Page 4 of Silent Schemes (Broken Blood)

Every shipment schedule, every lieutenant's name, every safe house location.

Information is another weapon, and I arm myself with all of it.

"His penthouse," Vincent adds, showing me blueprints. "State of the art security. Biometric locks, bulletproof glass, multiple escape routes. If you're going to kill him, it won't be there."

"Then where?"

"Wherever he's the most vulnerable," my father says. "In bed, probably. Men are always most vulnerable when they're fucking."

What he fails to realize is that he fucking sleeps in his bed, which is in his penthouse.

My father is a fucking idiot sometimes, but I know what he’s doing—he’s reminding me of my place.

His crude words are meant to remind me what I am—a honey trap, a black widow, a beautiful death.

But as I stare at Varrick's photo, I can't shake the feeling that he's not the type to be vulnerable anywhere, especially not in bed.

One Day Ago…

Fuck, I need something good.

Here I am, staring inside my closet, trying to find the perfect choice.

Each dress is a carefully chosen weapon, each pair of heels potentially lethal.

I select pieces that suggest innocence while hiding steel—a red dress with hidden pockets for blades, a black cocktail dress with a reinforced bodice that can stop a knife, heels with sharpened metal tips.

Maya finds me in my room as I'm selecting lingerie that can conceal garrote wire.

She shouldn't be here—our father forbids her from my wing when I'm preparing for missions—but my baby sister has always been braver than she should be.

"I don't want you to go," she whispers, closing the door behind her.

"It's just another job," I lie, folding a La Perla set into my bag.

The set costs three thousand dollars and can hide four different weapons.

My father spares no expense when it comes to me completing jobs for him.

"No, it's not." She sits on my bed, looking so young, it breaks my heart. "I heard Father talking to Vincent. He said if you succeed with this, you'll be his primary weapon. You'll never be free."

Smart girl.

Too smart for her own good in this family.

Intelligence in women makes our father uncomfortable—we're supposed to be beautiful and deadly, not thoughtful.

"Let me worry about that," I say, sitting beside her.

She still smells like innocence—vanilla perfume and hope.

She hasn't killed anyone yet.

Hasn't had blood under her fingernails or the taste of death in her mouth.

"I won't let him turn me into you," she says, and the words cut deeper than any blade. "I won't be his weapon."

"You won't have to be," I promise, pulling her close. "After this job, things will change. I'll make sure of it."

She doesn't know I'm planning our escape.

That I've been siphoning money for two years, creating false identities, planning a life where Cross is just a word and not a death sentence.

One more job.

One more kill.

Then we run.

"He's grooming me," Maya whispers against my shoulder. "Yesterday, he made me watch Vincent kill that informant. Said I need to understand the family business."

My blood goes cold.

It's starting.

He's beginning her transformation from daughter to weapon.

I'm running out of time.

"Listen to me," I say, pulling back to look at her. "Whatever happens with this job, whatever you hear, remember that everything I do is for you. To keep you safe. To keep you whole."

"Sienna—"

"Promise me something," I interrupt. "If something happens to me, you run. There's a locker at the train station, number 237. Everything you need is there. New identity, money, a contact who'll help you disappear."

"Nothing's going to happen to you," she says, but her voice shakes.

We both know that's not guaranteed.

Not in our world.

"Promise me."

"I promise," she whispers.

I hold her until she stops shaking, then send her back to her room.

Tomorrow, I'll meet Varrick Bane.

Tomorrow, I'll begin the game that ends with his death. But tonight, I plan. Not just his murder, but our escape.

Because Maya's right—if I succeed, our father will never let me go.

I'll be his primary weapon until someone finally manages to kill me.

And Maya will be next, groomed to take my place.

Unless I kill our father first.

The thought has been growing for months, taking root like a poisonous flower.

But killing our father isn't like killing his enemies.

He's paranoid, protected, always watching.

I'd need help.

I'd need someone equally dangerous, equally powerful.

Someone like Varrick Bane.

I push the thought away.

That's not the mission.

The mission is simple: seduce, extract information, execute.

But as I practice my draw one more time, I can't help but wonder—what if there's another way?

The memory of what I've been through the last couple of days fades as I stare at myself in the casino bathroom mirror.

My hands are steady as I apply another coat of red lipstick—the tube that conceals a three-inch blade.

The dress I chose tonight costs more than most people make in a month, designed to distract and disarm.

But Varrick Bane didn't look at the dress.

He looked at me .

Through me.

Like he could see every secret I've ever buried.

He knew who I was the moment I walked in.

I could see it in the way his body shifted, predator recognizing predator.

He should have had me dragged out.

Should have put a bullet in my head right there at the poker table.

Instead, he played along, even slipping his card into my pocket with fingers so deft I—a trained killer—didn't notice.

The violation of it should anger me.

I'm the one who's supposed to be in control, the one who sets the pace of the seduction.

But Varrick Bane just changed the game without saying a word.

I pull the card out now, expensive stock with simple black lettering:

Tomorrow. 8pm. The Black Crown. Come armed—it's more fun that way.

My reflection smiles back at me, but it doesn't reach my eyes.

It never does.

I learned long ago that real smiles are tells, weaknesses that can be exploited.

So, I practice fake ones, the kind that fool everyone except, apparently, Varrick Bane.

The Black Crown is owned by his brother Korrin, a front for laundering money.

I've studied the blueprints, memorized the exits.

But walking in there tomorrow will be walking into the wolf's den, and the wolf already knows I'm coming.

My phone buzzes.

Vincent. "Status?"

"Contact made," I text back. "Meeting tomorrow night."

"Good. Don't fuck this up. Your father is watching."

As if I could forget.

My father is always watching, through Vincent's eyes, through hidden cameras, through the fear he's instilled in everyone around me.

Even now, I know he probably has someone tailing me, making sure I don't run.

But after tomorrow, after Varrick Bane is dead, I'll disappear so completely even Theodore won't find me.

I've been planning it for two years—new identities for Maya and me, money hidden in offshore accounts, a contact in Prague who specializes in making people vanish.

One more kill. One more monster to put down. Then freedom.

I lean against the marble counter, letting the cold seep through my dress.

Everything about this is wrong.

Varrick Bane isn't acting like prey.

He's acting like a hunter who's decided to play with his food before he devours it.

But I've been devoured before and lived to tell about it.

I've been broken and remade so many times, I've lost count of which pieces are original and which are scar tissue masquerading as skin.

One more predator won't make a difference.

I check my gun, freshly loaded with hollow points designed to mushroom on impact, leaving exit wounds the size of fists.

The weight is familiar, comforting even.

This is what I know.

This is what I am—a weapon in designer clothes, aimed at whatever target my father wishes to point me toward.

But as I stare at myself in the mirror, I see something else.

A woman who's tired of being a weapon.

A sister who wants to save the only person she loves.

A daughter who dreams of patricide.

Maybe that's why Varrick saw through me so easily.

Maybe the mask is finally cracking after all these years.

"Tomorrow then," I whisper to my reflection, practicing my smile until it looks almost real.

The same smile I'll wear when I put my gun to Varrick Bane's chest and pull the trigger.

The same smile I'll wear when I tell my father it's done and demand he release Maya from this life.

But as I leave the casino, slipping through the Vancouver night like a shadow in heels, I can't shake the feeling that tomorrow won't go according to plan.

That Varrick Bane has his own game, and I'm not the player—I'm the prize.

The thought should terrify me.

Instead, for the first time in years, I feel something that might be excitement.

Or maybe it's just the thrill that comes before everything goes to hell.

Either way, tomorrow I meet the Bastard King in his brother's castle.

And only one of us will walk away whole.