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Chapter 1
“It’s that time again, Kenzie.”
My dad’s back is to me as he stares out the big picture window overlooking the grounds of MITHOS’s headquarters—Military Insurgent Tactical Homeland Operatives Secret. Really, it’s a whole heap of words used to make up a fairly cool sounding acronym, but it also aptly describes what we are all about.
With his shoulders back and his hands clasped behind him, my dad’s body is tight with tension. My eyes swing to where he’s looking, searching for the source of his rigidity, but I see nothing. The acres of dark trees where his trainees can play super soldier appear ominous in the heavily clouded afternoon. The forest looks like something out of a gothic novel, beckoning a damsel to run toward it in the hopes of escaping whoever chases her, except instead of being saved, she would be swallowed up by the violent animals who roam it.
Unfortunately, nothing that exciting ever happens, and the woods are only home to a brutal version of capture the flag, but they are effective at teaching my dad’s superspies in training to be on their toes.
As far as the world is concerned, the building we sit in this very moment is a private college, but it’s a façade for what’s concealed beneath. Deep below the wooded grounds is what we call the Lighthouse—an enormous, underground top-secret facility that trains some of the world’s best spies and special operatives in the art of espionage.
Rolling my eyes at his words, I throw my boots up on his desk with a dramatic thump and rock back on the chair I’m sitting in. “When are you going to accept that none of them have been able to catch me and that there isn’t much of a chance that they ever will? Give up on trying to add me to a team, Dad. It’s not going to happen, so stop wasting our time.” Yeah, I know I sound arrogant, but I have good reason to. I’m a fucking good spy.
He turns to face me, and when he sees my combat boots on his desk, he frowns and pushes them off before taking a seat across from me. He shakes his head, exasperated with me, and leans forward, propping his forearms on the desk.
“Don’t be arrogant, it will be your downfall, but you’re right. Up until now, nobody has caught you during one of these tests, and I agreed that if they didn’t, you could remain as a solo operative, but your mother and I would worry a lot less if you had a team to back you up on your missions.” The wrinkle that sits between his eyebrows is not a common occurrence. Seeing my unflappable father showing concern makes me feel guilty, so I sit up properly in my chair. If he’s taking this conversation seriously, then so should I.
“Dad, you know I would annoy the fuck out of any team that ended up with me. I work well alone, and I’m damn good, even if I have to toot my own horn. Nobody looks at me and sees a spy. I’m good at blending in because they see me how they want to see me.” I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts before continuing. “The reason you trained me separately from the rest of your agents was so I could be off the books. What happened that has made you and Mom paranoid? I’ve been in the field since I was sixteen, and I haven’t had one failed mission against my name in the last six years. Not one single failure. How many other teams or operatives can you say that about?” I can hear the exasperation in my voice, and I’m sure my dad can too.
It’s frustrating. How many times do I have to prove myself before they stop with these unnecessary games? Everything I just said has been repeated over the years, and even though I’m an adult now, it’s still not enough.
He sighs heavily. “Only one other team has ever been that successful, but baby, Mom and I want more for you in your life than being an assassin and a ghost. It was never my intention for you to become what you have. We never wanted you to be a spy in the first place. We would have been happy with you doing anything, but you were so determined once you developed a sense of right and wrong that you wanted to be the one putting the bad guys away. You wouldn’t take no for an answer, and we caved to your wants.” He straightens up, the wrinkle in his forehead deepening. “I wish I’d been firmer.” Guilt is thick in his tone, but I wave him off because it’s not his fault.
“I know, Dad, and you have told me time and time again that it’s my choice, but how could I live with myself if we let scumbags like the ones I’ve taken out escape and continue to commit the crimes we know they are guilty of? The justice system is heavily flawed, and I haven’t assassinated anyone that I lose sleep over. Each and every man or woman I’ve killed deserved it, and we had the documentation to back it up. Trust me, Dad, my conscience is clear. I have to give your tech team credit, though, because they always give me what I need.”
