Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Yes,” he mutters, and is that annoyance in his tone? I’d find it funny if I wasn’t still pissed.
“Well, I don’t think he does. He’s nothing but another example of what money can buy if you have enough of it. A whole life.”
Emeric makes a low sound, halfway between skepticism and agreement. “Tell me about him.”
This conversation is not going how I wanted it to.
“Not sure what else you’d want to know. Spoiled rich boy. His grandfather is Wickham Jameson, you know, the asshole who is always working in and out of shady hotel deals and basically owns every prime real estate in the Northeast.”
I blink when my eyes sting. “You know, I would much rather you be the scary monster everyone claims you to be, instead of the man I know you are deep down. It would make being annoyed at you harder.”
“I’m still that monster, Ivanya. It is only you who doesn’t see it.”
He leans forward, the leather of his chair rustling. “When I told you the boy was making you weak, I didn’t think he’d come back from the dead. We need to find out as much as we can. So in the meantime, no Plays. Can you access your back up drives without him knowing?”
I snicker. “Pretty sure I can access his brother without him knowing.”
Silence.
Rolling my eyes, I tap the screen of my laptop before dragging the mouse to my system drive. I open powershell and type in the code as files flood my screen.
“I have to admit…” Emeric says, voice closer to the receiver again. “You do look awfully pretty in white.”
I’m wearing a loose button-up, open to my bellybutton and lounge shorts. Hardly impressive.
I glare at the screen. “I’m in pajamas.”
“I see that.”
Years with Emeric, and I still can’t get used to his casual banter. It’s partially why I’ve always struggled to see him as the monster he is. Apparently, he never shared that same bond with the other family members.
“Tap on the one captioned A.D. Parker.”
I straighten, looking right through the webcam. “Why.”
“When did you start answering back?” He drawls, lazy and unimpressed.
My eyes narrow. “Are you drinking? You know how Nonna said you weren’t supposed to—”
“No, Ivanya, I’m not drinking.” The sudden flip in his tone sits me up straighter. “Tap on the name or I’ll do it for you.”
I sigh, dragging the mouse to the folder. A file loads onto the usual format when they assign a job. Name, age, address, blood type, all the boring things that make a human a person.
“What am I looking for?” I scroll down the page, past the details about his life, because I already know everything there is to know about the monster that stole mine.
“The reason you’re not getting any more jobs.”
The line goes dead.
I lower my hand and stare at my phone like it’s his face.
“Fuck you,” I mouth, flipping it off and slamming my laptop closed.
Parker was my main target, sure, but Emeric knows I rely on what I do to get me through. Almost the same way some do therapy. Did I want out? Yes. But I’m not stupid. There’s a system one needs to go through to get out of a life like this and it’s not done by depravation.
Not that I get off on killing people. To get our attention to begin with requires a certain skillset. Writing someone into a script and having us actually accept it are two very different things. We’re not the agency that most people think of when they want to get a job done. We’re silent, discreet, but also… selective. Our system works because we don’t have a high take-out list like others, such as Copper Ville, who kill just to kill and don’t care how. This is why they’ve also been on the radar of every task force worldwide.
In short, if you know who we are, then you’re walking in the right circles, because no one, literally no one, knows who we are unless we want them to. It helps with our one-hundred-percent success rate.
Until Asher.
I dump my coffee down the drain and decide to make it my mission to find the hottest outfit I can in my new ridiculous closet.
“You know who I am.” I flick past a dress, then another with a sharper swipe. “Yet here you are. Again. Standing close enough that I can count your pulse rate and reach you to stop it.”
Atlas props himself against the bedside table, one ankle over the other. “I have a proposition for you if you choose to accept.”
I pause on a black gown that dips low between the breasts. I hold it up by the straps, then flip it to check the back.
All skin.
Never mind.
I hook the hanger with a finger and carry it toward the bed. “What makes you think I’d negotiate with you?”