at her. She burst into a storm of giggles, her hands squeezing my shaft. Then, mouth opening, eyes watching me, she bent slightly and consumed my erection, sucking hard, stroking me, tongue caressing my crown.

When the tip of her tongue probed my pee hole I let go, erection swelling. She sucked hard, hands suddenly stroking my shaft. My climax erupted viciously, semen spurting in a burst of pleasure, her eyes widening in surprise. I heaved again, a huge load burning up my shaft to explode into her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out and cum leaked from her lips, thick, white, dribbling down her chin. I heaved again, shoving my erection into her mouth, exploding in a burst of pure bliss, cum jetting out, Nikita's cheeks puffing out again, cum flowing from her. Pleasure exploded, my body aching. In quick succession I heaved and spurted, ejaculating hard. Nikita kept her mouth on me, stroking my straining shaft, semen leaking from her lips. I heaved and spurted to an intense climax, staring at my erection cumming in a ten-year-old mouth. I swelled and came until I had nothing left, just a heart pounding, drained and lightheaded, and close to collapsing.

Nikita kept my erection in her mouth until it started to soften. She pulled off and grinned at me, then frowned suddenly when she swallowed. "Yuk! Salty!"

If I could have, I would have laughed. But I was drained. I didn't move for a while, letting Nikita wash herself until I noticed how the water streamed down her slender back and through her butt crack. To the sound of squeals of laughter, I soaped and tickled her.

When my hand washed her sexy little pussy the laughter faded, she sort of hung on to my arm as fingers caressed. She murmured as her clit was stroked, humped my hand, groaned as a finger found her little vagina, and shook and cried out as she climaxed, almost collapsing before I held her, her body shaking, head bent, water cascading over her. It was a very pretty sight.

Turning the shower off, I wrapped her in a thick towel, dried her, and we went back to bed, snuggling together.

Epilogue

I put the phone down, contemplating the information that had just cost me one hundred thousand Euros. It had taken two and an half years but I finally knew who had tortured my friend and agent, Philippe Gerard.

Jean-Claude Messier of 104 rue Frieborg, Geneva, Switzerland was now front and centre. This time Nikita, no matter what she said, was going to stay in the hotel when we got there. I had read the autopsy report on Philippe, the gruesome details of the torture he'd been subjected to, and I planned on doubling it for Jean-Claude Messier. There was no way in Hell I was going to expose Nikita to that. None.

I turned to the computer to plan our trip.

"Can you find someone for me?"

Glancing up from the laptop, sounds of a busy souk faintly reaching me, I saw Nikita watching me from the study doorway with her intense, serious expression. At twelve years old she was even prettier, a stunningly gorgeous girl. But that expression, I knew better than to ignore her.

"Who?"

"René Desmarais."

"Who's René Desmarais?" I asked.

"My stepfather."

That made me pause. She'd never told me who he was. In two and a half years, she'd never revealed his identity. "Why?" I asked; a question I already knew the answer to. I think I'd known it ever since I'd first seen her handle a gun at ten years old, the intense focused commitment unforgettable.

Nikita had two sides. One side, the side she was showing at that moment, was a stone-cold professional, a killer. Like no one else I'd ever met, Nikita had the ability to kill, expertly, with ease. While she was far more insistent than I'd ever been in making sure the target deserved to die, she was exceptionally cold-blooded when it came time to take them out. With her it was almost an evangelical calling, something seared into her soul from eight years old; a need to rid the world of monsters.

In fact, if I wasn't so sure she was ferociously in love with me, I'd have been a bit concerned for my life. I was no angel.