Lord fucking knows I wouldn’t be able to do what I do without their help.
He scrubs a hand over his face, the stubble on his cheeks and the bags under his eyes telling me he hasn’t been getting enough sleep. “Fine, but I stand by my deal. If a team beats you, then you will join them and become a permanent member.”
I wave my hand again, dismissing his claim for the hundredth time. “Yeah, yeah, but we know that’s not about to happen. I’ve beaten every single one of them before, and it’s not like they are going to suddenly get the drop on me.” I arch my eyebrow to emphasize my point. “Also, you know having me on an all-girls team would be a disaster. I watch some of the ones coming through the classes and want to shoot myself in the foot. What is it about women that make them so catty when they get competitive?”
I can’t help the physical shudder that runs through me. Their behavior is embarrassing, and I want no part of it.
A small, secretive smile crosses his lips, but he quickly hides it and gestures for me to stand up as he walks around to my side of his desk. I stand and stretch, feeling the tension in my muscles, before giving him a hug and heading back out to the reception desk in front of his large office.
That’s right, today I’m undercover as his secretary. Nobody looks twice at me as they come in for meetings with him. I have my hair pulled back in a tight bun, and I’m wearing a prudish sweater set over a beige pair of slacks. My tortoise shell glasses are large and make me look bug-eyed, aiding in the mousy secretary look. None of the teams that come here for their yearly evaluations would guess that I’m the target they are supposed to take down in their trial.
When they go through their yearly evaluations, they are given fake intel and are always instructed to capture me, the perp, for questioning. I’m then given some task I need to pretend to do, like rob a bank, assassinate a high-profile figure, or blow up a building. The teams are told it’s a test, but all they will know is if they pass or fail. If they fail, then they get extra training. Sometimes they are clever enough to stop whatever it is I’ve been assigned to do for that trial, but none of them have ever succeeded in apprehending me.
It’s a fun fucking time.
I love using my skills to thwart them. Thwart is such a great word. Anyway, it makes my life a little more interesting. I don’t get sent on a lot of assignments because of my ghost status—only the most important and sensitive jobs—so there’s not a whole lot for me to do, which is why I enjoy playing war games for my dad in my downtime.
Grabbing the clear-lensed glasses off my desk, I put them on and take a seat. I don’t always act as his secretary, considering he has one that does the actual job, but one of his teams is coming in today. They are being assigned their yearly assessment, and they are the team I will be going up against in the hopes of beating them. Unless they upskilled since I went against them last time, I doubt that’s going to happen.
Using the mouse, I bring up their file, not recognizing the mythical code name. Dad has an unholy obsession with mythical monsters. I’m pretty sure it’s because his parents named him Perseus—like, what the hell, Gram and Gramps? Our bookshelves are filled with every book he can find on them. My reading material might be similar, although it has more of a paranormal romance bent than classic literature, but we choose not to discuss it.
Frowning, I double-check the file again. My head tilts to one side in curiosity as I try to rack my brain. I’ve never heard of Team Basilisk before, and it’s throwing me off.
What the hell? Is this a new team? And why are they being tested so early in their career?
They usually get a year to settle in before they are pitted against me for their yearly evaluations.
Scowling, I flip through the pages. It’s a team of seven men. There isn’t a single photo of any of them in the file, nothing but their names, and that is the total extent of the information I’ve been given. All the other information—age, skills, and specialties—has been completely redacted. Thick black lines obscure everything that’s truly important to my success.
What game is Dad playing? I press the intercom to ask him about the file full of nothing when the outer door to the office opens and in walk five men who look like they could be on the cover of GQ.
I snort internally, trying to school my features as I give them a good once over. These guys are going to be a piece of cake. I doubt there’s a single one of them who has better training than I do. They are a bunch of pretty boys, though they seem to be missing two members of their team. I wonder if the file is current. Maybe they lost two members, and in punishment, Dad has them going around the country recruiting at colleges or something, because that’s what they look like—quintessential college recruiters who haven’t seen a day of a real assignment.
