Page 24 of Kill for a Kiss

Fuck, I need to figure this outandfast. Yeah, I need to hurry up and make a plan. But also, Ihatebeing here. In this house that raised me wrong. That made me feel like a flaw in the bloodline, like I was something broken they had to keep hidden, where I grew up thinking something must be wrong with me. All because I wasn’t treated the same as Damon or Stanley.

The past lingers in these walls like a disease. But I continue moving through the halls, steps silent, body tense. The air smells the same, clean and sterile, less like control, more likelies.

I grew up here. That should mean something. But it doesn’t. Not when it was never mine to begin with. Because I was never truly one of them. Not to Clo. Not entirely to the Song-Smith family.

The corridors are too quiet today. The servants still stick to their routines, well-trained not to stray. I know which halls to avoid, which corners to take. Some habits don’t die. I used to move like this as a kid, slipping through the shadows, and staying out of Clo’s way.

Shaking the thoughts off, I force myself back to the present. I have work to do. If Clo changed her security, someone in this house knows about it. Servants hear everything, even the things they shouldn’t. And if it’s not them, it’s someone new. A contractor. A specialist. Anyone. I just need a name.

After a while, I reach the servants’ quarters first. The entrance is tucked at the back of the house, out of sight, where the invisible are kept. I slip inside, quiet and listening. There’s no voices, no sounds except for a radio behind one door, and running water behindanother.

Methodically, I move swiftly. Past the storage closets, linen carts, the back hallway’s ghost-thin lights, until I find it. A ledger, left carelessly open on the desk inside the laundry office. Payroll. Rotations. Vendor names. Movement in and out.

My fingers flip through it, my eyes skimming. And then I see it. A name I don’t recognize. A security consultant, maybe. Private contractor. Expedited service. High clearance. No background info, only enough to raise a flag in my head.

I frown. Clo’s getting bold or careless. Either way, it’s a mistake. I don’t know who this bastard is yet, but I will. Because this stopped being just about her study the moment Clo stuck Elle in her web.

This is about control, knowing what Clo’s hiding, and taking it from her before she uses it against the one person I won’t lose. And if I’m honest—brutally honest—it’s about something else too.

For years, I learned how to vanish into the bones of this house. Clo made sure of that. But I’m done fading. I was born as the shameful smothered flame of this family. Now I’m the fire crawling up its walls. And it’s about time this house learns what it made me into. I’m its own weapon, finally turned against it.

***

The name from the ledger sticks in my mind.

I slip out of the servants’ quarters, blending into shadows along familiar paths. Quickly, I type the name into my phone. But there’s zero results. This name’s a ghost then.

Private security consultants, even the best, leave whispers. But Clo’s found someone who doesn’t exist. Or she’s hiding them well. I shove down the irritation that rises like bile. If the digital trail is clean, I’ll find dirt somewhere else. My feet carry me swiftly tothe west wing. Damon’s closed study still has network access. If Clo’s hired help was here, they left tracks, like logs, scans, something,anything.

The door’s locked, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. Damon’s too trusting of family and staff. So a moment of lockpicking later, I’m inside. I step in, then drop into the chair, pulling up recent access records. The screen fills quickly, data flooding my eyes until one flagged entry stands out. Before I can probe further, the screen flickers, then blackens. A cursor blinks mockingly, words appearing slowly:Nice try.

My fist hits the desk, pain radiating up my arm. Anger boils inside me. Damon wouldn’t do something like this. All of these security measures are ridiculous, especially for my arrogant family. So someone’s fucking with me, watching, and anticipating.Fine. If they want to hide, I’ll drag them out.

I pull out my phone, dialing fast. My contact answers. I aim to skip the greetings, but the voice on the other end has different ideas. “Well, well, well,” the contact starts. I’m already rolling my eyes. “Do you know how many powerful people you pissed off by not completing all of those contracts, rookie?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I say, straight to the point.

The other end scoffs a laugh. “And what do I owe to such a friendly phone call from my favorite killer?”

“Need everything on a ghost contractor Clo hired. High clearance, zero trace.”

There’s silence for a second, then a chuckle. “Finally gunning for the queen?”

“Just find the bastard.”

“Same timeline?”

“Faster.”

“Then triple the pay.”

“Done.”

“Call you soon, rookie.”

I scowl, ending the call. That nickname still clings to me. Some in the crime realm call me rookie, even after all these years. That’s fine. It’ll make it sweeter when I shove their words down their throats.

Forcing myself to breathe, I head to the sunlit window overlooking the vineyard. My fists clench at my sides, pulse ticking dangerously high. I hate being hunted. Hate knowing someone’s ahead of me.