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CHAPTER1
Selena
I’d spentthe last twenty-two hours awake and tracking a killer through the internet.
The evidence collected about my parents’ murderers had been ‘lost’ forever, and all that was left was one bit of DNA from the crime scene, entered into the national DNA database.
Now someone had gone in and erased every electronic file on my parents. The DNA trace had been deleted.
But my heart pounded as I worked on my code, and it wasn’t just from my excessive caffeine consumption. They’d left a digital trail, picking up the bug I’d set up long ago in case anyone ever came after this evidence. After all these years, the killer had finally popped back into existence. I was following the trail of whoever erased my parents.
And that meant I really needed another Diet Mountain Dew. The perfect soda, pure caffeine in lemon-lime form, the nectar of the gods.
I got up from the desk and stretched before I headed to the vending machine I’d installed in one corner of my room. It made a constant noisy hum and was far less energy efficient than a fridge, but I wasn’t paying the power bill. There was just something fun about having my own vending machine. But as I fed quarters into it, I realized it was out of Dew.
It had been a long quest, after all.
I groaned and raked my fingers through my hair, feeling it snag on a few knots. I’d have to facepeople.Admittedly, they were people I’d lived with for twenty years, since Man took me in, but my tolerance for people swung fromnot at all, nopetowe can talk but please don’t touch me.
As I made my way into the kitchen, Karma said, “I see the world’s best hacker is once again wearing sweatpants.”
She was stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce.
“I’m number six, at best,” I said. “Think of what you could accomplish if you didn’t spend hours a day on your hair and makeup.”
“I’m not taking life advice from number six.”
“Strong words coming from a girl who once locked herself out of her own cell phone.” I said. Then I added, “Anyway. If I’m number six, Darcy is fighting to push me down to number seven.”
Darcy sauntered in then and hopped up onto the countertop. She looked up at me wide-eyed. “I’m not trying to push you down anywhere!”
“Too fucking sweet for an assassin,” I told her, and she stuck her tongue out at me.
She glanced at the pot, and Karma said, “All I need is gratitude that I’m cooking. I don’t want to hear about how you’d rather have pizza.”
“I didn’t say a word!” Darcy protested.
Karma aimed a spatula at her. Darcy widened her eyes and took a bite of garlic bread, then held one out to me.
“I just came in here for Mountain Dew,” I said.
“You need to eat actual food, crazy,” Karma said to me.
I rolled my eyes, but I took the garlic bread. The warmth of the kitchen—and of the other girls’ banter—surrounded me, and it made me feel itchy.
“Sit and eat with us before you go back to your cave,” Darcy suggested.
I just swiped my Mountain Dew from the fridge and didn’t answer.
Assassins have a short lifespan. Sooner or later, everyone who lives by the sword—or switchblade or poison or rifle—dies by it. We might’ve grown up together, but it was a bad idea to get attached.
Just then, the door banged open, and Royal walked in. She looked exhausted from her last mission, but she perked right up—in a bad way—once she saw the state of the kitchen. “How can you cook with all those dishes in the sink?”
“They’re not on the stove,” Darcy pointed out helpfully.
“Welcome back, glad you aren’t dead,” I told Royal, already backing away toward the door. Sometimes the girls trapped me.
Karma looked at me in exasperation. “Take a bowl of food with you if you must live solely in your room.”
