Game of Vengeance

by Amanda K. Byrne

  “Caleb’s daughter, Cassidy, will say a few words.”

  Nick steps behind me and takes hold of my mother, freeing me to join the minister next to the headstone. He’s a grandfatherly type with a kind face and a round belly. Give him a beard and a red furry suit, he’d be a perfect Santa. I owe the man far more than he could understand. It’s his calm, quiet generosity that guided me through this whole process.

  Small comfort.

  I meet Nick’s gaze and hold it, needing the connection to both parts of me to get through a speech that’s part truth, part lie. “Dad was a hard man to know and harder to understand. He had these…ideas of right and wrong that didn’t allow for much deviation. We didn’t always get along,” I admit, thinking of the last year, “but I never doubted he loved me.” The first lie. The biggest lie, the one I tell for my mother in hopes she’ll hear it. “He was also a man of absolutes. His family was everything to him.” Mom was everything to him. “He didn’t deserve to die the way he did.”

  I love you.

  “I like to think he’s in a better place where he doesn’t have to worry.” He’d tell me revenge isn’t worth it. It will only twist me up and spit me out, worse off than I was before. Killing, the way he did it, the way I do it, isn’t about revenge. It’s a business transaction. I drop my gaze to the urn on the small table in front of me. “I’ll miss you, Dad.”

  Daddy!

  My heels sink into the grass as I walk back to my mother. She doesn’t acknowledge my presence, just sways on her feet and stares at the urn. She hasn’t cried. I think she’s spoken maybe twenty words, tops, in the week since Turner was murdered.

  As there’s no casket to lower into the ground, the service breaks up after that. A neighbor comes up to Mom and leads her away toward a car waiting to take her home.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Nick murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. If he’s noticed my lack of enthusiasm for his affections, he’s doing a damn good job of hiding it.

  The part of me that yearns to lean into him, let him wrap his arms around me and promise me everything will be all right, is closed up and chained shut. I don’t know if I’ll ever let her out again. She feels too much. She’s too easily hurt.

  I am always cold.

  “I need a moment.”

  He nods, kisses me softly, and heads into the crowd, rounding them up and shuffling them away from the gravesite. Denise starts for me, and Nick cuts her off. I’ve been avoiding her since she and Charlie returned home a few days ago. I didn’t want her to come. Not with Isaiah still alive. But she ignored my pleadings and Nick’s outright order, and here they are.

  The minister helps round up the stragglers, leaving me alone with the urn. Nothing ornate, just simple, polished copper that’ll still look good as it oxidizes. Better than a metal box. I run my fingers along the edges. I know he can’t hear me, but I can’t keep the words inside. “Why Joshua Tree? What was that place to you?” I’d been once on a school trip, but never with my parents. What had he found in the rocks and sand and heat?

  I close my hands over the top of the urn, shutting my eyes against the day. “Why? Why couldn’t you have said it sooner?” Like Mom, I haven’t cried. I have no tears now, but the pain and the rage burst to the surface, threatening to explode. “You’re Turner. You’re invincible. You are not supposed to be here.” A container full of ash, instead of flesh and bone and blood, ready to hunt in the shadows. We could have done it together. If he’d unbent slightly, if I’d begged, he might be here, and it would be Isaiah’s headstone I was standing in front of.

  A mere suggestion of sound, and I dig my fingers into the urn. Of course he wouldn’t wait for me to come to him. He has to get his final dig in, invade this now-sacred space and taint it. “Isaiah.”

  He stops behind me, close enough I catch his aftershave drifting on the breeze. “Cass.” Another step, and I force myself to relax my fingers. “It was business.”

  Nick’s father, Andreas, said something similar to me on the night I met the rest of the family. I’ve used the justification myself. Death is part of the business. It’s my only business. “Is that the lie you tell yourself so you can sleep?”

  He sighs. “It is business, Cass. It’s how my world works. You take something from me, I take something from you. We call it even. Everyone goes about their lives and does their best to put it behind them.”

