Geisha Assassins Novels & Stories

What team? “What other team? I thought it was originally you, the Mountains and Tati?” I ask, becoming confused. When Alina chuckles. “She means my little helpers.” We all look at Alina and Cass, and her team chuckle. Little helpers? Little … Oh, for fuck’s sake. “You mean your little assassins?” I say and Alina winks at me. I groan internally. Just great. Alina funds an assassin academy. One of their best is known as Ghost. Ghost is a woman and was high up in the ranks of the Bratva. Not much is known about her, just that she is one of Alina’s best. Then one day she hung up her guns.

"There are very bad things out there, Shamira, and sometimes the best way to stop wholesale carnage is a tactical strike. Banshee was Yakuza back before the word became trendy, and she's good at what she does. It'll be hard to replace her, but Shane's already looking. He'd like her to train her own replacement." "You said 'one of' earlier. How many assassins does Shane have?" "Two at the moment. Keep in mind, that Shane hasn't had this gig long, so he doesn't have his full staff. Most of us have been with him for a while. Reaper is the youngest of us." "Reaper's the big black guy isn't he?"

Half of the guys will stick close to Ares and Liam. Women assassins are dressed in a tight leather high neck jacket with belts concealing blades, and a black mask covers half of their faces, revealing just their cat eyes with uniform blue eye contact lenses. The leathered thin trousers, along with five-inch heeled boots, embrace their well-formed physique. They seemed to be snow assassins since their hair was snow-colored. Some were ponytailed, while others had their hair in buns. The males are dressed similarly, except that they carry a cloak around their shoulders. On the surface, everything seems to be ordinary, yet no one can see the sharp objects hidden behind those clothing. Chiara was

If it was me, I would do anything to ensure Annabelle's safety. "Ah. You mean she's not safe from the Nebayev Assassins?" I teased. He gave me a rueful smile at the nickname that once included him. Although he had left the Nebayev Assassins a decade ago, the group has a reputation for finishing their job. And in their eyes, Gisela, the remaining descendant of the Anthropoid kingdom, is an unfinished job. Did he leave the Assassins because he had found out Gisela was his mate?

The worse part was that he hadn't even stopped at just telling Dante to stop messing with his aunt, he even menaced to murder him. "We need to get you out of this city." Nate couldn't help but agree—that was not the avenue he wanted to continue upon this early in a new surrounding. "We need to get out now." "He could kill you, Nate." "I fucking know that Auntie, thanks." He snapped, annoyed that he hadn't been told all these things before even arriving to this city. He had never heard of anyone named Dante Hercules, his name sounded ridiculous anyway. Besides, he never even thought he would come across a mafia member, or an assassin, or a yakuza—honestly, all these terms were way too much fo

The smiling faces of three people who were making a picture-perfect family. My eyes caught the attention of the identity card that had her details. Iris Ivanov. "Iris...." My tongue rolled out her name. "Iris Ivanov....." I mumbled her name again with glitter in my eyes. Didn't know why her name felt so unique to me. "Daughter of Yuri Ivanov, the renowned Assassin." Igor completed her identity and I couldn't stop myself from mumbling the next words. "Welcome to my hell, my dear Assassin's Daughter."

Faint footsteps crushed dry twigs along the cliff edge. Five dark figures emerged out of thin air, taking up positions at five directions around the peak. Clad in plain unmarked night garb, they held daggers coated with potent dark venom. The imposing aura of Commander Realm rolled unrestrainedly off their bodies. Dark Blood assassins. The lead assassin glanced at Eira, who struggled to sustain her breakthrough. He wasted no words, crushing a black bead in his palm. Thick dark red toxic fog billowed out, sealing off every escape route on the cliff. The mist hissed corrosively the moment it touched stone.

Another grazed the thigh of a guard who didn’t even flinch. “Where are they?” one shouted. But the answer came not in words, but figures. Clad in shadowed leather, with veils pulled over their faces, the assassins emerged. Swift, agile, relentless. They descended from rafters, slipped from corridors, came through vents and shadows like spirits born of blood. The clash began. Steel to steel. Screams of pain. Roars of defiance. The air turned sharp with the scent of sweat, blood, and burning oil.

I spat bitterly. "You've got a point there." Ares said, "isn't it time for him to resign yet? He's like seventy, no?" I fought the urge to laugh at what he said before correcting, "He's fifty. I don't think he'll resign for another thirty years." We both stopped when we entered the hall. "See you around, il mio adorabile assassina." Ares said with a smirk. (My lovely killer/assassin) "That's a hell of a way to call a cold blooded assassin." I scoffed, my eyes darting around the place, looking for my father, ignoring all the eyes on me.

Gabriel said, “I didn’t much want to be alive. Ten years of waiting, not knowing if the pull would ever lead anywhere. So I found the most dangerous work I could.” She waited. “I was an assassin, Honor. A professional killer. I took contracts — targets — and I eliminated them. That was my life for the better part of a decade.” She stopped walking. He stopped too, hands in his pockets, and let her look at him. Let her take the time she needed to put it together, to decide what she thought of it. He’d learned enough about her to know that rushing her to a reaction she hadn’t fully formed would only make it worse.