At one point, Slate actually begged me to switch classes and go back to being their tank, but I’ve invested too many points into the druid and healing skill trees to respec now.
Until we start a new game, they’re stuck at my mercy, even proud, silent Prophet.
The car pulls down the empty country roads, sleek and silent. Man likes his privacy, so it’s a good twenty minutes from the nearest town to the manor, and I gaze silently at the trees as we pass, mulling over Tommy’s texts and trying not to feel disappointed.
When Pierce finally brings the car around the circular drive, I jolt out of my funk and shove open the door. The late afternoon sun is a welcome change from the chill of the AC, and I let it wash over me for a second before I head inside.
“Thanks, Pierce,” I call over my shoulder, leaving him to put the car away. “You rock!”
He says nothing, but I catch the flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth before I turn and jog up the front steps of the house.
The sun-bleached coral walls of the manor haven’t changed since I was a girl. Man’s immense home is adorned with white gables, imposing pillars, and arched windows. From the outside, it could be the house of any run-of-the-mill eccentric millionaire, but beyond those dark front doors lies the base of operations for one of the deadliest assassin agencies in the world: the Belladonnas.
I dump my bag on the gleaming tile floor of the Mediterranean style foyer, ignoring the imperial staircase in favour of heading to my second favourite room in the house—the kitchen. I half expect my sister, Karma, to be here baking up a storm, her long brown hair bound out of her face while she works, but she’s been gone for weeks now.
Groaning at the thought of having to feed myself, I grab a pizza from the freezer, decorate it liberally with canned pineapple chunks, and chuck it in the oven.
Tabby and I are the only two Belladonnas here at the moment, and we rarely cook. I’m probably going to develop a nutrient deficiency without the others here to scold me for my bad diet.
I’ll eat an apple later. Probably. If I remember.
Two
Darcy
The others’ absence hangs over me as I skip back through the house with my plate of pizza in one hand and a tub of ice cream in the other.
I was the first Belladonna; a five-year-old runaway Man picked up on a whim. Growing up, I was alone a lot. He was dedicated to my training, but otherwise distant. For years, I never questioned the echoing emptiness of the big house. That changed with the arrival of the other girls.
I considered all of them my sisters from day one. It didn’t matter that only Naomi and Ivory are technically related. Together, we brought plenty of noise and life to a house that was otherwise cold and lifeless, and I miss that.
The living room was once Raven’s favourite haunt, and part of me still expects her to be there, watching endless reruns of her favourite medical drama, and covering her eyes to hide from the gory bits. If she wasn’t there, it would be because Harlow kicked everyone out to watch a football game.
Now the room is unused.
Juggling the ice cream to my other hand—because it’scold—I take the stairs two at a time and sigh in relief as I reach my floor. As I fumble with my food and attempt to turn my door handle with my elbow, my eyes skip over to the others’ rooms.
Harlow’s is at the far end of the corridor, and normally her grungy metal music would be blasting out of there. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t mind the loss too much, because my taste is definitely more metalcorethan heavy metal, but it was still background noise.
Tabby’s room beside mine is empty because she basically lives in the garage—nothing new there. Royal is currently AWOL on her own little vendetta, and Raven’s moved in with her sexy thieves. Across the hall, the green glow of Selena’s Mountain Dew vending machine is still peeking out beneath her door, but she moved in with her three hot mafia dudes months ago. I half expect her to pop out, headphones on, just to rib me over being caught off guard by that cop on my last mission.
Huffing out a breath, I force myself to turn away.
Maybe later I should go down and bother Tabby. She and I are the only two left, after all.
It’s all just soquiet.
Unlocking my door with no hands is tricky. I end up freezing my boob by holding the tub of ice cream under my arm while I turn the key, then I use my hip to open it, letting me into my own private sanctuary.
“Lights on,” I command.
The neon purple glow of the honeycomb LED panels across the far wall snap to life, followed by the matching glow strip behind my desk and below my bed, and finally my floor-to-ceiling lava lamp.
Ugh, I shouldn’t have done that. Now I can see all my dirty laundry scattered across the floor and my unmade bed.
“Computer on,” I add, smiling as the near-silent fans inside my rig—affectionately known as Beastie—whir, and the glass side panel starts to glow beneath my desk.
Sticking my pizza on the desk, along with my ice cream, I quickly change out of my clothes and into a baggy sleep shirt that readsThis is my sexy lingerie. I groan in relief as I chuck my bra as far away from me as humanly possible.