  He lays a hand on my shoulder, and it’s all I can do not to tense up. “If it’s any consolation, the debt has been paid. Your mother is safe. So are your friends. I won’t be coming after you unless you continue to ally yourself with my cousin.”

  Nick. Beautiful, amazing Dominic Kosta, who refuses to leave me to fight this on my own. “You think you can take him out, take over his position?” There’s much I don’t understand about the Kosta family and all the action they control, but I understand enough to know that between Nick and Constantine, losing one or the other will cause a rift so big the family may never be able to cross it.

  The hand on my shoulder squeezes gently. “Your faith in Dom is admirable. He will fall, Cassidy.” He slides his hand down my back, onto the dip in my waist, nudging me around. His dark eyes, so like Nick’s, full of concern and sympathy, lock with mine. And to think I actually found him attractive once. “He’ll fall, and if you stand with him, so will you. Think of your mother and what that will do to her.”

  He doesn’t know. He can’t. He wouldn’t be this close if he knew I wasn’t following his rules. This parley is a farce. I let the knife I have tucked up my sleeve slip down.

  “How?” I ask. “We know there are men loyal to you, but it’s not enough. Or are there more that we’ve missed?”

  Stupid, complacent Isaiah, with just Tris to watch his back. Stupid, trusting Isaiah for thinking I’d follow his rules.

  I won’t kill him here. It’s not time for him to die. There’s a lot of work to be done first. But he will bleed. It’s only fitting he do so here. The angle’s a bit tricky. I’m right handed, and although I’ve trained to use the knife in either hand, my left will never be my strongest.

  I don’t need it to be strong.

  Isaiah shakes his head. “The organization’s had problems since before Dom and Constantine stepped up. All we’re doing is cleaning up the mess.” He lets his hand drop to my free one and raises it between us. “You want out,” he says quietly, “this is your chance.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” The handle fits into my palm, and I drive the blade into his belly above the belt. His eyes widen with shock before pain and fury take over. I free the knife and my hand and step to the side. “You should get that looked at quick. It’s not fatal. Yet.”

  I tuck the knife into my sleeve and weave through the headstones to the drive where Nick’s leaning against his car.

  He straightens as I approach. “What’d Isaiah want?”

  “The usual. It’s business, consider the scales balanced, blah blah blah.” I hold up the knife. “Cleaning supplies?”

  “Glove compartment, as requested.” He opens the door, and I drop into the passenger seat and rummage through the glove compartment. I pull out the cloth. He climbs in behind the wheel and starts the car. “I take it he had no idea?”

  “Nope. He won’t die if he gets it stitched up quickly. It’ll hobble him. We’ve got a little time.” The blood smears on the cloth. “He’s gunning for you. Said something about problems before you and Constantine took over and now he’s cleaning up the mess? I think he might have more men inside that are waiting for the next stage.”

  I rub a small amount of oil into the metal and take out the whetstone.

  “We didn’t think it would be that easy to end this,” Nick says, the scowl evident in his tone. “We’ll start on a new list tonight.” He reaches across the car’s center console and takes the knife from my hand. He sets it in my lap. Closing his fingers around mine, he lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes a kiss acr
oss my knuckles. “We’ll take him out, Cass. We’ll get rid of the problem.”

  I stare at the knife in my lap, allow myself to feel the warmth of Nick’s hand on mine. Together. He will help me if I let him. We are stronger together, smarter together. Better. Whole.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole again.

  If you haven’t read Amanda’s first book in the Game of Shadows series, it’s a must read for more of the same sexy, edgy thrills.

  On sale now.

  Game of Shadows

  The girl next door just got deadly.

