Chapter 4 Lark
LARK
Lengthening my stride, I powerwalked down the sidewalk. I made sure I blended in with the flow of people. The sky was gray overhead. Rain was threatening. The Strip wasn’t super busy this afternoon, but there were still plenty of people—locals, tourists, dedicated gamblers.
I put some bounce in my step. I was dressed as a funky twenty-something.
My hair was covered with a purple wig cut in a bob style that skimmed my jaw.
I wore a plaid, short skirt with heavy, black boots.
My headphones sat on my ears and I wore a cute backpack.
No one had to know that it was filled with weapons.
My prey was directly ahead of me.
Why was Bastian walking down the Strip? My nose wrinkled as I watched him.
He had a fleet of fancy supercars and a bunch of black SUVs with drivers that he used when he needed to go anywhere.
Today, he wore another suit that hugged that masculine body.
It was dark blue, and the jacket accentuated his broad shoulders, and unfortunately, covered his ass. I bet his suit pants fit him just fine.
I emitted a low growl. I did not care about his ass.
I clocked the way people looked at him. Women did a double take, and some men looked back as well, for an envious second glance.
Bastian didn’t notice. He was moving like a ship locked on course. But I knew that he did notice. He’d be taking in everything and everyone around him. Good assassins always did.
A good assassin is aware of their surroundings, every minute of every day.
Another of Ed’s rules.
Where was he going?
I kept an eye on Bastian, not daring to get too close. A moment later, he turned into the Venetian Casino.
Frowning, I followed.
Inside, he didn’t head for the elevators or the casino floor. Instead, he headed for the Grand Canal Shoppes.
The famed indoor shopping mall was a replica of the Grand Canal in Venice.
My lip curled. It was a poor imitation. I’d been to Venice several times and loved it.
I glanced around the faux canal. A gondola lazily sliced under an arched bridge.
The faux-Italian architecture was lined with high-end shops.
Overhead, the ceiling was painted sky blue, and dotted with fluffy, white clouds.
What was Bastian doing here? Maybe he had a business meeting? Or a…date? My stomach curdled.
The why didn’t matter. It was time that I did what I’d promised Ed.
I would avenge his death.
I owed him that much.
Bastian had betrayed him. I would right that wrong.
Ahead, Bastian turned down a corridor. I glanced at the sign above. Ahead, lay the elevator to the 1923 Prohibition Bar.
Frowning, I gave him some time, then I followed.
The elevator descended then spat me out in a small vestibule. I cautiously looked around. There was no sign of Bastian. No sign of anyone. I glanced at the sign on the wall and saw that the bar was closed today.
A huge, gold-framed image of a blonde flapper in a beautiful, beaded dress and clutching a long cigarette filled the wall.
The picture had a door handle.
I pushed it open and the picture frame swung open revealing a hidden door.
I blinked, studying the hidden bar beyond. It was like stepping back into the 1920s. There was lots of wood-paneling, red-patterned wallpaper, and leather and velvet furniture.
Slowly, I inched inside, every sense on high alert. I slid along the wall.
I spotted Bastian. He was leaning casually against the long, wooden bar. Like he had all the time in the world. I gave myself a second to drink in that face—the high cheekbones, straight nose, dark eyes.
I ducked down behind a long, velvet couch and moved closer.
There was no one here. The bar was closed. Was he meeting someone?
“I know you’re here, Lark.”
As his deep voice filled the bar, I froze.
“We need to talk.”
Mentally, I cursed.
He’d lured me here. And I’d fallen for it. Dammit.
I slid my hand under my jacket, where my favorite knives were sheathed. I had several custom sheaths designed especially for me, so I could conceal my knives. This one was lightweight and worn across my body. I had others for concealing on my belt, my wrists, my thigh.
I pulled a blade out.
The hilt was cool and familiar in my palm.
It was my favorite set of knives, crafted just for me by a master bladesmith.
I’d designed the daggers myself, based on the iconic Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife used by British commandos and SAS in World War II.
I’d given the old knife style a modern update.
They were made from tough, high-carbon blade steel with a black oxide finish. That meant no glare when I was sneaking up on a target. The sculpted hilts were made from G10—a high-strength, durable composite material made from woven fiberglass and epoxy resin. The toughest of fiberglass laminates.
I was missing a knife from my set, though. The one I’d left lodged in Bastian’s shoulder last week.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
I swallowed a scoff. There was no way he could hurt me. His reputation preceded him, but he was retired. He was going soft. I still trained every day and took active jobs.
I didn’t sit around in my fancy casino all day, making money and fucking leggy blondes.
Although his body didn’t look soft.
I silently moved closer.
“Come on, little bird.”
I didn’t respond to the nickname. He’d first called me that when I was twelve. I’d daydreamed about it for weeks.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t make a sound. Inching closer, I kept my eye on him. Then, once I was close enough, I launched myself from behind a table, straight at him.
He spun and caught me midair. I tried to stab him, but a strong hand caught my wrist.
He spun, but I moved, wrapping my leg around his waist, upending his balance.
I trained constantly to use my body as a weapon, as a way to gain the upper hand. I was well aware I was always smaller than ninety-five percent of the people I hunted.
We crashed to the floor. I tried to roll, and he tried to pin me. I kicked out, my foot connecting with his hard stomach. He grunted, then squeezed my wrist.
Ow. I winced, feeling my bones creak. I dropped my knife.
“I hate the purple hair, Lark. It doesn’t suit you.”
With a grunt, I tried to get free of his hold. I felt a tug on the wig as he ripped it off.
I got free, rolled, snatched up my knife, and leaped to my feet.
When I spun, he was rising in one, lithe move.
He held his hands up. “I just want to talk.”
“No talking. You killed Ed. Now, I’m going to kill you.”
Bastian sighed. “Lark—”
I tossed two knives in quick succession.
He moved. Fast. He dodged them both, and they slammed into the wall.
Dammit.
He charged. I swung my hand in a deadly chop, but he blocked it. I attacked again.
We moved across the bar, trading blows in a dangerous dance. I kicked and he blocked. I punched and he deflected.
I grabbed a stool and tossed it at him. He kicked it away. There was a sharp, cracking sound as the wood broke.
“I had a good reason to kill him, Lark.”
My chest tightened. I growled and leaped at him.
I’d break his neck.
But again, he caught me. This time, powerful arms wrapped around me. I fought like a wildcat. Far too easily, he subdued me.
No. Frustration hit me.
I always had to work harder to compensate for my smaller size and strength. Bastian took two steps, with me wriggling and kicking.
His arms tightened. I was trapped against his hard chest. His scent engulfed me—expensive notes of wood and spice.
Then he slid down the front of the bar, sitting on the floor with me in his arms. I went crazy trying to break free.
“Stop fighting. Just listen.” His lips were right near my ear.
I heard the edge of frustration in his voice. “No!” I twisted violently.
But he kept me pinned against him, one hand in my hair.
“I miss him, too.”
I stilled.
“He was the only father I ever knew.” Bastian let out a long sigh. “I know he had so many shades of gray. Anyone in our line of work does.” He paused. “But I…I uncovered a streak of pure darkness, Lark.”
No. No. My heart started pounding, the sound filling my ears. I didn’t want to hear this.
Ed Galloway saved me.
I exploded into action, scratching at Bastian’s face. There was no finesse, no thinking, just panic.
“Lark—” Bastian threw a hand up to protect his face, then he shifted, trying to keep a hold of me.
I broke free and rolled backward.
Our gazes met for a second.
Then I did something I didn’t usually do unless it was my last resort.
I turned, snatched my knives from the wall, and ran.