Hair mussed, like she ran her hands through it a hundred times. Dirt under her fingernails and smudges of mud on one cheek. Most women would shriek to be seen that way. She beamed without a trace of vanity, and I really fucking loved that.
I should’ve walked away. Should’ve brushed past her without a word. But her voice had that sing-song lilt, and it’s stuck with me ever since. Snagged my heart like ahook.
Sitting here, listening to Ares Zervas give me love life advice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. I only want Fallon’s sweet voice echoing in my brain, owning whatever vacant space is left over after my work.
“Because, unlike this man you want iced,” I say to get out of my head and answer why I haven’t banged a sweet innocent, “I have honor, and I respect a woman’s boundaries.”
“When a woman is worth it, you’ll do anything, trust me,” he says this with a visceral tone that gives me chills. “Now, can you help me with my problem?”
“Got a name? And did you run his credit card from your club’s bar bill?”
“It’s a fake identity. The card was real enough for me to get paid for my liquor, but that was it.” Ares narrows his gaze. “But I smell Bratva. Their fingerprints aren’t subtle.”
My jaw tightens. The Bratva aren’t sloppy enough to send one guy to a rival club to deal guns and drugs, not usually. This is a deliberate move against the Greeks. Or some kind of setup.
“It could also be Albanian rogues,” he adds.
I push the chair behind me and stand up. “The Albanians are under Raina and her father’s control. RainaQuinlan.”
“Do not mistake Valdrin Sokolov’s quiet compliance for peace,lad,” Ares mocks me.
I’d watched Connor fall for Raina and then go on to serve as her confidant. With his help, she had the guts to take out the previous leadership of the Albanian Brotherhood.
“That’s exactly what it is.” I grit my teeth, personally offended by the mistrust of someone with our family name.
Yet, while I say this, I’m not one hundred percent sureif the Albanians have any dealings with the Volkov Bratva.
I don’t bother asking any more questions. I’m a hammer who slams nails. I do what’s asked of me. A hit for the empire doesn’t get my pulse moving. But there is something personal and dark behind this request.
“Where am I doing this?”
“The back room of my club works for getting rid of problems.” Ares stands up. “I’ll watch him, send him women to keep him company, and to keep him coming back. Gives you time to clear your schedule.”
I don’t schedule hits on my goddamn phone’s calendar, even though it’s secure. My role as an assassin requires surveillance, patience, and waiting for the moment a marked soul makes himself unavoidable to my choice of death.
When I’m not ending someone, I’m with Connor in his torture tunnel or patrolling the streets at night with Trace.
“I’ll need to bring my trackers.” Blade and Jett are always up to watch a bloodbath.
“I’d rather this stay between you and me, Quinlan.” Zervas strolls to a credenza. “I will make it worth your while.”
“We’re family, Ares.” I stand up as well. “Families do each other favors. And don’t keep secrets.”
His cheek twitches. “I’d rather write a check.”
“Am I just dragging him into your back room and shooting him in the head?”
“You can have a little more fun than that.”
“I don’t do this for fucking fun,” I bark.
“Congratulations. The first assassin with a conscience.” Ares twirls an expensive pen in his long fingers. “Just eliminate the prick cleanly,” he adds.
“That happens to be my specialty.”
As I open the door to leave, Ares’s phone vibrates, andhe glances at the screen. Muttering something sharp in Greek, he marches to the desk outside his office, where a beautiful blonde sits. She’s utter perfection. How does Ares resist such a delicious temptation?
Hmmm.
