A Hard Deal

VESPERA

The knife kissed my throat just as I snapped the man's wrist, he screamed and I smirked to the satisfying sound from his cracked bones.

I gave him no chance to recover, I instantly drove my elbow into his nose and ducked beneath his swinging arm. It sent him crashing into the kitchen counter, his blood splashed across the white tiles.

“You think this is a game, little Omega?” The man snorted as he staggered to his feet and wiped his blood stained nose with the back of his palm.

He pulled a second knife from his boot. “Honestly? I think you need a hobby.” I smiled.

He lunged at me but I caught his wrist, twisted it hard and slammed his hand against the counter until the knife fell. But before I could finish him, a gunshot split the air.

The bullet struck the wall beside my head as bits of brick sprayed across my cheek.

The man holding the gun stood in the doorway, dressed in a charcoal suit and polished shoes, he looked nothing like the hired muscle I had been expecting. No nervous sweat, just a cold expression and a pistol aimed at my heart.

“Step away from him,” he ordered.

I released the man beneath my hands. “Gladly.”

“Hands where I can see them.” I raised them slowly, the gunman studied my face. “Wraith.”

My eyes widened in shock. Nobody used that name unless they knew exactly what I was capable of.

“Your reputation is disappointing,” he continued. “I expected someone taller.”

“And I expected someone with better aim.” I spat out. It was easier to take out an angry assailant.

I grabbed a broken glass and threw it at his face, he flinched and I moved quickly. My foot struck his wrist before he could fire and the gun skidded beneath the dining table. I instantly drove my shoulder into his chest and we crashed against the wall.

He was stronger than he looked, he swung around, slamming his fist into my stomach. I felt air squeeze out from my lungs, without giving me time to recover he grabbed my throat.

“Where is the package?” he snarled.

I clawed at his arm. “What package?” I strained to reply.

He tightened his grip. “Do not insult me.”

I didn't see his fist flying to my ribs. It slammed into my ribs and pain exploded through my side. I drove my knee upward, broke his hold, and staggered toward the table, quickly feeling under the table till my fingers closed around the gun.

“Go ahead,” he said as I aimed the gun at his chest. “Shoot me, you have no idea what happens if you pull that trigger.”

“Then I suppose we'll both learn something.” My phone suddenly rang as I was about to squeeze the trigger.

The sound came from the bedroom and the gunman glanced toward the hallway. That was his mistake, I seized it and fired into the floor beside his foot.

He stumbled back with a curse, and I bolted through the bedroom door, grabbed my phone, and sprinted toward the fire escape.

The screen showed an unknown number, I answered while still running. “Whoever this is, I'm busy.”

“Your sister is very pretty.” A hoarse voice came from the other end.

My feet stopped. “What did you say?”

A photograph appeared on my screen, Mira sat casually on a chair, her dark curls were tied into two uneven puffs. A red circle had been drawn around her head.

The voice continued. “It would be a shame if something happened to her.”

“Touch her and I'll…” I screamed into the phone.

“You'll do exactly what we tell you.”

I heard movement behind me, the gunman had reached the bedroom and two men were standing behind him. I turned and raised my weapon.

One man held a tablet and the other held a photograph of my mother. My grip tightened around the gun. “Who sent you?”

The man with the tablet stepped forward. “Lady Isolde Bryt.”

The Bryt family did not hire assassins, they owned governments, bought judges, and made people disappear without leaving bodies behind.

“What does she want?” I snarled, sweeping the room for an escape route.

“To make you an offer.” The man with the tablet tapped it.

Mira's photograph vanished and a live video replaced it. My sister sat in a dimly lit room with her wrists tied behind a chair. A man stood behind her, holding a knife against her cheek.

Mira's eyes widened when she saw the camera. “Ves?”

My gun lowered by an inch. “Don't touch her.”

“Then listen carefully,” the stranger said. “You will come with us, accept the assignment and you will follow every instruction you are given.”

“And if I refuse?”

He glanced at Mira. “Your family will learn how quickly an ordinary evening can become a funeral.”

I had killed for money, lied for survival and I had spent years convincing myself that fear was a weakness I could carve out of my body. But there were some things even an assassin could not cut away and that was family.

“Fine.” I lowered the gun.

The man with the tablet nodded. “Excellent.”

He approached me and held out a black envelope. Inside was a photograph of a beautiful blonde woman wearing a diamond necklace. Her smile was delicate, her eyes were bright and her skin was flawless.

SERAPHINE BRYT.

Beneath the photograph was another image of a man. He stood in front of a black luxury car, dressed in a tailored suit. He had dark hair, broad shoulders and an expression so cold it seemed to drain the warmth from the photograph.

KAEL DRAVEN.

I knew that face, everyone knew the billionaire hybrid Alpha. He was the most dangerous man in the country and, according to the document inside the envelope, my future husband.

I stared at the page. “You've got to be joking, you want me to marry Kael Draven?”

“Your wedding is in forty-eight hours, we want you to become Seraphine Bryt.”

I looked at the photograph again. “And what happened to the real bride?”

The man with the tablet closed the envelope, his lip was locked in a stiff smile. “You should learn something before the wedding, Miss Vale.” He leaned close to me. “Kael Draven has killed every person who tried to deceive him, your task is to become the one woman he must never discover is lying.”

A hand closed around my arm. I twisted instinctively, nearly breaking the guard's elbow before I remembered the knife at Mira's throat. I stopped and took a step back.

The guard grinned. “Careful, bride.” Then he dragged me toward the door.

I looked once more at the photograph of Kael Draven, the man’s eyes seemed almost alive beneath the glossy paper. Forty-eight hours, and if the stories about Kael Draven were true, I might not survive the honeymoon.