“Added bonus.” She shrugs.
“So be it.”
I launch her phone, throwing it as hard and as precisely as I can, aiming directly at her face.
I push Owen roughly to the side, getting him out of the firing line as Anya pulls the trigger on the gun. The bullet flies through the air, hitting the spot Owen has just been shoved out of.
The phone hits her in the face, smack bang on her perfectly proportioned nose, followed quickly by my body at full force as I tackle her messily to the floor. Another bullet sounds and it misses its mark. Thankfully.
Adrenaline floods my veins, drowning out the sound of the gun hitting the floor and her grunt as our bodies crash into the apartment wall, cracking the plaster.
I don’t have time to think about the pain that is erupting along my ribs, or the air that has whooshed out of me, winding me.
No, instead I roll onto her body and grab her head and neck in a hold, squeezing hard.
There is no fight or dance.
This is me doing what I do best. Eliminate the target in the quickest way possible.
Her body writhes, her legs bucking along with her hips as she tries to fight me off. She tries anything to get me to release the death grip I have around her neck.
I look down into her eyes, which are wide and turning pink as blood vessels pop, the red spreading through the tiny veins in her eyeballs as I squeeze the life out of her.
Her hands pull at my arm, nails scratching my skin as she claws at anything to get me loosen my grip.
Anya’s good.
But I’m better.
Andrews always said watching me spar was something breathtaking.
It would be like flipping a switch.
One minute calm and collected, the next the beast inside had been released, and I would maim, hurt, and kill those that stood in my way.
Her eyes widen as she realises that I wasn’t about to incapacitate; I would be squeezing her until she takes her last breath.
I mean, what did the bitch think I’d do?
She chose a contract over a friendship. Not that you have many friends in this line of work. The reason being this exact scenario—you never can quite tell when one of those so-called friends will stab you in the back and choose money over loyalty.
Silence washes over the apartment as Anya goes limp.
I fall onto my back breathing heavily, her dead body flopping on top of me.
“Is she…”
“Yeah,” I respond, filling my lungs with much-needed oxygen. “Get your shit. We need to move.”
I tip my head to see Owen sitting on the floor, looking over at where I’m lying, his eyes wide.
He runs a hand over his face and mouth. “Jesus, Lucy, does disaster follow you everywhere?”
“I’d argue that it’s actually following you, but whatever.”
I push Anya’s dead body from me, and take Owen’s hand, which he is now holding out, heaving me up.
“Are you okay?” His eyes track over my face and body.
