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The desperate need cooled as anger, and frustration took over, fighting for control in equal measure. What the fuck was she thinking? Did she have any self preservation instinct? Why the fuck was I taking the risk of being caught? There was a reason I usually parked a quarter mile away.

My fingers gripped the wheel, my white knuckle grip mirroring the steel in my spine and the hard set of my jaw.

Hell, even she had the good sense not to park in his driveway. But still, she let herself be seen entering the broker’s house. If a lowly street urchin could spot her entering the front fucking door, then anyone could have seen it.

I pushed the door open, letting it slam loudly against the wall behind it, not giving the tiniest of fucks if anyone heard me enter.

“Wrap my fingers in that silky blonde hair of hers and drag her out of here.” I muttered angrily. My words drowned out by the heavy thud of my boots against the hardwood floor as I stalked from room to room, clearing the first floor before I headed upstairs.

I took the stairs two at a time, my heart slamming in my chest, keeping time with the quick, heavy movements of my feet that moved on their own, searching her out.

My eyes swept the empty hall, completely dark save for a soft blue glow emanating from the office door that had been left ajar. If I were to wager where I would find them, that would be my first guess.

I quieted my footsteps, listening for the slightest sound, but only silence greeted me.

A cold calm settled over me as my fingers closed around the handle of my pistol, the familiar weight of the cold steel grounding me instantly—silencing the warring voices in my head.

The hallway loomed before me, seeming to grow longer with each step I took toward the broker’s office.

I had hoped to hear voices. To interrupt an argument—anything to give me more information—a fucking clue about what the fuck was going on here and why the hell was one of the top hitters in the region being targeted, but unfortunately, luck was not on my side.

The pale blue light that spilled into the hallway caught on something dark, and I crouched down to get a better look.

“Fuck.” I murmured to the empty hallway.

I pulled out my flashlight, clicking it on, relief flooding me when I didn’t recognize the victim. I did, however, recognize his wounds. A deep slice across his throat that curved up nearly to his ear on his right side and a puncture wound to the heart; Tierney’s signature for close proximity kills.

Stepping over his body, I pushed the office door open, wholly unprepared for the sight before me.

The broker lay in the middle of the floor in a pool of blood. A deep, jagged wound straight across his neck, nearly severing his head from the looks of it. Multiple gashes and puncture wounds littered his torso and two karambit knives, Tierney’s favorite, lodged deep in his flesh.

Blood painted nearly everything in the small room. Walls, paperwork, monitors, no surface avoided the crimson spray.

Metallic and sour, the stench of the blood pool was enough to take my breath away, twisting my stomach in knots. Blood didn’t usually bother me, but this—there was nothing usual about this.

At my feet, Tierney. Her eyes snapped up to meet mine as I stepped into the room. A flash of—was that hope? Which quickly turned to resignation as she took me in, dressed in black from head to toe, daggers sheathed on my thighs, pistol in hand—clearly here to work.

“You here to kill me, Rossdale?” She murmured, her face unreadable.

“I’m already dead.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know it until now.”

Chapter 13

TIERNEY

“You here to kill me, Rossdale?” I asked quietly.

“I’m already dead—I just didn’t know it until now.” I whispered.

Rossdale was a pro. Unless they paid him extra, he wouldn’t drag it out. Maybe, as a professional courtesy, he would make it quick and painless.

He ran his fingers through his hair, carelessly dragging his gun with them as his eyes flitted from me to the carefully staged masterpiece before me, seemingly lost for words.

“What the fuck happened here?”

A dry, humorless laugh bubbled up through me, escaping my lips despite my dire circumstances, or maybe because of them. The absurdity of this moment wasn’t lost on me. A young assassin framed for an unforgivable crime. Her rival, the only person in the region her equal, sent to kill her.

Even the greenest of newbie authors wouldn’t dare write a plot that predictable; too unrealistic—yet here I was living it!