Assassin's Haiku

Twice a week, every week, Haiku sits beside Dante in the dimly-lit underground poetry bar. As they listen to the poets read, she basks in the warmth of her genetically-enhanced assassin's body, and longs for the smack of large, leather-clad hands against bare skin. No other male, human or otherwise, makes her tremble like Dante can with one dark look.

Her heart, body and soul are his, if only he'd ask.

Dante won't ask, because he knows a killer doesn't deserve love. Instead, he sits in silent torment, watching Haiku, wanting Haiku, yet unable to touch her.

She is poetry and light, embodying all that he fights for, and when Agency operatives attack the bar, putting Haiku in danger, he must protect her. He takes her to the safest place on the planet, his underground bunker, and then realizes he has made a deadly mistake.

Haiku may now be safe, but Dante's heart has been put in jeopardy.