  On the outside, Cass Turner looks like any other beautiful California college girl. But besides studying at UCLA, she’s hiding a shocking secret: she’s a highly trained assassin with multiple kills under her belt. After a year spent avoiding the family business, she takes what she hopes will be her final job and winds up saving her target’s life and getting way more than she bargained for…

  As a lieutenant in LA's largest crime family, Dominic Kosta is determined to find out who wants him dead, and he’s convinced Cass can help him find out. But the longer they search for the truth, the more questions arise…and the deeper their attraction grows. Nick has his own reasons for wanting to resist Cass, but it’s a losing battle. And together, they’re free of secrets and lies. Still, getting involved with Nick has put a target on Cass’ back—and in this game, it’s either kill or be killed.

  Click here to get your copy.

  Chapter 1

  I should have said no.

  Even as I walk down the street, hands tucked in the pockets of my hoodie, I’m arguing with myself. So many things about this job are off. The lack of information. The lack of movement. The compressed timeframe. The late deposit on the heels of the rush request. I don’t need the money, though it’s always welcome. I should be home, trying to finish my essay on sociological theory’s roots in Marxism.

  I haven’t pulled a job in almost a year, which is why I took this one. Practice or a need to prove I can still do this, take your pick. Whoever wants the hit completed took the time to research how I work. I prefer to operate on a “keep me in the dark” basis. I don’t need to know whether they’re good or evil, whether they’re guilty or not. I’m not judge or jury, just the executioner. All I need is a photo and a bare bones schedule, and I can pull it off.

  But I didn’t have a lot of time to do my recon, and that’s the current argument kicking around in my head as I hurry down the darkened street to the site. The e-mail gave me a place and a time along with a picture.

  He’s why I’m here. I might as well admit it now while I can.

  He has this presence that captivates me, even in a photo. Dark hair, dark eyes, a nose, cheekbones, and a jawline that look like they belong on a Greek god.

  I’m young and female. Last time I checked, I was alive, and my hormones were functioning on a normal level, thank you very much. I think my reaction was well within the accepted range for someone presented with a visual they found compelling.

  It’s not so much that he’s attractive, though. It’s that combined with something else. He looks as dangerous as me. Or the “me” that Turner insists I’m capable of being.

  Thoughts like that lead to sloppiness and distraction.

  Focus, Cass. Lock it down.

  The entrance to the restaurant is on a tiny side street, narrow and cluttered with cars and garbage, clumps of people dotting the sidewalks. The buildings are crowded together, some flush, others with dark cracks barely large enough for a body between them. Those cracks are perfect for my needs. Heading for the alley, I skirt the light pouring from the restaurant entrance onto the sidewalk and slip into a narrow passage beside the restaurant. If there’s a back entrance to this place—and there should be—I could very well end up screwed. Just because the entrance is in the front doesn’t mean that’s the one he’ll use.

  I poke my head into the alley. Not only is there a back entrance, there’s two guys hanging around it, smoking and chattering in Spanish. The alley’s so narrow the busier cross street at the end is almost obscured. No wonder the dumpsters are out front. The dark is deeper here, no streetlights or businesses to break it up. Keeping one eye on the two men, I edge into the alley. One building over, on the opposite side of the alley, is another skinny break, much like the one I just left. It empties onto another crowded street. Perfect for disappearing.

  The target’s supposed to enter the front of the restaurant at nine PM. I pull out my phone, hunching over to block out the glow of the screen. Ten till. Ten minutes to find a decent place to hide, ten minutes to figure out how to pounce.

  This is the shittiest job. I should have said no.

  I head back to the front of the restaurant and scan the few cars parked along the curb. None of them are large enough to hide behind. I weave through the crowd to the other side of the street, searching for a shadowed nook, an empty doorway, something that will serve as a disguise. Finding none, I pull out my phone again. Almost nine.

  Time to walk away. This isn’t worth it.

  Frustrated, I push my hood from my head and study the street one last time. If I had more time to prepare, I might have been able to make this work. Crowds are actually easy for me—lots of camouflage. Quick jab of the needle and off I go, let the poison do the rest. It’s good for knife work, too, though not as reliable. Hanging around to see if the wound I made was fatal could be the difference between walking away and getting caught, so I don’t.

