Page 82 of Pretty Little Assassin

My eyes shoot over to Madam.

What does he mean by both of his girls?

“Valentina, my prize—you are my best work.” He doesn’t give me a chance to think straight. I wish he’d shut the fuck up for a second. I regret only honing my knife and hand-to-hand combat skills. If I had a gun, I could shoot that fucking intercom. “Everything that you’ve become confirms that I was right about how valuable you are. You have become a true force to be reckoned with, haven’t you? If only you’d been a good little girl, this all could have been avoided.”

More obedient omega shit. I was sick of it at sixteen, and it hasn’t improved in nine years.

“Want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?” I ask Madam. “Who are you really, and why does my stepfather seem to think you’re part of the family?”

“Move!”

Her hand pushes me down before either of us can say another word.

A bullet flies through the window.

The last time this happened, my mother paid the price. This time, Madam’s quick reflexes saved us both.

Unfortunately, neither of us is quick enough to get out.

The sound of the front door opening and men piling through it echoes through the hallway. More sounds are coming from outside, right behind them.

He’s trapped us inside the house.

Perfect.

Just fucking perfect.

I think about Viktor. No way am I getting second best in this assassin game. I am top of my field, and two Primacy teams are manageable. It reminds me of the night Viktor and I met.

Mercy is in my hand before I consciously think to reach for the blade. Beside me, Madam has a small knife too. She’s not a fighter. Her position has never been out on the field. But she’s tactical. She’s been the eyes, ears, and brains behind the screens of VEIL this whole time. And she clearly has excellent reflexes.

I am looking forward to cutting through all of these men to get us out of this house.

“Come on!” she says, reaching up to the top of the bookshelf beside the fireplace.

The shelf slides open. A passageway behind it.

I thought I was the only one who knew.

My stepfather didn’t. My mom showed me once, on one of her sober nights, all the “cool features” this house has inside its walls. How delightfully ironic. What made my teenage life hell—my stepfather’s tendency to only notice externals and never take the time to look at inner features—is about to be my salvation and his downfall.

But how could Madam know about it unless she had been here herself?

There isn’t time for questions now. Survival first. Questions later if we survive.

We both duck inside the passageway, and the door closes behind us. Just in time before the Primacy goons filter into the room.

“Where did they go? There’s no way out of this room.”

He sounds aggravated. Possibly worried that their new Director will have his head for letting us escape.

“Maybe through a window?” one of the other guys asks.

Some footsteps head out of the room. Others stay. Slow pacing just outside, where Madam and I are frozen in silence, mere inches from them. A few books and a thin slab of wood are all that separate us and the men who would kill us on sight.

We can’t stay here forever, though. We need to find a way out.

Madam touches my shoulder, and we move slowly, silently through the house's inner passageway. I need to get to that motherfucker.