Prologue

PROLOGUE

Manta

One Month Earlier

T he man sitting behind the desk looked shady as hell. Which was fine. I was used to shady. Used to bad men. He didn't scare me. Nothing scared me. My mother used to say that there was something wrong with me. If only she knew how right she'd been. She was dead and buried, though she left me behind long before, so she had no clue about what I'd become. That didn't change the fact that her only child wasn't what most of polite society would consider normal.

Stepping into the room, I kept my eyes on the man behind the desk. "You Randal?" I didn't know if that was his first name, or last. All I knew was that it was a stupid name for the man in the suit. It didn't fit him.

His dark hair was slicked back and his dark eyes were flat and soulless. That was how I knew he was dangerous. People with life in their eyes didn't hire assassins to kill other people.

"You must be Manta," he said, using my alias. He stood and motioned at the chair.

Keeping a bored expression on my face, I crossed the room and dropped into it as he once again took his own seat. I plunked my sneakers onto his desk, crossing one foot over the other. He frowned at them, then at me, but I just gave him a bland smile. "Heard you were looking for me."

In my line of work you had to answer the call when someone sought you out. It was part of how you built your reputation. Reputation was everything. And later it was how you maintained it. Though, if you sucked at killing your mark, it didn't matter whether you answered or not. If you couldn't bag your man, or woman, you weren't going to be getting many calls. I had a very good reputation.

"I have a job for you." His eyes finally strayed away from my shoes on his polished desk and shifted down to a folder. He leaned forward and handed it to me.

"This isn't usually the way I work," I informed him. In the beginning days of my career I had to chase down every job. Do everything in my power to get hired. These days? I could afford to be a bit picky and I had a system in place where clients and their middle men could find me. Then I would be the one to decide if I would take them on.

"This isn't a usual mark," he replied, tone dry.

I quirked a brow and opened the folder. Both eyebrows dipped at once into a deep frown. "What…am I looking at?"

"These are your…colleagues…who were hired a few months ago to take out this mark."

"Amateur," I said, flipping past police photos of a dead body. "Amateur. Ama…" I paused on the fourth photograph. "Well, now he's a professional."

" Was a professional," Randal stated.

I continued flipping through, ignoring Randal's comment. There'd been a bullet hole in the man's forehead. I didn't need it explained that he was dead. Pausing on a page, I sighed. "That's Bob."

"Yeah. We thought for sure he was going to take out this mark."

"That explains why he never called me back," I muttered. The assassin community wasn't a large one. You got to know the main players pretty quickly. And if you were smart, you were friendly with them. Too many assumed you'd be a loner if you were an assassin. And while that was generally right, everyone ended up needing help at one point or another.

"And Jackson." I flipped between the two pages. "Wait. Where's Jackson's head?" I'd recognized him by his garish clothes and the heavy ring he always wore on his left pinky. It'd taken me a moment to realize his head was missing.

"Next page."

I shot him a look then moved on to the following page. "Oh. I see. It's on Bob's body here." I turned the folder lengthwise and studied it like a thirteen-year-old boy might study a Playboy. In the first picture Jackson's head was placed next to his body unlike this second one. Bob's was missing from all the photographs. Had the police never found it? "Did they go after the mark together?"

"No. He must have held onto one until he killed the other. Then…" He waved a hand at the folder.

"He's creative," I murmured. Closing the folder, I tossed it onto his desk. "I'll give him that." I crossed my arms over my chest. "How can I help you, Mr. Randal?"

"Just Randal." He cocked his head. "Rumor is you're creative in the way you get your marks."

I had to be. It wasn't easy being a female assassin. My targets were typically men so they were usually much stronger than me, and quite often had military training. Luckily, I was born from good stock. At five-eleven, I beat the national average for men's height and I had a good solid build that I upkept with constant cardio and weight lifting. I was a master in Krav Maga and other ground fighting techniques, and my aim with a gun was only outmatched by my aim with my throwing knives. There weren't many women in this profession, but I'd earned my stellar reputation through hard work and a lot of bloodshed.

"Haven't missed a mark yet," I told him.

He leaned back in his chair. "Then my client would like to hire you."

"Great." I gave him a toothy smile. The offer amount had been given to me along with the meeting location, so I knew how much they were willing to pay. It was a big part of the reason I'd come today. You didn't pass up this kind of money. The other reason I was going to take the job was the challenge. To bag a mark everyone else was failing to take out? Yeah, I wanted to play. "You going to tell me anything about this guy? Or do I have to figure it out on my own?"

His eyes narrowed as he slid a second folder my way. "You'll have a limited amount of time. Then we'll be sending more after him…and you, if you fail."

Snorting in derision, I grabbed the file folder and stood. "Nobody rushes me. I require half the deposit up front. You'll owe the second half upon his death."

He reached over, never breaking my stare, and tapped a button on his computer. My phone buzzed in my pocket. "Lovely doing business with you, Rand."

"It's Randal," he said from between clenched teeth, but I was already walking out of his office.

It was important to keep men like that on their toes. My fingers itched to open the file I was holding and delve into the man who'd managed to kill no less than seven of the world's assassins. I couldn't say the best, because at least half were second-rate, but the other half… They were also good at their jobs. I was going to need to tread carefully or I'd end up in the morgue next to them.

I wasn't sure what kind of man had the ability to take out so many professional killers, but I was about to find out.