Chapter 2
LARK
Ifed coins into the slot machine, but my gaze was on him.
Sebastian “Bastian” Thorne.
A huge mess of emotions tangled inside me. I knew it wasn’t the name he’d been born with, or the one he’d used when he was younger. He’d had a lot of names. I lifted my hand and rubbed a closed fist against my chest, pushing the emotions away.
I knew that trying to pull them apart just made me more confused and annoyed. I drew in a deep breath, then stabbed at the buttons on the machine. On the screens, icons spun and blinked.
Someone brushed past me.
“Sorry, ma’am,” a man called out, paying me no attention.
I was dressed as a sixty-something woman. My hair was a curly, gray wig and I wore a billowy, patterned shirt, with boring, pastel-peach pants. I’d added padding around my hips to fill out my shape, and my platform sandals added a few inches of height.
I’d also used makeup putty to tweak my facial features and avoid the pesky facial-recognition system. There was a camera right above me, in fact. I knew exactly where all the cameras were in the Avernus Casino.
Bastian was talking with his friend, Nash Oakley.
Another retired assassin. Oakley had been military, then black ops.
They looked like they were having an intense conversation.
A moment later, a woman joined them, and Nash wrapped his arm around her.
I knew her name was Georgiana Linden. I had notes on everyone who was close to Bastian.
After some more conversation, the couple left.
Bastian stood there, alone. He was so damn good-looking. I scowled. That annoyed me.
Today, he wore a dark-gray suit. Bespoke.
I knew that he liked designer labels, so it was probably Armani or Brioni or some other tailor I’d never heard of.
His white shirt looked good against his bronze skin.
His thick, black hair was well styled, and he had a handsome face.
Not quite classical, because it had too much of an edge, his features a little too hawkish.
He wasn’t pretty, but he definitely caught the eye.
Even with the face, and the coating of wealth and charm, I knew he was dangerous.
Then I stiffened. A woman in a clingy, green dress sauntered up to him.
Ugh. Her fake boobs were so obvious, and her long legs were slender without a single sign of any muscle tone. I could snap her like a twig, even though she was half a foot taller than me. She had a fall of artful curls that she’d dyed platinum blonde.
She was his type. Bastian seemed to like willowy, well-groomed, and temporary.
They spoke for a short time, then she left with a smile. But he’d smiled at her and touched her cheek. I gritted my teeth.
I had to kill him.
Anger flooded me. There. I liked that much better.
Bastian had killed my mentor.
Ed.
Grief was a hollow feeling. An emptiness.
I breathed through it. My parents had been murdered when I was ten. I barely remembered them now. I did remember that they’d locked me in a closet when our isolated cabin had been attacked. I’d heard the entire assault.
I’d heard them die.
My hands gripped the side of the slot machine. The images only came in bits and pieces. My entire existence before the age of ten was just faded and tarnished memories of another life.
Ed had saved me. The CIA agent had carried me from that blood-soaked cabin and given me a fresh start.
He’d trained me to fight, shoot, hunt, track. Every skill I’d needed to protect myself.
Every skill I’d needed to turn into the hunter, instead of the prey.
He’d molded me into an assassin, and he’d become my family.
Then, a year ago, I’d gone on a job. When I’d come back to visit Ed, I’d found him dead in his bed. A single gunshot wound between the eyes.
It had been an execution.
He’d been killed by the Reaper. The most fearsome assassin in the world. One people still whispered about, even though he was supposedly long gone.
He wasn’t gone. He’d just changed his name to Bastian Thorne.
My next breath was ragged. He’d left me a note.
We need to talk
– B.
I hadn’t wanted to talk. I still didn’t want to talk. No, I’d raged and cried and screamed. What I wanted was revenge.
Ed had been my savior, my adopted father. Bastian had ended him.
I rose and walked closer to him. Almost close enough to touch. I kept my shoulders hunched, my walk slow, my gait uneven. The key to a good disguise wasn’t just what you wore, but living and breathing it. Right now, I was an older woman with hip problems.
As I passed by him, my muscles twitched. I could attack him right now. I stared at his back. I could plunge my knife deep. I knew exactly where to hit for maximum impact.
A good assassin never acts on impulse.
That was Ed’s voice.
One of his rules.
I kept walking, slow and steadily. I paused near a bar and glanced back.
Bastian was looking around. Like an impatient king surveying his domain.
How anyone believed that idiot Chance Tyler—the two-bit actor Bastian had hired to pretend to be the owner of Avernus—was the casino’s owner was beyond me. You could see it was bullshit in an instant.
As I watched, Bastian disappeared into an elevator. I turned toward the exit of the casino.
I would kill Bastian.
I would take down my enemy.
I would have my vengeance.
But I wasn’t a good assassin, I was a brilliant one. Ed had forged me into that.
I’d plan. I’d take my time.
I’d make the kill.
Bastian Thorne was a dead man walking.