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She firmed her mouth. “I mean, I think she didn’t get the message. Unless—” She shook her head.
“Unless what?”
“Nothing.”
“Unless they lied to you, too. Is that what happened?”
“Shut up, already. I handled it, okay?”
I glared at her—and she glared right back. I opened my mouth to demand she tell me exactly what had gone wrong, then shut it again. Demands, orders—they wouldn’t get me anywhere with Reaper. We two were equals in this.
Hell, who was I kidding? We weren’t equals—she had all the power, and it chafed. Big time.
And damn this beautiful assassin for forcing me to face up to how privileged I was. I might talk a good game about not wanting the perks of a syndicate prince, but people generally fell over themselves to accommodate me, and I let them.
“And my brother Rafe?” I softened my tone a notch, but I knew I still sounded angry. “What guarantee do I have that you people won’t ‘forget’ to call off the slayer assigned to him too?”
The skin around her eyes tightened in a small flinch. “I said I handled it.”
“How?”
“After I heard about Gabriel, I texted the slayer assigned to him myself. Rafael won’t be hurt if you follow orders. Neither of your brothers will. You have my word.”
“Fine.” I wasn’t happy, but I couldn’t afford to alienate her. Besides, Reaper was a soldier, not the one giving the orders.
I heaved a breath. “This slayer. Was she a friend?”
“No. A colleague. You know her—Jessa.”
My eyebrows climbed into my hairline. “Red-haired Jessa? The so-efficient-she’s-scary housekeeper Jessa?”
“Yeah.”
I shook my head. It fit, actually—the woman had always been working out. She probably could’ve bench-pressed me. But— “Gabriel would’ve had her checked out six ways to Sunday. The woman lived on site, had full access to his penthouse.”
“He did have her vetted.” Reaper eyed me. The sun had dropped lower, leaving her elfin face in shadows.
Silence fell. A waiting kind of silence.
She’d even stopped playing with her switchblade.
“So either SI is that good,” I said, thinking aloud, “or someone vouched for Jessa. Someone Gabriel trusted.”
“Like your father.”
“Yeah. Like my father.” My stomach muscles knotted. “Although that doesn’t mean it was him—he delegates that kind of shit.”
“But he’d approve it. If it involved one of his sons, especially the crown prince.”
True. But I didn’t say it aloud—that would be admitting something I wasn’t ready to admit.
“Karoly wants you dead. Why do you think you’re still here?”
My mind churned and my stomach felt like it was filled with acid.
Maybe it wasn’t a test. Maybe Father had decided I was too weak, that I was better off dead.
Snick, snick went the switchblade.
