A group of men entered.
A group of tough-looking, deadly men.
All of whom had been assassins at some stage in their lives.
I knew them all from the notes and photos I kept, even if I’d never officially met any of them.
Rugged, bearded Nash Oakley. Former military, ex-black ops assassin. Code name: Nightvision. He stood with his arms crossed, scowling at me.
Beside him was Cole Black. Wide shoulders, muscular body, a nasty scar on his left cheek that had to have come from the business end of a knife. He was a fighter who cleaned up in Las Vegas’ underground fight scene. He was a former mercenary and freelance hitman known as Darkwolf
Eyeing me with a healthy dose of curiosity was a good-looking African-American man with a neatly trimmed beard. I knew Landon Bradshaw was a doctor, but the hard-packed body said he was something else as well. Or had been. A black-ops assassin unoriginally called the Blade.
The final man made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. The others had all been military or close to it. Alessio Rossi had been nothing of the sort. I had a very long file on the former mafia enforcer and assassin who’d carved a bloody swathe through New York City before he’d retired. He had bronze skin, dark hair, tattoos, and a scarily intense face. People in the Italian mafia still whispered aboutLo Spettroin hushed tones.
“We came to check in,” Nash said.
I snorted. “Don’t worry, I haven’t killed him.”
Nash’s gaze narrowed.
Bastian touched my shoulder and set his glass down on the coffee table. “Sit down. Don’t just all loom there.”
The group of retired assassins all sat or leaned. Cole leaned against the wall, Nash sat in an armchair, Landon pulled up a chair from the dining room table, and Alessio stood by the windows.
“Lark, this is Nash.” Bastian gestured. “Cole, Landon, and Alessio.” He motioned to the others in turn. “Everyone, this is Lark Smith.”
I nodded my head.
“It’s nice to meet you, Lark.” Landon gave me a smile.
Nash didn’t. “We want to know what the hell is going on.”
Bastian lounged against the couch. “Lark and I have… resolved our differences.”
Nash arched a brow, his gaze drifting to the open bottle of wine. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
My nerves tightened. I could tell Bastian’s friend didn’t like me.
“I explained everything about Ed to her,” Bastian said.
I felt all the men looking at me and I glanced toward the windows. I wasn’t ready to share my anger and grief about the situation with them.
“And now we’re working together,” Bastian continued.
Nash frowned. “On what?”
I crossed my legs. “Ed had a partner.”
Silence. The men all traded glances.
“He killed with someone else?” Landon asked.
Bastian nodded. “Ed and his accomplice were known as the Red Ribbon Killer.”
“What the fuck?” Cole muttered.
“I’ve heard of this serial killer,” Alessio murmured. “Brutal killings of innocent families.”
