Vengeful Lies

For fuck’s sake. Of all the places my anonymous client summoned me to, I wasn’t expecting the masquerade ball to be for Eli Monti’s not-girlfriend, Michelle Bedore. She’s the type of wannabe mafia princess I’m sure his parents will happily welcome in. Long blonde hair, fake tits—that I’m genuinely impressed by—and long legs. The girl is handed everything she could ever imagine, and the flashy example of money and splendor in their home makes me want to throw back the champagne I was given when I first walked into the mansion.

With a pink princess-style dress, pink flamingo mask, and crown, it’s obvious whose birthday it is. She squeals with excitement as her father offers her keys to a brand-new Porsche.

Her birthday cake is as tall as me—and that’s an impressive five foot nine—with the number twenty-five on top. I don’t know why it irritates me that we’re the same age, but it does. Probably because we couldn’t come from more vastly different worlds. Last year, I celebrated my birthday with Craig with a can of Pepsi and a store-bought chocolate cake. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, he gave me a new set of throwing knives, which is my dream come true. I have plenty of money from my hits, but I’ve never had the desire to change my lifestyle.

I circle the room, doing my best to stick to the shadows. I’m wearing a long black dress with a slit up to my hip on the right side. It makes it easy to access the small garter on my left with said throwing knife because a girl can never be too cautious when circulating in a room full of men who have been raised to only take.

I notice Crue and Rya Monti congratulating Michelle’s father. The Monti and Bedore families have a long relationship from the information I’ve gathered. There’s no sign of their son yet. Although people wear masks for this stupid, themed ball, it’s easy to pick out the big fish. Especially considering Crue Monti outright refuses to wear a mask. I’m not surprised. I don’t even know the fucker personally, but I do know he’s not someone to be told what to do, even if on a gold-printed invitation.

He’s precisely where his arrogant son got it from. I find myself searching for Eli as I peer through the eyeholes of the lace mask I’m wearing. I haven’t figured out how I’ll fuck with Eli tonight, but I pride myself on being creative. I considered strapping a bomb to his car, but there was no way I was getting away with that with the amount of security here.

So maybe I’ll slip a healthy dose of crushed fast-acting laxatives into his drink. I try to hide the smile curving at my lips at the delicate bracelet I wear with a small hollow that opens to said powder. At the very least, I’ll spike his drink.

“You’re not from here,” a voice says over my shoulder, and my spine straightens. I push against my natural instinct to grab my knife as I turn. When I face the owner of the voice, I find a beautiful man with striking blue eyes staring down at me. Much like with the Monti family, it doesn’t take me long to place the man hidden behind the white mask—Dutton Taylor.

“And how would you know that?” I ask, keeping my voice calm. The well-known womanizer and cousin to Eli is definitely not someone I wanted to cross paths with. He has a cold and calculating reputation. It’s not surprising considering he’s the son of Dawson Taylor, who’s known worldwide to run escorting services and virginity auctions, and Honey Taylor, who is the younger sister of my target’s mother.

“Because I know all the pretty things that move among this circle,” Dutton says. But I’m not fooled by the charm. He might not outright be a part of the Italian mafia like his cousin, but it’s obvious he’s just as dangerous.

I switch my own charm on with a smile. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Don’t be mistaken. I also say it to all the boys, especially when I want something.”

I keep my smile flirtatious. “And what do you want?”

I’d give anything to have a knife to his throat right now. Men like this are always used to getting what they want.

“To know how you got an invite to this party.”

Most likely, his cousin disclosed that someone was after him. In their line of business, that isn’t so surprising.

Before I can respond, his gaze drifts past me, and I see a deadly glint appear in his eyes. When I follow where he’s looking, I see his younger sister, Billie, smiling at a masked man.

“Excuse me,” he says curtly before beelining in their direction. I watch the scene unfold as Dutton grips the man by his hand and forces him onto his knees to apologize for even looking twice at his sister.noveldrama

“Dutton! Stop acting crazy!” Billie screams as people circle around them.

“Apologize,” Dutton grits out again.

This is when the sea of people splits and Eli strides in like a devil-masked God. Coming in at six foot four, there’s no doubt in my mind he would’ve seen the unfolding of events and he just wanted to get closer.

Hawke throws an arm over Billie’s shoulder. “Come on, Dutton. It’s not that bad. Don’t make the poor guy piss himself at his own sister’s birthday party.”

I try not to smirk as I take my first sip of champagne. The more I immerse myself in the madness of this family as a quiet bystander, the more amused I am. That’s when every hair on my arms rises, and I’m acutely aware I’m being watched. The feeling is so heavy that I’m slow to lift my gaze from the groveling and apologizing man to a set of otherworldly eyes. Where he might take after his father with his strong jaw and perfect nose, he has his mother’s almost silver eyes. And they’re locked on me.