Despite her dedication and determination, Nikita had a second side. That side I loved, too. At twelve and a half Nikita had entered into that spectacular stage of pubescence. Subtle curves were beginning to emerge. The last vestiges of childhood had left her face, leaving behind a sculpted aching beauty with thick burgundy hair and magnetic olive-green eyes. Nikita had developed beautifully sexy twins on her chest that I'd become addicted to, small, amazingly firm, almost conical, each a perfect mouthful and topped by the most responsive nipples. She was the proud owner of a little pubic bush, still thin and sparse, but "real pubes, Nick!" she assured me. She had a soft, marvellously playful side; a preteen, sneaky, boisterous, forceful and seductive personality. She could twist me around her little finger effortlessly, make me laugh or cry with frustration and, far too frequently, drive me to despair with her intransigence. The world was going to conform to her come Hell or high water. And I loved every little bit of her so much it hurt.

"Are you sure you want to find him?" I asked carefully.

She nodded, her thick burgundy ponytail bobbing. "I'm ready. It's time."

"Okay. I'll find him."

She smiled, an enigmatic smile. "Thanks."

My heart hurt just a bit, wishing she could have had a normal childhood. But, when she walked over to me, sat in my lap, kissed my cheek gently and hugged me, whispering, "Really. Thanks," I sighed. Nikita knew I'd do anything for her. It hurt loving her.

NIKITA RESTED HER HEAD on his shoulder, sighing quietly. Inhaling, she drew the scent of Nick deep, a spicy, manly scent that seemed to intensify when he'd get horny.

In two and a half years Nikita had learned a lot from him; how to handle different guns, how to respect guns, and most importantly, how to trust again. She trusted Nick completely, utterly. He could be an ice-cold killer, executing with precision, a panther, sleek, smooth, silent and deadly. But she saw the gentle side most often, the care in his sexy blue eyes, his quiet consideration and, best of all, a look of adoration that bathed her in warmth. Her love for him was all consuming.

"Guess what?" she said conversationally, her finger toying with the top button of his shirt.

"What?"

"I ache," she said softly, smiling to herself. She heard his sharp inhalation and flushed with arousal as he responded.

"How much?" he asked standing and carrying her.

Nikita smiled, an enigmatic smile. "A lot. Can you make it better?"

While there were times she wished she'd grow faster and taller, there were times she was glad she hadn't, like now. Being carried by Nick in his arms, his six-foot two height made her feel lost against him, small and delicate. She loved how he cuddled her gently, the way he held her lovingly. She absolutely loved snuggling into him, finding peace and serenity.

She also loved teasing him. He was a stubborn man, and yet he seemed to get infuriated with her stubbornness. He didn't seem to understand she always listened to him. It was just that sometimes, maybe a lot, she decided to do something else and he'd fume and mutter and huff and puff. That alone was funny.

Nikita grinned and reached around his neck, murmuring into him. He rumbled, a deep grumble from his chest, almost a purr or a growl depending on his mood. This one sounded like a growl as she undid the buttons of his shirt and tickled his chest hair. She wondered how far she could tease him this time.

She laughed when Nick threw her on the bed, giggled when he started tearing her clothes off, writhed to playfully protect her modesty, laughing as her grip on her panties slipped. Watching him undress, his blue eyes so intense, she calmed, her gaze alternating between his face and his erection. A bolt of arousal made her small breasts ache. Moistness suddenly flooded her.

She loved sex. She loved sex with Nick. He'd erased her fears and bad memories. Now, one look at his cock and she'd respond viscerally.

Nikita sighed and held his head when he lay next to her and gently kissed her aching breasts, ones she was so proud of. Nick seemed rather proud of them, too. Her nipples perked up when he sucked them and she was damp when his hand wormed between her thighs to cup her swollen pussy, sighing at his touch. When his finger slipped between her slippery labia with ease and familiarity, slid across her hard little clit and down to find her entrance, she moaned.

Moving fast and suddenly she rolled away from Nick, loving his groan. Shoving him onto his back she rose and straddled him, looking down at his hot eyes. She clenched her pussy. God, just seeing how much she could turn him on made her horny.

She settled her warm pussy on his thick shaft, wiggling slightly to spread her labia and hug it, hot and rigid against her. Grinning at his squint, she bent slightly, her ponytail falling over her shoulder.

"Good?" she asked.

"Not yet. Try harder."

