And Daggermouths deserved to die.
“Call me whatever you want,” he said, voice dropping low. “It won’t change the situation.”
“No?” She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the vodka on her breath mixing with the copper scent of dried blood. “Then what will? Because I promise you, I’m not spending the rest of my life shackled to the Heart’s favorite murderer.”
The scanner in his hand beeped. Another device, hidden in the kitchen island’s underside. Right where she’d been sitting. Greyson showed her the display, watching her eyes narrow as she studied it.
“Eleven so far,” he said. “Everything we say,everythingwe do, is being recorded. So maybe think about that before you announce your plans to kill me.”
She tilted her head. “I think everyone already knows that’s my plan. Seeing as I’m the reason you can barely stand. That wound is bleeding through your uniform.”
He glanced down. She was right—a dark stain had spread across the fabric where the staples had torn. The pain had become background noise, static compared to the relentless screaming of his current reality.
“I’ve had worse,” Greyson retorted.
It wasn’t a lie.
Though he had never been shot or even stabbed, the scars his father had inflicted on his body had been much worse, and those came at a greater cost.
“Sureyou have.” She took another drink. “Let me know how that works out when infection sets in. I’ll be sure to tell the President you diedverybravely.” She turned toward the hallway to explore the rest of the apartment.
Greyson watched her go, noting the way she favored her left side, the careful way she held her shoulders to minimize pressure on what was likely a fractured collarbone.
“You know what your problem is?” Shadera started again, turning back to face him. The words carried a different weight now, something dangerous threading through them.
Greyson set the scanner on the counter, already exhausted by whatever insight she thought she had about him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please, enlighten me.”
“You have no respect for life. Not even your own, since you practically begged me to kill you.” She moved closer, her gait still uneven but predatory now. “Day after day you murder innocent people while hiding your face, and somehow you think it makes you noble. You think standing on that platform makes you better than the rest of us.”
The rage that surfaced was immediate and volcanic. “Iambetter than you,” he growled, his hands curling into fists. “You’re aDaggermouth. You kill forcredits. I kill for order, to keep this fucked-up city from falling into chaos. How many people have you killed to fill your pockets?”
The proximity of her body sent warning signals firing through Greyson’s nervous system. She was dangerous, injured but still lethal.
“The difference is I don’t pretend it makes me righteous.” She was close enough now that he could see the individual bruises on her throat, purple-black fingerprints where the Veyra had grabbed her. “Ikill because I’m good at it. Because every contract I fulfill keeps medicine in the clinics, keeps families in the Boundary from starving even for just a few more days. You kill because Daddy tells you to.”
The words barely left her mouth before he moved. Not a conscious decision, just his body reacting to the insult, to the truth of it. His hand shot out to grab her wrist, to force her back, to make herstop fucking talking.
She twisted away faster than he’d expected, using his momentum against him. Her elbow caught him in the ribs—not hard, but enough to make pain burst from the center of his wound. He turned toward Shadera just as she swung the vodka bottle, aiming for his head. He ducked under the blow, his shoulder slamming into her midsection and knocking her to the floor, the bottle shattering beside them.
Shadera’s knee connected with his groin as he tried to pin her, the breath whooshing out of him in a pained grunt. She followed with a fist to the jaw, snapping his head back, then rolled out from under him, coming up in a crouch a few feet away.
Greyson surged to his feet, his eyes blazing. “You fucking bitch,” he snarled, spitting blood onto the floor.
Shadera grinned at him, a feral flash of teeth. “What’s the matter, Executioner? Can’t handle a little foreplay?”
Greyson charged her again. This time, he caught her around the waist, lifting her off her feet and slamming her back against the refrigerator. Magnets scattered, clattering to the floor like metallic rain.
Shadera drove her fist into his kidney once, twice, three times, but Greyson clenched his jaw through the pain and tightened his grip, one hand digging into her hip as the other closed around her throat.
Her hand slid between their straining bodies, finding the bandage on his stomach, and dug her fingers into the wound.
The pain was exquisite, white hot, obliterating. Greyson’s grip on her throat loosened as he gasped in agony, vision going dark at theedges, and Shadera used the moment of weakness to shove him backward. He stumbled, his back slamming into the island, and she was on him in an instant, her forearm pressing down on his windpipe.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, both of them panting, their faces inches apart. Her green eyes were wild, her pupils blown wide with adrenaline and rage.
Greyson’s hand shot up, his fingers closing around her fractured collarbone and squeezing. She didn’t bite back the scream that tore from her throat as her knees buckled and Greyson kicked her back against the counter opposite of them. He pinned her there, his body pressed against hers, his hand still tight around her collarbone.
“Not so tough now, are you Daggermouth?” he growled, his lips brushing her ear. “Without your knives and your guns, you’renothing. Just a scared little girl playing at being a killer.”
