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A slow smile tugs at my lips, and I flip the knife upright, pointing at the sky where the good Lord is looking down on us and asking how he got us so wrong and yet this moment oh so right. The truth is, I might be a flawed creation, but there are few people who could sit across from a monster and feel no fear.

In this moment, the way I am makes sense to me. I lean into it. Embrace it. I was made to kill this man.

“ This is much better,” I say in approval of the shiny silver knife. I give it an admiring look and add, “Nice and freshly sharpened—just the way I like my blades, though properly funneled rage tends to overcome a dull blade.”

I slice into the pie, and the blade all but turns the crust into butter. I decide it’s time to give more thought to the quality of the blades I carry while somehow convincing Kane that it doesn’t mean I’ll be more likely to use them, but rather more likely to stay alive.

I cut two pieces of pie and set them on the two small plates Ghost has thoughtfully provided—proof even an assassin is thoughtful when it comes to food. I hand a plate to Ghost. “It’s delicious, and don’t worry about poison. I’m not that discreet.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes that fades quickly, a reaction that spells transparency that a man who is a ghost wouldn’t be in a position to reveal, but he’s allowed me the chance to see beneath the sheet, to memorize every inch of his existence. His eyes are green. There’s a mole on his left cheek and the scar on his right. His white skin so freshly tanned tells me he’s recently spent time in a tropical location, or his home state is sunny year-round.

He accepts the plate, sets it in front of him, and picks up a fork. “Let’s try this pie you love so much.”

“You followed me around and watched me eat it but didn’t actually try it?”

His lips twitch with my reference to him stalking me. He’s amused. I am not. “This will be the first time,” he confirms.

I set the knife down within reach, feeling as possessive as a lover about that blade, but settling for a fork for now. “Maybe next time you should just sit down with me instead of hiding,” I suggest and scoop a bite.

“I don’t hide,” he says, taking a bite before adding, “I observe. Understanding my prey allows me to exterminate them effectively.”

He just called me prey and expects me to cower. Go on with yourself and think that shit. I snort. “Right.” With that dismissal, I add, “Have you tried a pencil?”

He scowls. “What?”

“It’s an excellent weapon, proven by John Wick. You did watch John Wick , right?”

“A movie isn’t reality.”

“No, but the way he killed with a pencil was pretty badass. And it’s kind of the perfect weapon. You can burn it or just shred it, and there’s no evidence.” I motion toward him with my fork. “Do you like the pie?”

He tilts his head and then sets his fork down. “I don’t want to kill you, Lilah.”

Lilah again, as if this is personal. It’s not. “And yet, I want to kill you,” I confess, “but not until I get what I want from you, and you know it.”

He narrows his gaze on me. “You really are a killer, aren’t you?”

“You waited until you were alone with me to figure this out?”

“I’m bigger than you, in case you didn’t remember that devastating detail.”

“A very small gun can kill a very big man, in case you’ve forgotten that devastating detail, though I don’t favor my firearm.” My brows dip in thought. “And I don’t believe I’ve killed anyone who wasn’t to date. No. They were all much bigger. Well, there was one woman. The rest were men.”

“You’re an FBI agent.”

“Kane’s father said the same thing to me earlier today, as if I wouldn’t kill him because of my badge.”

“I thought he was dead.”

“He faked it. For now. That won’t last. But back to my point: while it’s true that it’s not encouraged that I kill everyone who crosses me, I’m better at that than I am making arrests. And what they don’t know won’t kill them, right?” I scoop another bite of pie. “Damn, I love this pie,” I murmur and then add, “Kane is growing weary of the cleanup, though, so I’m trying to do better.”

“Okay, then, if that’s true, why do you kill?”

“Not for money. I have money. So do you now, so we both know that’s not why you continue to kill.”

“I want more money.”

“You enjoy the rush of it,” I correct. “For me, well, I blame my father. I crossed the people trying to put him in power, and he agreed to allow them to get rid of me. I’m not sure if he meant for them to drug and rape me too, but while they tried, Kane showed up and pulled him off of me.” I swipe whipped cream from the pie onto my finger. “He wanted to question him, but rage won and I stabbed him. Excessively, per Kane. He hid the crime so I wouldn’t lose my badge. I blamed him, left him, and then came back to do it all over again. Some think my badge protects him when the truth is he protects my badge.”

“And what did your father say when you confronted him?”

“When I found out it was him years later, he told me that I deserved it.”

His jaw tics, and I think I see anger in the depths of his eyes. I’ve hit a nerve, and it’s not about my story, but his. “You want me to kill him?” he offers.

“Why would I give you what will bring me joy?”

“Because killing a father isn’t like killing anyone else.”

Another telltale sign this is about him, not me. “I need him alive.”

“Why?”

“Because I need everyone in the Society dead. Where he goes, they go.”

He picks up his fork and takes a bite of the pie. “Impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible.”

He sets his fork down again. “They’re as good at hiding as I am, and I’m pretty fucking good.”

“And the closer my father gets to the White House, the closer they’ll get to him.”

“True,” he says, “but do you really want to let your father get that close to that kind of power?”

“I like the idea of snatching it right out of his hands. What do you know about Murphy?”

“I don’t.”

“Then how did you know about Walker?”

“Only what’s necessary. I don’t have a moral compass that requires I check off a box to do a job.”

“Was this a job?”

“Call it whatever you want.”

He’s not giving me much here. “Did he kill Murphy?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. One of them did, so they both need to die.”

“To give you your number one killer status.”

“Assassin,” he amends.

I ignore the comment that drives home the ego behind his actions. “Where’s the sister now?”

His lips quirk. “She thinks she’s hiding.”

“Where is she?” I repeat.

“I don’t know, and that’s the beauty of the hunt.”

He knows , I think.

He pushes to his feet, and I follow, discreetly sliding the blade into my palm and hiding it at the back of my thigh. “Why’d you tell me your secret, Lilah ?”

Still Lilah, not Agent Love or Mendez, and this time he says my name as if it’s silk on his tongue, foreplay to his intent to kill me. “The same reason you’ve made no effort to conceal your face.”

“You’ve seen me before.”

“You look different. You’re…different. And you know it. Whatever you showed me in the past wasn’t this you.”

“I have different versions of me for different people.”

“And this is the real you.”

“Is it?”

“I think it is. We both came in here with the assumption one of us wouldn’t be walking out of here alive. Why hide in that situation?”

His lips curve slightly, his eyes dark with a lusty hunger that only a killer has for death. Let him hunger, but in the end, he’ll be a body Kane gets to bury. Seconds tick by, heavy in their implications and promise of violence.

The coffee table separates us, a barrier of little consequence to me, the sweet strawberry pie sitting on its surface with berries as red as his blood soon to be spilled. I will kill him, and the narrowing of his eyes tells me he sees that truth in mine; he recognizes the killer I am and denies every moment it doesn’t suit me.

It suits me now.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” he assures me.

“Are you sure? You are only the number two assassin in the world right now. I think it takes the number one assassin to kill me.”

He chuckles. “Ouch. That almost hurt. I like you, Lilah. I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to do you a favor instead. When I get my number one status back, I’m going to kill your father.”

He’s barely made the statement when the lights go out.