Chapter 17

ROSALIND

Hours later, I hobble into Moirai HQ. My ears ring, I'm covered in soot, reeking of exhaust fumes, and tracking black footprints across its pristine white interior. Somewhere in the recesses of my memory, I'm sure I've forgotten something, but my mind is too frazzled to care.

My entire body is fucked... literally, but I had to get away from Cesare.

The medics rush me to the infirmary, where I'm forced to decontaminate before anyone will assess my injuries. After a bio scan that determines I'm not carrying tracking devices, I'm put on a cocktail of intravenous painkillers, antibiotics, and nutrients to replenish my energy.

A team of physicians surround my cot, healing the cuts, bruises, and the burns inflicted from stowing away in the truck's undercarriage.

I'll need to return in a few days after the initials Cesare carved into my breast heal, so they can complete the tissue regeneration and laser resurfacing to remove the scars.

The Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Daniel, approaches with a tablet. "You have a mild concussion, two broken ribs, and multiple lacerations. We're going to keep you under observation for forty-eight hours."

"Can I at least leave the infirmary?"

He snaps a bracelet around my wrist. "Certainly. Any change to your vital signs and the monitor will summon you back to the medical wing."

"Thanks." I rise off the cot.

"One more thing, Rosalind. Gunther hasn't approved the charge of your treatment to his budget, so I'm going to add it to your tab."

My stomach plummets into the hard floor, bringing up a wave of nausea. It's taken ten years to make a dent in the amount I owe the firm for the damaged equipment. I can't add to those debts.

"B-But I completed my mission," I stammer. "All the information Gunther wanted is?—"

"Take it up with your supervisor." Dr. Daniel raises a hand.

My jaw tightens. "Don't worry. I will."

Minutes later, I walk through the maze of hallways that lead to Gunther's office. A few other operatives cast me wary glances as I stride past, but I'm too furious to meet their gazes.

Gunther is determined to keep me in debt bondage. If he'd authorized me to kill Cesare, all my expenses would be paid, plus I'd get a six-figure bonus to help pay off my debts.

I reach his door, where a team of my colleagues stream out, each of them giving me a double take.

"What?" I snap.

They smirk, like I'm a joke. I came first in all the theoretical exams and graduated at the top of our class. I was the first among us to get a solo mission, while they were all supporting other assassins or stuck in HQ gathering intel.

A decade later, I'm doing their grunt work while they're the ones getting all the accolades. All because of one side quest. Even if I knew going after Miranda would turn me into the Moirai Group's indentured servant, I would still do it again. That doesn't mean I should remain demoted until I die.

"Rosalind." Britany grabs my arm and pulls me to one side. "They said you got promoted and moved overseas."

I glance into Gunther's office, where he's deep in conversation with Axel, a tall blond asshole who always looks stunning in a black tactical suit that leaves little to the imagination.

My throat tightens, and my veins burn with resentment. I haven't seen him since the Paris job, where we spent four months pretending to be a couple to get close to the target. When he failed the mission and ended up tortured to the brink of death, I rushed in with explosives to kill his target and dragged Axel's broken body from the wreckage.

The bastard promised to transfer his bonus, but when we reached HQ, he changed his story. I thought he was different, but he was just one of the many people who pretended to like me until I was no longer of use.

I tear my gaze away from the backstabber. "Gunther said what?"

She drags me down the hallway, rounds a corner, and glances over her shoulder to make sure no one is looking. "He said," she repeats in a lower voice. "That you went to the branch in Zurich to take a senior position."

"That's bullshit," I hiss.

We duck into a stockroom lined with vending machines. I walk to the retina reader and lean into its blue light for a scan.

"First of all, I'm still on the Montesano job. Second, I got caught by the younger brother."

Her breath catches. "Is that why you're wearing a monitor and robe? Are you hurt?"

"Just a few cuts and scrapes." I walk to the first machine and press a finger on the scanner to request a replacement phone. "One of them called the New Alderney Times to confirm my ID. Gunther knew I got caught, which must be why he told everyone I'd been transferred."

She claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide. "Does that mean everyone else who got promoted overseas is captured or dead?"

"Probably," I mutter. "It's not like he sent a rescue team."

"Fuck." She leans against the wall, her gaze going distant.

Britt is no stranger to the firm's double dealing. She was fined for helping me rescue Miranda, except she's made enough kills to pay off her debt.

I took the blame for our little side quest and told Gunther I'd forced her to come along, so I got the brunt of the punishment. As much as I wanted to cover Britt's fine, I couldn't. Gunther relegated me to an indefinite ban from high-paying jobs and the humiliation of assisting remedial assassins.

The worst part is that I can't quit until my balance reaches zero.

The display on the machine reads: Handset activated. Do you wish to deactivate previous handsets?

I tap YES on the screen and the display reads: Handset deactivated.

A brand-new phone drops down the chute. I pick it up and slide it into my pocket.

Then I order a general-purpose field kit containing a catsuit, hexylpentose and oxypentanol in vials and disposable syringes, plus a silenced pistol, and a knife.

