When she died, he never came looking for me.
“Where is she?” I ask, emotions wiped clean.
Kwan sighs. “Nowhere you can visit.”
As an assassin, you have limited ways to dispose of a body. Lye, acid, fires, or dumping sites are the most common. I spent years studying Kwan under Ferguson’s roof, watching what he did and who he worked for, to learn. And to keep tabs on him, should we ever run in the same circles. People are afraid of the Ghost—but they fear the Reaper more.
My father, though, liked to bury his victims in mass graves. I’m sure that’s what he did with my mother.
Grabbing the gold chain around my neck, I give it a kiss. For her.
Standing, I keep my knife pointed at him. “I don’t need to. I’ll see her soon.”
Eventually, in death, we’ll meet again.
But not before I have my second chance with Maeve. And not before I get Murray.
Turning my back on him, I stalk to the entrance, only for him to call out to me. “Why do you protect her?” He stands, using the wall for support. “Ferguson is dead. She’s a woman running a sinking ship. She’s as good as dead, too.”
My shoulders bunch. “Know something I don’t,Appa?”
His face closes off, and I laugh. Going back, I haul him up, slamming him back. His head smacks into the brick, and pain dances in his dark eyes. Withdrawing my gun, I point it at his neck and grin.
I know why my father hasn’t done more work lately—he’s slow. Sloppy. He’s asking to be killed.
“What do you know?”
He struggles, but I have him too high, and my finger is a little jump-happy. I’ll gladly end his life if he tries to react.
“They’re having difficulties filling the job.” He twists his head, looking for relief. “Apparently, everyone knows of your involvement. They’re too afraid of your retribution.”
Chuckling, I drop my father back to the ground. “No,Appa, it’s not me they’re afraid of. It’sher.”
Rubbing his neck, he shakes his head. “For now. I’ve heard she’s killed the last three hitmen. Eventually, they won’t miss. Where will that leave you?”
Bending down, I wink in his face. “In Hell, right by her side.”
I’m done with him. I go to leave, but his hand snaps out, gripping me tight. Sighing, I glance down.
“You can’t just leave me. If I don’t pay?—”
“Word of advice,” I say, plucking his fingers off of me. I snap one as I go and drink down his gasp. “If it’s who I think you owe money to, scream when they start sawing off the limbs. They tend to go easier on you if you make noise.” Lighting anothercigarette, I let the burn dull the rage in my belly that my father stokes. “If you don’t, the torture gets worse.”
Shuffling away, I wave with two fingers. “I’ll send my condolences to your new wife when they find your body. Does the gang still dismember and burn the remains in empty fields?” His face pales, and I shrug. “No matter. I won’t come visit. In the meantime,” I say, lowering my voice, “keep your hands off of her. If I see another bruise, you won’t have to worry about your debts. You’ll have to worry aboutme.”
I don’t stop until I’m blocks away, hunting through my pocket, mentally willing the fury to leave me. Fury at my father—his actions, the unfairness, his hand in harming my mother—before dialing Briar’s number.
He picks up on the first ring. “Next time you have a lead, vet it better. I didn’t need to speak to my father first thing in the morning, kid.”
His laugh floats through the line. “You have a father? I assumed you were spawned from Hell.”
“Briar.”
“Maybe next time,” he drawls, “when my big sister is in trouble, you won’t leave me in the fucking dark.”
Slamming the car door, I glare out the windshield. “Is this your way of getting even?”
“Even?” He scoffs. “We both know if I wanted to get even, I’d turn your car into a bomb and trap you inside.” The doors lock, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from cursing the little fucker out. He’s messing with me from God knows where. “This? This is awarning.”
