"Fine," he says, opening the back door. "But we have 'business' afterward."
I arch an eyebrow.
Business.
In this pack, "business" has very specific meanings.
None of them legal.
Most of them fatal.
"Oh?" I slide into the back seat, settling into the plush leather. "Business hmm. Who are we killing?"
The question comes out casual.
Matter-of-fact.
Like I'm asking about dinner plans instead of murder.
Sage follows me into the car, his smile widening as he closes the door behind us.
"Well," he says, leaning close enough that I can smell the vanilla-smoke scent of him, "it'll be a surprise. But we'll let you enjoy the final strike."
The final strike.
My specialty.
The thing I'm best at—that moment of precision violence, the exact application of force required to end a life efficiently.
They're giving me the kill.
Saving it for me.
Like a gift.
I laugh—loud and bright and completely unhinged.
"Well, I guess some habits from Ruthless Academy aren't going to leave, huh?" My fingers find the edge of my dance bag, twisting the strap. One-two-three-four twists. "Like my kill count."
"Twenty-three and counting," Blaze adds from the front seat as Kai starts the engine.
Twenty-three.
The number settles into my mind like a stone.
Twenty-three people I've killed.
Twenty-three lives I've ended.
Twenty-three souls that stopped existing because I made them stop.
I should feel something about that.
Guilt, maybe.
Remorse.
The weight of taking human life.
