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She also has access to all our Amazon accounts, hence the pajama gifting.

Envy and I walk side by side as we venture through the large, echoing hallways of the house. It’s enormous, with thirty bedrooms but the capacity to hold three times that many people given that most rooms have bunk beds, and two ballrooms converted into training centers. Everyone lives, trains, and sometimes dies, here. Which is why I’m unsurprised to find the largest training room busy, even in the middle of the night.

The high-ceiling room is filled with weapons, mats, gym equipment—everything you need to stay fit and deadly. It’s loud when we first enter but quickly quietens when we’re spotted.

I’m not just a part-owner—I have a reputation all my own. So, as we walk across the training room to reach the basement door on the other side, we’re watched. Weapons are lowered. Conversations end.

“I bet you feel so cool right now,” Envy says from the corner of her mouth.

“I’d rather be at home with my wife.”

“Hello!” I stop as a woman skids in front of me. She’s mid-forties with gray hair tied into a ponytail, and large hazel eyes. “Are you Z?”

She’s tiny, probably five feet at most, so I’m looking directly down at her. “Yes.”

“I’m Mercy. I’m so glad I bumped into you,” she says cheerfully. “I was wondering if we could discuss my career path.”

I keep my tone level, despite my patience wearing thin. “I’m a little busy right now, Mercy.”

She raises her hands to keep me in place as I go to step around her. “Oh, I know, I understand, but it’ll only take two seconds, I promise. I just don’t think contract killing is for me, and I wondered if there were other things I could do.”

I frown. Why would she come here unless she was positive about wanting to do it?

“You don’t think it’s for you?”

“Yeah, the vibes are all off,” she says, waving her hand. “It’s been fun, but this was an impulsive decision. My daughter went to college halfway across the world, so I was a bit lost! I heard about this place and thought, why not? But now I’m wondering if I’d be better suited somewhere else.”

“Heard about us? Did you see our ad on Facebook?”

Her brows rise. “You have ads on Facebook?”

Now my patience is all but gone. “No, Mercy.”

“Oh! You’re kidding. Funny.” She punches my bicep playfully. “No, I just know people who know people. Which is how I ended up here! But maybe I could be placed elsewhere?”

Now, I’m intrigued. I fold my arms. “Like?”

“Protection, maybe? I’m sure Peter would like a break from the gate. Or maybe you know someone in security you could refer me to?”

“That isn’t really how this works, Mercy. We spend a lot of money training you so you can return on our investment. We don’t simply hand you out to others to use the skills we’ve honed in you.”

She tuts. “Biscuits. That does make sense.”

She uses biscuits as if it’s a curse, and that has me close to smiling. “Are you good at what you do, Mercy?”

“Oh, the best,” she says earnestly.

“Show me.”

Envy looks amused, her eyes shifting between us, but says nothing. Mercy glances around the busy training center and spots a group of young recruits.

She waves excitedly. “Simmons! Come over here for a second.”

The tallest, buffest member suddenly sags, his eyes widening. I expect his friends to tease him for being chosen, but they’re exchanging glances, brows furrowed in what seems like … concern?

Still, Simmons approaches. He has light hair and is in his early twenties, his tank top revealing large, scarred arms. He stops a good few feet from Mercy.

“Oh, come here.” She chuckles, gesturing for him to get closer. He does, but not before giving me a terrified glance.