Eli doesn’t break his eye contact even when Michelle tugs on his arm, begging him to stop Dutton from his craziness. I don’t have siblings, but I imagine I would do the same if I did. As in break the man’s hand, I mean.

But Eli seems to barely notice her as his all-consuming gaze slowly roams down my figure and then back up. I can feel it like a caress on my skin, as if with his stare alone he’s physically touched me—a killer’s gaze and mark.

I’m not here to tempt him. Although, in other circumstances, I’d have no issue cornering him. I’m here to blend into the crowd and figure out how I can fuck with him a little more. The laxatives are a last resort. I can’t poison him yet. Besides, I’d prefer a bullet. So humiliating him is my next plan of attack.

When someone walks in front of me and breaks the eye contact, I take that moment to slip into the hallway beside me. Music is playing in the background as I notice a group of men on the left, snorting god knows what, in what appears to be a casual living space.

Caterers are busily attending to everyone’s needs, and I make a point to mentally map out the Bedore mansion. I never know if this might be the place where I have to take the final shot. Knowledge is power, after all.

A woman bursts out of the door to my left and barges past me. When I go to swear at her, I realize her dress is torn at the shoulders, and she’s sobbing, running away scared. Looking into the half-ajar door, I see a man holding his nose and cursing. Another man who thinks he can take from a woman.

Not my problem.

I’m playing low-key tonight, I remind myself.

I plan to keep walking down the hall, but my feet lead me into the small bedroom, unable to help myself.

“Fucking stupid whore,” he curses, then looks up. “Who the fuck are you?” he demands. But his tone changes ever so slightly as his filthy gaze roams over me. Sometimes, being a woman has its own power.

“I just saw a commotion and wanted to make sure you were okay,” I say sweetly as I step toward him. A king-size bed is in the center of the room, closely positioned near bay windows that I consider throwing him through. It’s only two stories, so he might not die. But even I’m aware that I’m at a disadvantage against such a heavy man.

“The fucking bitch broke my nose,” he growls.

“Here, let me have a look at it.” I tip my head and bat my thick eyelashes at him. He seems reluctant as if it’s a weakness to show me his injury. “Maybe I can make it better?” I say sensually.

He smirks and removes his hand. There’s barely any blood; she must’ve just got a lucky elbow in, but had she not, who knows what might’ve happened.

“Oh, it doesn’t look broken,” I softly announce. As he goes to grab for me, I shift out of his reach and hit him with a right hook. Blood explodes as he squeals like a pig and stumbles back. “Now it is broken, you stupid piece of shit.”

Fury bubbles to the surface at the thought of how many women he might’ve assaulted. I might not be able to kill whoever this fucker is, but a little broken nose never hurt anyone.

“You stupid bitch,” he snarls, but it comes out muffled due to his fingers pinching his nose to stop the bleeding.

“Don’t ever touch her or another woman again, asshole,” I warn, peering down at him through my mask.

He grabs for his gun in his holster, which is probably the hardest thing he’s ever been able to pull out of his pants. My body is ready to burst into action, except a trickle of danger keeps me in place.

It’s not the man pointing a gun at my face that has my feet planted on the floor.

No. It’s the monster who’s walked in behind me, drawing the shadows of the room to him.

I don’t even need to look at who it is because I can feel the six-foot-four mass of muscle standing behind me.

“What do we have here?” Eli’s voice slices through the room.

“This stupid bitch broke my nose,” the man screams.

“And is that enough reason to point a gun at a lady?” Eli asks, and I internally roll my eyes as he puts on an act of being chivalrous.

The man seems gobsmacked. “But she’s just a woman.”

Eli steps around me, and I have to crane my neck to see what he’s doing as he looms over the man whose hand is noticeably shaking, the gun no longer steady. The room is dark, only the light from the hallway shining in, and I imagine this fucker, who I now kind of feel sorry for, thinks he’s being stared down by the devil himself. It kind of pisses me off because if Eli hadn’t interfered, he would undoubtedly be looking at me with that reverence and fear instead.

“Please, Eli,” the man begs.

“What did you call me?” Eli’s voice cuts through the air.

The man gulps. “Mr. Monti. I don’t know this woman, but she assaulted me.”

Eli curls his hand around the collar of the man’s shirt, fisting enough material to slowly lift him to standing. “And does it make it better if a man assaults you instead? I know plenty who might take you up on that offer, but I’m not sure you’ll like the items they use.”