Smiling, she touched his crown, swirling her fingertip lightly, watching his eyes cloud, his grin fade. She hunched her pussy once and stopped.

"Good? More?" she asked, pressing her sexy pussy down on his thick shaft, pulses of pleasure storming from her clit to her nipples.

Nikita couldn't hold back her giggles when he growled at her. My panther. Taking his big hands she drew them to her aching breasts, small but nice breasts she thought, proudly.

"I ache here, Nick," she whispered, shuddering when he caressed her, her heart thumping as his rough thumbs teased her hard nipples. She loved his gentle caress, how he squeezed her small breasts making her ache more.

She humped his shaft slowly, a long stroke up, his crown sliding over her clit, shivers of pleasure, then back down, slowly, erotically.

Bending down, she kissed his lips lightly, sucked and bit his lower lip, then straightened, rising up slightly and sliding her pussy up, up, his crown gliding through her slit. With a tilt of her hips she she pressed down gently, pressing his crown right where her entrance was.

It was in his eyes, pure agony. He was going to erupt soon. She shivered in anticipation. Bending forward, resting on straight arms she whispered. "I really, really ache there."

She laughed when he growled and wrapped his arms around her. Rolling suddenly he was on top of her, staring into her laughing eyes. She cradled his body between her thighs, reaching down to hold his erection, thick and throbbing. Need stormed her. She hooked her heels behind him, tugging, guiding his erection.

A flush of moisture flowed when she felt the tip touch her pussy, press, her plump labia parting to hug him. Urging him with heels and moans, she felt her tiny vaginal opening dilate slowly, feeling so tight, too tight. She stretched more, up to the point where a twinge of pain hit her and, with a shudder, he slipped in, sliding effortlessly, deep as she curled up to meet him. His erection touched the spot deep inside that ached so much, his groin pressing against her clit. Pleasure blossomed. So full. Yes.

"Nick," she sighed, pulling him down on her, his big body feeling so good, a sensual weight. Her knees rose to cradle him, her hands sliding down to his bum. "Hurry. I ache."

Withdrawing slowly, loving how he stretched her, he plunged back hard, deep, breath exploding from her, his erection thumping into her ache. He withdrew slowly, Nikita grasping at him feeling empty, and he plunged back hard.

"God, yes," she groaned. "Again."

Nick grasped her small buttocks, withdrawing and plunging. She grunted and clutched him, lifting her pussy to meet his hard thrusts. He started fucking her, deep, strong, urgent, his tip thumping against her deepest part, her clit rasping along his thick shaft. Pressure built as she clutched at him, held him desperately, aching, so full. And suddenly, as he slammed into her, Nikita grunted, shook, clenched, her body trembling. Her legs curled around his thighs tugging hard and her climax exploded.

She cried out, "Nick!"

Her body arched up, pleasure wracking her, pussy cramping. She writhed in the throes of an orgasm she no longer had control of, heaving up, Nick fucking her, fucking her. She cried out when she felt him swell inside her. He slammed into her writhing body and hot wet cum exploded, flooding her as he jammed his erection deep. Dizziness assailed her as he withdrew and slammed in again, semen jetting in. An intense bolt of pleasure hit as Nick spurted into her. Writhing and grasping him, she came hard to his every solid thrust, his every beautiful spurt, tears prickling her closed eyes as she heard him call out her name. She drowned, heart racing, body twitching, loving him, loving him.

When he stilled and lay on her, Nikita sighed. "Love you, Nick," she whispered softly, hugging him.

"No, No, No!"

HER DARK BURGUNDY PONYTAIL whipped around as she looked over her shoulder at me, olive-green eyes flashing with indignation.

"What?!!"

"I told you it was too risky. You missed his heart," I said with no small measure of annoyance.

Nikita turned and looked down. "Really?"