  The street’s too narrow. That’s the problem. Not enough room to move, and the shadowed spots are out in the open. A litany of excuses run through my head as I search for a place to hide. Turner would be able to make it work. His voice echoes in my head, a stream of chastising statements, disapproval lending them weight. I glance over at the restaurant one last time. Maybe I missed something.

  I did. Him.

  He’s striding toward the entrance of the restaurant, all dominating and alert. He’s tall. Built. People stop what they’re doing, follow his progress as he walks down the sidewalk. Cars slow.

  Cars.

  The black SUV rolls along behind him, stopping when he pauses outside the restaurant. I wasn’t told there’d be men with him. Newbie mistake, assuming he’d be alone. I can’t finish this job. I won’t be able to get close enough.

  The front passenger side door cracks open, the snub-nosed barrel of a gun barely visible in the light stretching into the street.

  Follow your gut, Cass. Your gut will get you out of trouble.

  Turner’s words have never failed me before, and neither has my gut, as he calls it. My gut says that gun isn’t for protection. They wouldn’t be tailing him in a car if they were meant to guard him.

  I’m not about to let someone else take my payday before I have a chance to decide if I want it. The target’s still outside the restaurant, so I dart across the street, shedding my hoodie as I go. Little changes to fool anyone who might have noticed me before. I try not to wince as I think of the syringe I just abandoned, tucked in the pocket of my sweatshirt. “Hey, baby!” I throw my arms around his neck and bounce up, hoping like hell he’s a fast thinker.

  His hands cradle my ass, his face inches from mine. There’s no trace of surprise. Only a slick, sinful smile that ties my tongue into a giant knot. “Who the hell are you?” he murmurs.

  I suck in a breath. Mistake. Oh, big, big mistake. He smells incredible. Like cinnamon. He squeezes hard, and I stifle a yelp. Bastard. “I’m assuming you noticed the SUV crawling after you?” He flexes his hands in response, loosening his grip. I widen my grin. “Unless they’re yours, I thought you might want some help getting out of here.”

  His gaze flits down to my mouth and back up, his smile changing to a smirk. It stings, that change, as though he thinks there’s no way I could be of any help, and my conviction wavers. Why did I think this was a smart idea? He’s a job. The more contact I have with him, the harder it’ll be to go through with it
. I unwind my legs and slide down his body. He catches my hand in his before I can walk away and leads me into the restaurant.

  All the tables are full, the noise level a high hum, punctuated by the clatter of plates and laughter. He slides a hand into the back pocket of my jeans and bends down, his breath tickling my ear. “Help away.”

  I really should have stayed home.

  “Back entrance is through the kitchen. We can cut through the alley to the next street.” He shifts his hand to my hip and squeezes once. I hope that means he understands.

  We’re halfway across the dining room when the front door to the restaurant opens. I quicken my pace, pulling free of his hold, winding around the last few tables.

  The first shots are loud. It’s a spray of them, crack crack crack, and I abandon my oh-so-casual stroll to the back door of the restaurant and lunge through the entrance to the kitchen, slipping on the greasy floor. He’s right behind me, his hand grasping my elbow before I can go down. The cooks mill around, exclaiming in Spanish and English, getting in the way as we race for the exit.

  There’s a vise on my lungs. My heart’s beating so hard I’m positive I’ve broken a few ribs. We tumble out into the narrow alley as the next gunshot rips through the chaos of the kitchen.

  It’s a few hundred yards to the next break between the buildings and the relative safety it represents. Adrenaline churns in my stomach as I sprint for it, banging my elbow on the unforgiving brick as I dart through the opening.

  Dark. So very, very dark. The pavement is broken and cracked, and I twist my ankle in my haste to get to the other side. Fuck. Pain shoots up my leg as I put weight on my foot.

  “You gonna keep going, or you gonna let them find us?”