My friend lifted a brow. “You don’t usually come to the fights.”
“I was in the mood.” I sat back and eyed the fighting ring, bounded by red ropes.
We were in a large, non-descript warehouse, not far off the Strip. It was an illegal fight ring, so there were few rules and huge bets.
Cole was fighting next.
I felt Landon looking at me. “What?”
“You get into it with a mountain lion who scratched up your face?”
“No.”
“I take it you found Lark.”
“Yes.” I felt a muscle tick beside my eye. “She wasn’t that interested in talking.”
Landon sighed. “Did you clean the scratches?”
Lark had left two jagged marks down my left cheek. “Yes. They’re fine, Landon. Don’t fuss.”
After my fight with Lark, I’d needed to clear my head. Sitting in my office wasn’t working, so I’d decided to get out and catch Cole’s fight.
When I’d tried to tell her about Ed, I’d seen the panic on her face. My gut contracted. She clearly suspected something, but her subconscious was trying to protect her.
I let out a harsh breath. I hated hurting her.
I remembered the doe-eyed, shell-shocked kid Ed had brought home. I’d been nineteen and desperate to make a name for myself at the CIA. I couldn’t believe he’d decided to raise a young girl.
She’d needed therapy, and instead, he’d trained her to become an assassin.
I’d gotten busy with my career and hadn’t seen her much. I’d been driven to prove myself, make something of myself. I’d been busy building a reputation, helping my country.
Then I’d laid eyes on the pretty, mouthy young woman she’d become. I’d run into her in the back streets of Paris when I’d been on a job, hunting down a dangerous terrorist.
A small form stepped out of the shadows. “Hello, Reaper.”
I cocked my head, hiding my frown. “How do you know who I am?”
The woman had stepped forward, the light catching her. She shot me an amused smile. “I know everything about you. Chocolate ice cream is your favorite. You prefer a Glock, and you love to play poker. I just think you like taking risks.” Her teeth were white in the evening darkness as she smiled at me.
I frowned. Who the hell was this woman? She was tiny, but confident. She had a pretty face and soulful, brown eyes.
“You have no idea who I am.” She laughed.
I felt the sound in my gut. “Then why don’t you share, darling, and put me out of my misery?”
“I’m Lark.”
It had been like getting hit by a one-two punch to the gut. Lark. Small, traumatized Lark had grown into this tempting, vibrant woman.
I’d seen more of her then. She was always popping up while I was on jobs or at Ed’s. I told myself she was like the sister I’d never had.
But I’d known that was a lie.
Because a man didn’t take notice of his sister’s fit body, or the shape of her jaw, or the fullness of her lips.
I’d worried about her taking jobs, but she’d quickly made a name for herself as the Nightingale. An assassin who snuck in undetected, killed quickly, and left without a trace.
