Assassin's Creed Everything Is Permitted Novels & Stories

She raked a hand through her hair and sighed, moving to stand beside Mike so they were both facing me. It has always been them against me. "What do you think people will say when they see you together with the town's delinquents?" Her voice had reduced to a lower octave, and as her cold blue eyes looked at me, I briefly wondered where the warmth from years ago went. "What exactly do you think they'll say when they realize the Mayor's daughter, Kayla Buffet, has a sleeve of tattoos, smokes pot, parties every fucking night, and fucks anything that gives her the time of the day?"

“It’s going to be the same at the end. I’m not a hero. I’m an assassin, a murderer. Even if I succeed in taking down the Parliament, there is no way I’m going to be accepted for what I’ve done. I’ve always known that the day I bring the Parliament down, I will go down with them. In order for a better future that isn’t built on the blood of others, the cycle must end and it ends with me.” Feeling the strain of talking after several days of bed rest, I didn’t register the pain. A loud slap resounding through the room and the ringing in my left ear was enough to stun me. “Stop deluding yourself. Do you think you’re the only one bearing the burden of this? Look carefully! Open your eyes! Aren’t

the assassin states, and then, one by one, he grabs the dead bodies of the soldiers and dumps them in the open sea as if they weigh nothing. Ilya's blood suddenly boils inside of him as he grips the back of the suppressants in his hand, eyes locked on the blood stains. Sharply, he turns and walks over to Valen, who's already lighting up his cigarette. “…you killed all of them.” He tries to hide the anger from his voice, but it's there, and his eyes blaze in rage. There's no point yelling at Theon when the Assassin only takes orders from the alpha. Valen looks at him, then gives a shrug and takes a drag of his cigarette. “They talk too much,”

I tapped his shoulder. He hesitated. “I just want to go play with something.” I said. He set me down and I limped over to the wall of knives and picked up a multicolored butterfly knife. I flipped it around, opening and closing it between my hands. “I need a new one of these. My old one is loose.” I flipped it closed and looked at Malachi, he was just staring at me in amazement. “What?” “I just forgot that you are a trained assassin. That’s all.”

“He’s the kingpin of global flesh trade. Those pups? Inventory. And he was my original mark when I first came here.” Three sets of eyes blinked at me. I arched a brow at my mates. You never briefed them? Their shrugs said priorities. “Seems our fearless leaders omitted a detail,” I drawled. “I’m not just your Luna. I’m a trained assassin. Interrogation specialist.” Sighing, I turned back. “Seems our Alphas left out a detail. I’m an assassin. A master torturer.” Silence. Then— Marcus barked a laugh. “Fuck me, that’s good. Almost sold it too. Seriously though—” He froze at our stone-faced expressions. “…No way. You’re actually—holy shit! No wonder you’re a badass.” His grin could’ve powered a

"You have until later tonight to make your decision. Either mate with you or I'll kill you. The choice is simple, really." I went numb as his last words really settled in. I didn't know I could hate a person so much. He was cruel and evil. How could he do this to me. "From the day you took me in, I've done everything you've asked of me, Alpha. I was hoping I could get out of this life as an assassin and to go out on my own, sir. I'm very gra-" Before I could finish, Roman slapped with the back of his hand, sending me straight to the ground, grabbing my cheek that's burning red from the contact of Roman's fury.

I had just come back from a tour in Iraq when my handler, Willem, found me. It didn’t take much to convince me to join the ranks of a Confradia assassin. I was very well trained in combat situations. And killing men who think they can kill innocents with impunity is right up my alley. Don’t get me wrong; I am not some kind of sociopath who enjoys killing. I just live by a code that if you hurt innocents and are out to destroy the world, I will be more than happy to escort you out of it permanently. I especially enjoy knowing that innocent people are safe because of me.

“Jesus! That kid never runs out of energy, does he?” A chuckle escapes my lips at his amazement. “Connor is definitely in a league of his own.” Declan looks down at his feet then back at me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looks nervous. Licking my lips, I lift my knees to my chest, wrap my arms around them and take a deep breath. “What are you?” I ask the question that has been niggling in the back of my mind since she showed up at the mansion. His brow quirks, but he maintains an even expression. “What do you mean?” Puffing out a breath, I throw back the covers and rise from the bed. “Wow,” I mutter out in disbelief. “Are we really going to play this game, Declan? Well, let me brea

Black hummed, "Rise, Sir Iain. Regarding your concerns, I'm already well aware of that fact; stopping them was my intention after learning the truth about the mission they were on, but I'm afraid I'm no longer in a position to do so." "Pardon?" Iain was bemused. He couldn't resist looking at the man with a questioning gaze. As if asking why, when this person has, and the only one with the highest authority inside the organization. Mr. Black sighed, "They realized it much sooner than we did and, being as obstinate as they are, requested for the Cilero Ni Estemio 30 minutes after they left for the mission. And, as you know, even I wouldn't be able to refuse an assassin's request for that autho

My seduction plan had been interrupted by the alert of my dad’s murder attempt. I needed a distraction from…everything. My body still throbbed, it wanted to be touched, it needed him. I needed him. I stood up, my resolution hardening. I wasn't just a billionaire; I was a woman who was tired of waiting for permission to feel alive. I sat up when he came out of the gym in the room He was wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung black athletic shorts. His muscles were rigid, gleaming with a sheen of sweat