A cold shudder runs down my back. I’ve seen this man kill, but when he whispers threats, I must confess it’s terrifying. His voice is so smooth and deep, it’s like a lullaby. But one that only promises death.

And the man is too terrified to even lift the gun that’s now gripped loosely in his hand, his arm hanging slack by his side. With a quick movement, Eli is behind him, his thick arm cording around his neck as his other hand grabs the gun. The man grapples, but to no avail, and the whole time, Eli stares at me, those ethereal eyes looking back at me like the devil himself in the dark as the hallway light seeps through to silhouette his frame.

My heartbeat kicks up as I suddenly realize my miscalculation.

I got cocky.

Taunting a monster like this is dangerous.

If it were an immediate hit, he would’ve already been dead.

But this… the closer I get, as per instructed by the client, the more lethal the job becomes to me.

This guy’s a fucking nutjob. The man crumples to the floor, and Eli lets him slip from his hold as if he’s less than trash.

He looks down at the gun he’s now holding, seeming underwhelmed, and then his gaze lands back on me.

Every instinct tells me to run.

Every reflex tells me to make sure I’m the only monster left standing.

Silence fills the room, and I remember my part to play as I look down at the man on the floor between us. I can faintly see he is still breathing, but instead, I innocently ask, “Is he dead?”

“No. But he’ll remember this in the morning. You know how it is, an uncle of someone’s who I don’t want to piss off by accidentally killing him,” he says matter-of-factly. But I know he doesn’t care about things like that. If Eli wants to kill without reason, he does. Which means he’s testing me.

I purposefully avert my gaze, trying to look as innocent as possible. “I-I don’t m-much like violence. I should pr-probably leave,” I stutter intentionally.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving me a note with a kiss first?” Eli arches an eyebrow that has a scar, splitting it in half. As he speaks, he releases the magazine from the gun and tosses it aside. I realize he knows who I am, but he’s toying with me and pretending to be unarmed. “You’re not even going to try and deny it? I must confess, the stutter was a nice touch.”

Fuck, he knows exactly who I am. I could deny it all I like, but it’s not going to get me anywhere with a man like this.

So, instead, I let the innocent act slip, not particularly being fond of it.

“It’s just business. Nothing personal,” I say as I carefully weigh my options. Then again, I’ve always acted on impulse. My only saving grace, I remind myself, is that I still have a mask on. “How did you know it was me?”

“Simply by the fact that you were ballsy enough to walk in here. Your height, the color of your hair…” He takes a step forward. “The way you hold yourself.” He takes another step, and I take one back, considering grabbing the knife at my thigh. “But where you really fucked up was thinking you could hide your presence when you shine like a fucking beacon even in the darkness.”

My heart stops at that.

The realization that I’m cornered.

I don’t do well being cornered.

“Shouldn’t you be whispering such sweet nothings to Michelle?”

“Michelle’s not trying to kill me,” he replies, angling his arm above my head and pushing me against the wall—a luxury I allow him. My greatest skill is catching people by surprise, but I know well and truly he could suffocate me with one hand.

“She will no doubt kill you one day with all her flowery sweetness, I’m sure,” I taunt with a smile.

His gaze bores into me as he hunches over, his elbow casually above my head. “Whose order are you here under, and what do they want?” he demands.

I casually shrug, not breaking eye contact. “I don’t know. I just sign the dotted line for a paycheck. Please don’t think you’re that important that I care as to why someone wants you dead.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “A lot of people want me dead.”

“Most likely because of your intolerable personality. But who am I to judge?”

“You’ll be coming home with me tonight.” The moment his hand goes for my throat, I grab the knife from my garter and slice at his torso. His reflexes are fast enough that I cut through his shirt and just barely scratch his skin. I can make out the glisten of blood through the cut in the fabric. He looks down curiously and then back up at me with a smirk.

“Unfortunately for you, knives are my favorite playthings.”

I lunge for the door, but with lightning speed, he pulls out his own knife and throws it. The knife embeds itself in the wall beside the door I was about to escape through, and I come to a screeching halt.

Adrenaline pumps through me as I throw my knife into his left leg. He clutches his thigh above the wound, cursing viciously, and barely keeps himself upright. I curve a wicked smile, satisfied with my aim.

I’m startled when one of his men, Hawke, busts into the room with a blonde, his lips on hers as he hurriedly begins to undo his belt. He tears his attention away from the woman, belatedly realizing he’s stumbled into something. Their entrance awkwardly breaks the lethal tension as I slip through the door behind him.

“Not quite.” I hear the smooth voice of Dutton behind me. Before I can swing to face him, a cloth is placed over my mouth, and I know after the first inhale I’m royally fucked.