Page 46 of Targeted By Vengeance

And I think only having that information was better for me. Seeing a face and not having a story attached to it made sure there was no hesitation in my steps, no rapid thuds in my chest, and no potential regrets. It was easier this way.

“Um, excuse me,” a voice behind me put a pin in my determined stride.

I nearly dropped my tray when I looked over my shoulder and saw a pair of brown eyes I used to know. Ones I used to care for.

Justin’s brows pinched as his eyes ran over me. His mouth opened and closed, struggling to find words. “I’m…I’m sorry. I, uh…I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just, uh…you look…you look just like…my ex-girlfriend.”

I feigned confusion, staring at him as if he’d lost his goddamn mind. “Pardon?”

“She died,” he blurted out. “Recently, actually. Looking at you is like looking at a ghost. For a second, I thought…” He cracked a nervous smile. “Fuck, I’m making this awkward, aren’t I?”

“Extremely,” I admitted.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his eyes falling down to my name tag. “Mia,” he read. “I’ll, um… I’ll leave you to it.” He plucked a champagne glass from my tray and tipped it in my direction.

I turned on my heel and hurried off before he could stare any longer. Justin was the last person from my old life I expected to be here. He and Chester Roswell didn’t run in the same circles. Not that I knew of, anyway. But, it’d been a while since I’ve seen him. Maybe time changed him more than I thought it would. I know it’s definitely taken its toll on me.

“Ah,” Roswell said as I approached him and his small posse with the champagne tray. “Just in time for the honorary toast.”

I handed him the ribboned glass while the others grabbed the remaining few glasses. I hadn’t timed it this way, but seeing him fall in front of everyone after a public toast fit the dramatics the buyer probably wanted.

After gracing him with a smile, I turned on my heel and hurried back through the crowds towards the kitchen.

Behind me, Roswell’s voice replaced the soft instruments of the band.

I glanced over my shoulder to see him standing on the stage with his mouth to the microphone and champagne glass in hand.

As I looked away, my eyes fell on Justin who was still watching from the other side of the room. His brows were still pulled together, and his head was cocked as if trying to rationalize what he was seeing. Either he was going crazy or there was a woman who truly looked just like the one he used to want forever with. The film over his eyes was the only assurance that he didn’t truly think the old me had risen from the dead.

For a brief moment, he was wearing his grief on his sleeve.

Although it was working in my favor, I couldn’t help but wonder: did I really look that different?

The abrupt sounds of choking and sputtering didn’t allow me time to ponder over that question.

The room erupted into an orchestra of horrified screams and urgent demands for help. Other servers rushed past me, curious about the sudden noise, as I ducked back through the double doors into the kitchen. The cooks ceased their movements, the sounds from the ballroom echoing through the kitchen. All of them stared past the doors, their brows stitching together in confusion.

They didn’t even glance in my direction as I slipped past them and exited through the same door from which I came.

THE ASSASSIN

I leaned my shoulder against the plexiglass wall of the phone booth as the dial tone hummed in my ear. Tiny knots tightened with every ring.

Rarely did Ares request a call. He preferred face-to-face meetings to avoid our voices on potential recordings. Phone calls were reserved for emergencies. The few we did always bore bad news about one of the others he had stashed in his jacket. A disappearance, an apprehension - a death.

When I was younger, he used to frame the news as a warning. That the same thing could happen to me if I wasn’t careful.

Now, he told me for the sole purpose of keeping me in the loop. As his highest ranked worker, and likely successor, it was my job to keep track of the others below me. While we may not work together often - or at all in some cases - it was important to know who was alive and who wasn’t.

A raspy cough finally answered after a few rings. Ares cleared his throat, trying to wipe away the cracks in his throat. “I’m in the hospital,” he said, not bothering with greetings.

My brows rose. “What?” I asked, my concern showing more than I intended. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Karma is just catching up to me.” He coughed again. “Doctors are running tests. They think something’s wrong with my lungs.”

“Where are you? Do you need me to-”

“No,” he cut me off. “Don’t come. I’ll be fine. Just didn’t want you to worry if things were quiet on my end for a few days.”