Swallowing, I avoid her eyes. Why am I nervous? This doesn’t concern her. She may be the heir to the clan, but I follow the captain’s orders. If he’s giving me the chance to belong, I’m going to take it.
I wipe my hands on my jeans. “Problem, Princess?”
Her jaw bounces as she wrestles with her thoughts. “Let me guess: if you kill him, you’re in. Into the clan, one big happy family.”
“You sound jealous,” I taunt. I don’t add the proof part. Not her business. “Don’t like Daddy having another favorite?”
“You mean jealous of you being his little bitch?” She snorts. “Hardly.”
A tingle of irritation ignites in my chest. She’s in rare form tonight. I turn back to the store and grab another cigarette. “What’s wrong, Maeve? Date stand you up? Have to come take it out on me?”
“My dates don’t stand me up,” she denies, and I growl under my breath. Not something I needed to fucking hear tonight. Would it be weird to stalk her next boyfriend and slit his throat? Purely out of concern.
The bell rings as my mark exits, and another breeze swirls around us. Maeve gasps, turning toward my body heat, and I stand stiffly, ignoring how her closeness burns me.
Throwing the cigarette, I shove her away. “Go home, Maeve. This isn’t a place for a little girl.”
A little girl,right. She’s eighteen and probably the most beautiful—and deadly—woman I’ve ever known.
“Fuck you,” she snarls, but I’m already jogging across the street. A car zooms behind me, and I dart down the alley my mark left.
It’s better if she stays behind. I don’t need to be distracted by her.
He walks a block and turns left. Another two blocks, and he shifts, turning right. I keep at a safe distance, slowing down when he seems to check his surroundings. I take out my phone and play on it when he glances back at me to blend into the background.
After about twenty minutes, he makes me. It’s fine. It was bound to happen.
Besides, the faster I kill him, the faster I can get back into the warmth and have that whisky Ferguson never lets anyone drink.
Shuffling down the tight, bricked-up alley, my mark scrambles to stay away from me. I take my time, enjoying the thrill of the hunt as adrenaline spikes through my system. Nerves calm, and my mind calculates all the ways to cut him that will hurt, but allow him to live.
The decree was to kill the mark. They didn’t say I couldn’t have fun first.
“Wait, wait,” he stammers, back against the far wall. The knife in my hand is heavy, but comforting. It feels like it was made for me. “Let’s work something out.”
“Oh?” I cock my head. “What are you thinking?”
His sweaty brow furrows. “Whoever sent you, I can pay you. I’ll pay double.”
Desperate men always make foolish deals to stave off death. There’s no point—death comes for us all eventually. Whether it be now with my blade, or someone else, he’s destined to die.
“I don’t need your money,” I say, smiling. I don’t—Ferguson keeps me happy, and the ones I carry out kills for outside the clan always pay handsomely. “But I do need something of yours.”
Holding my knife to his neck, I make a cutting sign. “Just your head. Won’t take more than a second.”
He swallows thickly. “Who are you?”
I wink. “You can call me the Reaper.” It’s a moniker this world has taken to calling me, the job title becoming synonymous with who I am.
His eyes widen, and the scent of terror wafts off of him like a cheap cologne he bought at the airport.Christ. He’s weak.
“I didn’t do it.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” I clean under my nail with the blade. “Whatever it was.”
“Please,” he begs. “Please don’t kill me.”
Blinking once, I ask, “And why wouldn’t I? It’s the only way I have fun anymore.”
