Nothing in my wildest imagination would put us here, though. He dreamed of owning his own gardening design company, but my dreams were simpler.
To survive that house until I was eighteen, then leave.
A few servers mill around us, clearing tables and looking busy. There are a few though who stand closer, who show too much interest in what we are doing.
My senses heighten, my body prickling as I become more alert to every single movement around us.
People talk, Jules and Owen laugh and joke easily, but it’s the servers who I home in on.
The clinking of a champagne glass rings as one carefully puts the flutes onto the tray that he’s balancing, when suddenly it drops. The glasses shatter on to the floor, shards exploding everywhere.
The other two servers rush over quickly and start to help clear away the broken glass. Owen and Jules are in deep conversation, but my focus is directly on these three servers.
Something’s off.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, my body tenses as I watch, wait, and assess.
Each server glances around, one picks up the stem of a broken wine glass. The other leans under a table. Anyone else would see a couple of servers cleaning up their mess, reaching under the table to pick up more shards of the glasses. But that’s not what they are doing. No, the man has reached his hand up under the table and is now holding something black.
Fuck.
So much for our intel saying there was no threat tonight.
“We need to—” A loud noise erupts from the main doors to the hall, screams of terror drowning out the music that’s playing.
“What in the hell—” Jules doesn’t finish her sentence; her words lost on her lips as her eyes widen. She looks down ather body, confused. Blood pools on her beautiful dress from the bullet that has ripped through her back, through her chest cavity, and is now lodged somewhere in her heart.
She blinks, and Owen looks shocked with her blood splattered on his face. She sags towards him, Owen catching her in his arms, falling to the floor and gently lays her on the floor.
“Juliette…?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. “Juliette…” He reaches to her chest to stem the blood that is already pooling around them. I’m standing over him, but my attention is on the three servers who are approaching our position.
Carnage.
Utter carnage has unfolded in the space of twenty seconds. Shouts and screams of the terrified dinner guests overwhelm the hall. That bang was likely an explosion to create the right amount of chaos, allowing these three chaps to take out Owen.
I reach down to my leg and grab the knife strapped to my thigh. Pulling it away smoothy, I pull up and find my target, releasing the knife where it flies the five metres to the server with the gun, lodging in his chest. The blade pierces his heart, killing him instantly, and with it, taking out the biggest threat.
The two remaining servers charge, and I step in front of Owen.
“She’s gone, Owen. Get under that table.”
“No.” He jumps up next to me, confused and upset, still trying to protect me.
I don’t have time to argue. I run forward and dip under the swinging blade that’s arching through the air aimed at me and bring my elbow to the side of the server’s head. At the same time, I sweep my right leg round his and trip him, bringing him to the floor.
There is nothing attractive about my fighting.
It’s not like in the films where it’s choreographed to perfection and looks like a flowing dance. I’ve been trainedto take people out in the quickest, deadliest way. And yes, sometimes that’s ruthless and messy.
I spin around and grab for a broken wine glass, slicing it along his throat. The glass cuts through skin and cartilage, blood spurting from the opening as the assassin chokes on his own blood.
The one remaining server is too close to Owen, who is looking at me like I’m a stranger.
Which I am.
Juliette’s blood covers his hands and his deathly pale face. He’s frozen. This isn’t what he’s used to, this isn’t his world.
This is mine.
