Page 13 of Pretty Little Assassin

“They came for both of us,” I say. “Which means for the next four minutes, you’re not my target, and I’m not yours.”

“Four minutes?”

“Give or take.”

She smiles, and it’s not the omega performance from her file. It’s all teeth. “Try to keep up.”

She’s up and over the couch, a copper blur.

“On your six,” I call as another attacker comes up behind her.

“I know.” She drops, sweeps his legs, and drives her blade through the soft place beneath his jaw. His body crumples beside her. “Stop watching me and do your job.”

“I am. I’m assessing the competition.”

“Your job is dying quietly so I can buy more stilettos.”

“You could say thank you.”

“I could stab you.”

“Later. Priorities.”

She’s agile and fast, with catlike reflexes that put her fat tabby to shame. These bastards don’t stand a chance.

I have my custom-made gun in one hand, its suppressor reducing each shot to a muted crack. For my other hand, I want steel.

My eyes land on the IPA bottle I already helped myself to. It’s not exactly my usual brand of calling card, but it’ll do.

I smash it against the side of the table, leaving the glass jagged enough to open an artery.

Another man clears the smoke. Valentina opens his throat before he makes it two steps.

Two down.

Impressive.

I’ve never met anyone who can match my speed with kills, especially not a tiny omega with wet hair whipping around her face as she fights.

My turn, little assassin.

One shot to the temple, and brain matter decorates the wall of Valentina’s entryway.

Three down.

The jagged edge of the beer bottle goes into the next bastard’s jugular. I drive it upward until the glass punches through the bottom of his mouth.

Cartilage gives before the glass does.

Four.

“You’re spraying blood all over!” Valentina yells as the fifth man lunges for her.

“It’s not my blood.” I catch him by the collar and slam his face into the corner of her weapons rack. Bone crunches, and he crumples to the floor. Still breathing. “And this is a warehouse. It has industrial drainage.”

“That’s not the point!”

“You’re arguing about housekeeping right now?”