Assassin's Creed Jacob Frye Novels & Stories

Holly had been far more striking in appearance, while Freya fell quite short by comparison. "Everyone says the female assassin was foolish, but I don't think so. I believe the assassination was a pretense, and her real aim was to manipulate Nate." Zachary let out a sigh, a hint of helplessness in his voice. "Such a remarkable beauty. Had she crossed paths with me, she might have survived. Of course, if she had encountered you, that would have surely brought her wealth and status within your household, don't you think?" "Zachary!" Frederick's expression darkened, glaring at him. "Watch your words!"

And now, she had escalated the stakes to an unbearable level. I knew then that this was beyond anything the police could handle. I needed help from someone who could think like Fiona, someone who wasn’t bound by the same rules. There was only one person I could turn to: Jacob, my old friend and former CIA operative. Jacob had gone deep undercover more times than I could count, taking on the most dangerous assignments in hostile territories. He had a mind for strategy, a way of seeing all the angles, and a willingness to do whatever it took to get the job done.

Torin was always the first to volunteer for dangerous missions, driven by a fierce loyalty to our cause and an unyielding sense of duty. Freya Freya, the healer, possessed an innate talent for herbal medicine and healing magic. Her gentle touch and soothing presence brought comfort to the wounded and weary. Freya's compassion was matched only by her bravery, as she never hesitated to put herself in harm's way to help others. Soren Soren was a skilled swordsman with lightning-fast reflexes and unparalleled agility. His dual swords flashed through the air with deadly precision, and he could disarm an opponent in the blink of an eye. Soren's confidence and charisma made him a natural leader amo

*giggles* After that, I'm going to ki- "Wtf! Bro, stop smiling, it's terrifying." Relax, William, that's your brother. "SHUT UP," I demanded. I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is William Carter, and I am a 36-year-old assassin. Reaper is the codename I use. Many people have motivations for being a spy, assassin, criminal, and so on. However, I became an assassin because of my father. Third-person pov

While my father flops like a fish on the floor, I take his weapon, kick him in the head and reach for Taryn. Ava slumps against her wall, her eyes wide with shock. However, she looks unhurt, so I leave her and check on Taryn, Blood flows around both women like a pool. As an Assassin, I’ve seen a lot of death and have even caused some of them, but I have never felt fear as I do at this moment. Squatting down, I pull Tamsyn off Taryn.

I slowly wrap my hand around the hilt of the knife strapped to my back. "She is reaching for her knife!" One of the assassins behind me yells. I recognize his voice. His name is Frank, and he is the absolute worst assassin that Faris put on his payroll. "Oh, shut up, Frank," I yell as I turn and throw the knife in his direction. It sticks out of his chest, and he stumbles back against the wall. "This is why no one likes you," I mumble. "She just killed Frank," one of the other men says.

The man she had watched on a live feed being killed while she was tortured in an underground basement in Middle East. The man who called her up, the minute she got out of the hospital upon returning home to tell him that he’s alive. The man who asked her to stage an accident for her mom, to make the enemy believe she is also dead. The only thing that they didn’t count on was for Ashley, deciding at the last minute to accompany her. The J.A.K.E., which comprises the initials of her stepdad and mom’s first and second names. Amelia Jane Walters. Edward Keith Bishop.

“Different locations. Always private.” Not coincidence. Coordination. I leaned back slowly. So this wasn’t a jealous outburst. It wasn’t a single reckless act. It was a web. And Freya— Freya had been standing in the center of it without even knowing. “Bryan,” I said. Kyle nodded once. “Likely collateral. Or leverage.” Pawn. The word echoed in my mind. Bryan thought he was a player. But players didn’t get drugged by their own wives. I stood.

In the instant the knife began its lethal arc toward Freya's jugular, Cedrik leaped from his chair, kicking the table with such force that the delicacies and goblets flew in a whirlwind of silver and wine. His hand closed around the assassin's wrist millimeters before the metal touched Freya's skin. The crack of breaking bones echoed through the silent hall like a gunshot. Cedrik did not stop there. With a growl that did not belong to a man, he plunged the claws of his free hand into the aggressor's chest, hurling him against the stone wall. The impact was dull and final. The assassin's body slumped, blood staining the royal tapestry, while the poisoned dagger clattered to the floor, now use