Age: 27
Last seen: Paris, FR
Payout: $380,000
Preferred window: 9 days deadline until Saturday, June 13th.
Client insists: “Short distance.”
Fucking Toronto guy. Again.
Third time in six months. Three contracts out of seven this year. I start to feel like I’m on retainer. $380,000—the price is not low, but everyone knows I am the fucking best at this. And honestly, if you want someone dead but can’t pay, you probably don’t have a good enough reason.
My price is not just for the job itself. Killing is the simple part, but my team also makes sure the client goes to bed peacefully at night, and nobody except them knows one persondied because they wanted them to. That’s not only killing money but also shut-the-fuck-up money.
But still…how can he be this pathetic? Most of my clients want to eliminate one, maybe two people. He, on the other hand, wants half of Canada gone because he’s shitty at doing business. His family owns like half of the buildings in the country, yet he’s still bleeding his father’s wallet dry.
But money is money.
If the little fucker wants the bitch dead, I’ll just do it. Plus, I need to somehow prove to myself that what happened last time was just the aftershock of a too-good session with the Professor. And since the circumstances have changed—he himself said to forget about the goddamn rules—everything should be okay.
Yes, the mission will be a success, just likealmostevery other mission before. I just need to prepare for it like I always do.
This is the point when my brain switches from noise to silence. When I turn from being just a woman to a walking weapon. Except tonight, I feel like both. I’m carrying her—the part of me that tasted something beyond desire—into the kill zone.
I close the file, not ready to focus on it.
I open it again. Too late.
The letter I received from Azrael is so cryptic, but only he would do such a thing. Maybe it’s payback for my little escapade the first time in his office? I shoot Azrael a message, wondering how he got so cheesy all of a sudden.
Victoria: “I’d burn for you”? Really? The nineteenth century is calling, they want to inform you we have digital messaging now.
Azrael: What are you talking about?
Victoria: The letter? Oh, it must be from one of my other admirers then…
I tease him, but the reality is I have no fucking clue what this is if it’s not from him. I bet this is just a mistake. It has to be. I decide to disregard it, tossing it straight into the trash.
I grab a random bottle, a Malbec, from the wine column—always a bad sign. Half-finished and at room temp, I don’t even bother to pour it into a glass. I just tilt the bottle to my lips and let it burn its way down.
Wine doesn’t fix things, but it makes them softer around the edges. I will never be stupid enough to believe the answers are at the bottom of whatever I’m drinking, but once the bottle is empty, I’m not even looking for answers anymore.
Another long sip, but it still doesn’t help. The bottle clinks as I set it down on the living room table harder than I intended, which makes me wince and apologize to the table.
This is what I’ve become.
Assassin by day. Emotional liability by night.
CHAPTER 26
AZRAEL
The message brings up so many memories. Oh, yes. That sweet taste of power. A twist of fate only broken souls can experience.
But as delicious as being back in the game is, I cannot help this unsettling feeling that makes its presence known. The reality is, I could be fucked, and it would be my own doing.
I’ve prepared for this. Or so I thought. Now that it’s here, I’m almost afraid to proceed. Step 3 is a natural course of events, but do I even want it? Now? After all this?