Page 11 of Pretty Little Assassin

“Do you care to share who you think might be after us?”

Her hand twitches near her thigh as if preparing to draw a weapon hidden on her person. She’d be smart not to.

Besides, I still have her cat. Although I seem to be losing the battle that this furball is waging against my allergies.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe what? Maybe you know who is pitting us against each other, or maybe you’re going to tell me?” I sneeze and then curse the damn cat.

“Why should I trust you or tell you anything? You were sent to kill me. You broke into my home and threatened my cat!” Her voice cracks on the last word.

“Mr. Pickles is clearly terrified. It’s hard to believe a killer like you has a cat this lazy. You could have at least given him a respectable name.”

“Get up off of my fucking couch before I⁠—”

“I’m all ears,” I say, cutting her off, then smile. It isn’t the kind that puts people at ease.

“Stop that.” All the colour rushes from her face.

“Stop what?”

“Stop smiling at me,” she says, and she draws the blade from her thigh without a glance.

“No.” I don’t stop. “And if you know who it is that has contracts on both of our heads, I suggest you get talking before this becomes messy.”

Her grip tightens around the knife. “Robert Johnson."

I sit forward. I had been heading in that direction myself. This is another confirmation. “How do you know him?” I already know. I want to know if she’ll tell me.

“He’s my asshole of a stepdad.” Her green eyes narrow. “How do you know him?”

“Because every whisper coming out of the Primacy says he’s their new leader.”

5

VALENTINA

There’s no way that I’m going to believe this lethal, albeit brutally gorgeous assassin who was sent here to take me out. Why would I trust Viktor fucking Petrov?

It would be lunacy—and not the cute kind.

I keep Mercy trained on him.

“I don’t trust you at all.” I glare back at him.

“Clearly, but your cat does.”

“Sadly, for you, my cat is not in charge of my kills.”

Viktor reaches into his pocket, and I move Mercy closer to his chest.

“Easy, little assassin,” he says, touching his hand to the edge of my blade with a stupid level of fearlessness. “I’m just getting my phone.”

My thumb hovers over Mercy’s release. I could pin his hand to his phone, but the thought is reckless. Legends like him aren’t taken down by simple moves. Underestimating him would be the last thing I ever do.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he says, flipping his phone around to show me the screen.

There it is—his contract. And there I am, spelled out in the notification as his target.