René Desmarais lay on the ground at her feet, a spreading dark red blood stain on his chest contrasting sharply with his frayed and scruffy open-neck white dress shirt. His eyes were open wide, pupils dilated and glossy with shock, hands twitching at his side as if trying to move. The sweet, spicy scent of rum smelled strong, the result of breaking a bottle inside a brown paper bag he'd dropped at his side. Rum scent battled with a dank mouldy odour in the still night air, the result of a recent passing thunderstorm. René was probably still shocked at what this little girl had just done to him; being shot in the chest looked like it hurt. I had no doubt he was surprised, too. His mouth moved as if he was trying to say something, no sound emerging.

A soft 'thut' sounded when Nikita aimed the long-snouted silenced Beretta at René and pulled the trigger, putting him out of his misery. His body twitched one final time, a red hole appearing in his forehead perfectly placed between and above his eyebrows. He stilled; his watery brown eyes already vacant. A dark stain spread at the crotch of his threadbare brown trousers as muscles relaxed.

"There!" She gave a short nod, satisfied. Then under her breath she muttered, "Asshole."

Glancing around I was relieved to see the dark alley leading to a rear parking lot was still deserted. Cars passed in the street, headlights providing flashes of illumination on the wet road, tyres hissing, engines fading away. One lone naked bulb cast a weak yellowish light in the alley creating soft shadows and highlighting cracks in the concrete walkway being invaded by weeds. I was pissed. We'd been here for almost a minute and a half; far too long. Why the hell didn't Nikita ever listen to me?

"Come on," I said reaching out to her, frowning.

She smiled at me and slipped her small, delicate hand into mine.

"Gun," I clarified.

With a grin, she let my hand go and passed the Beretta. At least she passed the handgrip first, just as I'd taught her. I wished she'd do more of that; do what I'd taught her. A twist removed the hot silencer. I slipped it into the side pocket of my leather aviator jacket and the gun into a nylon shoulder holster.

Reaching out I offered my hand again. Nikita slipped her hand into mine, still so small even at twelve and a half years old.

"Sorry?" she offered with a smile, eyebrows arched, pretty eyes turned up to me glittering in the night.

Sorry my ass.

I checked the road both ways as we exited the alley, occasional cars motoring through the residential neighbourhood. We wouldn't be noticed or, if seen, not remembered; just a father and his daughter.

"Are you going to talk to me, Nick?"

With a tug of her hand, I turned right. Three hundred yards down I could see our rented dark-blue Peugot 405 parked on the opposite side of the road, no one showing any interest in it.

"Are you angry with me?" Nikita asked in an inquisitive voice, seemingly not intimidated in the least.

You're damned right I was angry. It was unprofessional in the extreme. Striding towards the car, Nikita skipping every third step to keep up, I tried to calm my anger. She seemed to think this was a game. It wasn't.

"What's the big deal?" Nikita asked. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"I told you, head shot. Kill him with a double tap to the head," I explained, though why I was explaining I didn't know. "You've got to listen to me, Nikita."

"I heard you, Nick," she said. "But I thought I'd practice the heart shot. You said it was hard." After a brief pause she added, "You were right! It's much harder in real life!"

I almost let out the smile trying to escape despite my displeasure. Just in case, I turned my face away from her and scanned our surroundings again; still dark, still alone, street lamps creating pools of light along the slick wet road. When a measure of control returned, I stopped, turned to her and frowned. "If you're not going to listen to me, that's it. Next time you'll stay behind."

With a firm tug of her hand we resumed walking. Nikita started muttering under her breath, something she did a lot when she disagreed with me, which, God help me, she did a lot. I heard her mutter, "You told me to practice," followed by, "I always listen to you," and, after a brief pause, "and you didn't say anything about not shooting him in the heart, either."

It was very hard to maintain my frown as we climbed into the car. Turning the key I started the Peugot, instructing Nikita to buckle up while shaking my head at her recalcitrance. She was the single most aggravating and frustrating female I'd ever known, and not by a bit, but by a mile.

NIKITA GRINNED TO HERSELF as Nick drove them back to their small hotel room. The way he stepped on the accelerator, slammed on the brakes and wrestled the rented car around corners was throwing her around, banging her shoulder against the door, head tossing forward when he braked sharply, and then thrown back into the seat. Nick was angry with her. The frown on his face, one that had once scared her a bit, just made her grin. She knew him too well.