After collecting my new supplies, the display reads: Balance -303,877.65. That's not my bank balance. It's how much I owe the firm.

"Fucking crooks," I mutter.

Britt appears at my side and winces. "Let me transfer some funds to your account."

"No." I place a hand on her shoulder. "You've already given me the biggest gift ever. I won't drag you into any more of my problems."

Her gaze softens as she takes in my meaning. "Are you sure? I don't mind."

"I'll speak to Gunther. He owes me for trying to cover up my capture."

She gives me a hesitant nod, not believing that speaking with Gunther will make a difference. No matter how often I tell him to remove my demotion, he always finds an excuse to refuse. All because I continue to refuse his advances. Now, I finally have a way to call the man out on his bullshit.

"What are you doing for dinner?" she asks.

"Having it with you?"

She chuckles. "Text me when you're ready."

Gunther's office is at the other side of a boardroom where he holds weekly briefings for each project our section has on its roster. Twelve assassins report directly to him, and I'm technically the thirteenth because I'm stuck as an analyst.

Analysts are recruits who have survived the Moirai Academy's deadly curriculum. Most are between eighteen and twenty-one. At the grand old age of twenty-eight, I'm not just a relic but a cautionary tale.

Because of Gunther's mistreatment, only a handful of assassins speak to me directly. Most whisper about me when I'm in earshot, warning others not to screw up in their assignments in case they end up indebted, like Rosalind.

I pass the boardroom table and open the door, not bothering to knock. Gunther leans back in his desk chair, his face illuminated by a lamp. His brows rise the tiniest fraction, showing both his surprise and the effects of his Botox.

He grins. "Rosalind, take a seat."

"I'll stand." I fold my arms across my chest. "What's this I hear about you telling everyone I got promoted overseas? Is that the standard excuse you give when operatives get captured and you leave them for dead?"

His smile melts. "How did you escape?"

"Does it matter? What I want to know is why I'm over three hundred thousand in debt? Why didn't you approve my medical expenses?"

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he clears his throat, his gaze darting to the door. "I didn't think you would escape the Montesano brothers."

"Why wouldn't I when I saved Axel from an impossible situation and completed the mission he failed?"

Gunther's shoulders rise, and his gaze drops to his desk. "Axel's report says otherwise."

"Can you blame him for lying when you've kept a skilled assassin in debt for a decade? He probably thought you'd fine him too for his failure. Now, it turns out that every promotion is actually a cover up for someone we won't rescue, and?—"

"Enough." He waves his hand. "Tell me what you want."

"You're going to write off my debts."

He huffs. "Impossible. HQ will decapitate me for making fraudulent transactions."

"Then revisit all the money I didn't get for contributing to a kill, starting with Axel. Claw back my bonuses, take me off probation, and give me an assignment."

Jaw tightening, he screws his eyes shut and inhales through flared nostrils. "I don't have the authority?—"

I slam a palm on his desk, making him flinch. "You're just punishing me for rejecting you when I was a new recruit."

"And you're just going to skip over stealing an armored car, a grenade launcher, guns, and ammunition?" he asks with a sneer.

"Which I would have paid off in a few kills if I hadn't been demoted," I snarl.

He sighs, exhausted from having this conversation every time we meet. For the first time, he can't lord his power over me and smirk because I finally have some dirt that will stick.

If the assassins knew the true death rate, everyone who's already built up a nest egg would leave. Gunther wouldn't be able to recruit enough impressionable young people to make up for the mass exodus, and the smaller firms that value their employees would get all the work.

"Fine," he growls. "As of today, you are restored to your former rank."

"What about my debts?"

A muscle in his jaw flexes. "You can pay them off with future bonuses."

"And all the past bonuses I should have earned?"

"Claw those back yourself by convincing your colleagues to do the right thing." He folds his arms across his chest.

My stomach sinks. Thanks to Gunther's machinations, that's never going to happen. "I need you to sign off my medical bills and the costs of replacing everything I lost while gathering information on the Montesano mansion."

"Fine."

"And I get the next paid assignment. No more analyst bullshit."

"Yes, yes." He waves me away. "Now, get out of my sight."

I turn on my heel and walk out of his office, my heart rising back to the center of my chest. Gunther was telling the truth about not having the authority to write off my debt, but it always pays to start a negotiation with an impossibly high demand.

It will take a few more missions to put me in the black, but once I've built up a small nest egg, I can finally quit the Moirai Group and live like a normal human being.

I might even be able to build a relationship with Miranda.

She's moved from screaming every time I visited her at school to indifference to cold politeness. Even though she doesn't remember that terrible afternoon, part of her is still affected from seeing me kill her guardians.

I want to tell her why I did it, but she's only fourteen. Far too young to know anything about the circumstances of her birth.

My phone buzzes as I step out into the hallway to message Britt. It's a text from a number not in my contacts. When I open it, it's a photo of Miranda with her wrists bound and her head in a reverse bear trap.

Terror seizes my chest as my phone floods with more and more gruesome images, ending with the message:

Come alone to the alley beside the Phoenix at midnight or little Miranda will die. In agony.