It was an uncomfortable ride through the streets of Madrid ending with a squeal of tires, the smell of burning rubber reaching her as Nick slipped the car into a parking spot with supreme skill. He grabbed her hand and practically dragged her into the nondescript hotel and up to their room. Nikita couldn't erase her grin, even when Nick squinted at her in frustration. Brushing her teeth, she giggled. She knew how to make him forgive her, or at least distract him.

The room was small, a low-end independent hotel located in a rundown part of the city usually frequented by back-packing students. The furniture was industrial and threadbare, designed by someone with absolutely no knowledge of esthetic appeal; an engineer or efficiency expert, probably. The armoire doors were warped and didn't close properly, the rug was frayed, and a neon sign flashed red through thin curtains. There was a vague musty smell as if the room hadn't been dusted in months.

Nick was on his side, bare shoulder and arm over the covers, and turned away from her side of the bed as she slipped in. She smiled at this truculence, his snit that she hadn't followed his instructions. Laying on her front, her cheek pressed to the thin pillow, and one arm under it, she reached out to Nick's shoulder, tugging it.

"Turn around, Nick."

She grinned when he muttered and shrugged her hand off.

"C'mon, Nick, turn over. I ache," she said, tugging his shoulder again. Nikita smiled at him when he turned and glared at her, his blue eyes intense. She took his hand and guided it under the covers to her naked bum. "I ache here," she said softly. "Can you make it better? Huh? Please? Pretty please?"

Her little bum wiggle was the final straw. She saw frustration leave his sexy eyes, they softened and desire appeared. She grinned when he groped her ass and growled at her.

"I ache a lot," she whispered. "Make it better? Please?"

I WAS DAMNED. IT was as simple as that. I was damned to be controlled unmercifully by a twelve-year-old. Nikita was going to be the death of me. Looking into her intensely attractive, expressive olive-green eyes I felt her take over, again. Her smile demolished the last of my sternest indignation. Her bum flexed in my palm, sweet and petite. I got an erection. The damn minx knew the effect she had on me. I saw it in how she grinned with success and wiggled her damned sexy butt again.

"God damn it, Nikita," I growled at her, squeezing a remarkably firm little buttock. I was pissed when my erection stiffened, the seductive valley between her bum cheeks so softly alluring and sensual. I had no resistance, none. I loved how she would get her way, consequences be damned, her focused determination truly impressive. She manipulated me. I knew it and I was helpless to stop her. It frustrated me no end and yet I loved it.

In two and a half years of living with Nikita, I'd never understood how she did it. I'd never figured out how she could get under my skin and drive me so damned nuts I'd want to kill; just kill; anyone in sight would do. And then lightning-fast she'd do something that would demolish my anger and my defenses, completely lay waste to my detached and analytical self; like now. That sexy smile, her incredibly shaped little bum and sexy wiggle had me hard and stupid in no time flat.

Letting her ass go, I reached up and gently caressed her hair, slowly pulling the elastic hair band off her ponytail. Her dark burgundy hair expanded, thick and luxurious, appearing heavy, spreading over her shoulders and slender upper back. Rolling close, I inhaled deeply, a scent I'd become addicted to, and kissed a soft cheek before letting my hand return to her spectacular little rump. Her eyes glistened beautifully before closing, olive-green winking out and a soft enigmatic smile forming on her lips.

Seeing the smile it hit me. "You missed his heart on purpose, didn't you?" I asked softly. "You wanted to punish him."

She didn't reply. The Mona Lisa-like smile remained as she slowly wiggled her delectable bum in my palm.

I loved Nikita so much, at times it hurt. I loved that enigmatic smile of hers, too. It always made an appearance when she was satisfied, usually when she got something she'd wanted that I'd not been in favour of. I loved that enigmatic smile so much it made my heart ache and pride blossom at her willfulness.

I gave up, pulling her into my arms. I was utterly addicted to a little girl called Nikita.