7. Lyssa

I increasemy grip on Scarlett’s wrist and lean forward, watching the emotional journey crossing her face with interest. Her eyes get wider and wider as I lean in closer and closer, our faces inches apart.

“Who are you?” I ask with interest.

Scarlett’s delicate hand claws at mine, trying to get me to release her, but she might as well save her strength.

Tears well up in her eyes again as she gasps out, “Lyssa, please…” That quavering, innocent tone pulls at something deep within me, some forgotten seedling of tenderness I thought withered long ago.

But her manipulative act only fuels my suspicion.

“Who are you?” I ask again. “Or should I ask, who sent you? The Sokolovs?” Maybe that woman-in-peril act at the bar went further than I realized. Maybe it was a setup from the start.

With my free hand, I grab a fistful of her thick, luscious hair and yank her head back, baring the pale column of her throat. This close, I can see the wild thrum of her pulse, smell the warm, enticing scent of her skin and fear.

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” I murmur. “I want the truth. Now.” The truth about who she really is, what she wants with me. And I won’t be satisfied until I’ve stripped away every fiction to reveal the truth at her core…

Scarlett’s hazel eyes narrow, all semblance of fragility evaporating like a wisp of smoke. Then she strikes, her other hand slamming toward my solar plexus with skilled precision. I twist aside just in time, so her blow goes glancing off my ribs, but she stabs her fingers into the wound on my arm next. I release her hair and pull back, while she breaks free, leaping out of her seat and staggering back a few steps.

I stand slowly, never taking my eyes off her. Her chest heaves as she gulps in air.

She’s afraid.

Good.

But that delicious edge of fear only whets my appetite.

I grin as she squares up in a fighting stance—one foot forward, knees bent, fists raised in a classic Muay Thai guard. “You want the truth?” she says, and her voice only has the slightest quiver in it. Good for her. “I’m the one who’s been targeting your Syndicate.”

My smile only gets wider. “You? Some silly little girl got the jump on my people? I don’t believe it.”

I do. That’s the thing. I can see it, how she worked it. But I want to hear it from her lips before I kill her.

Her mouth twists angrily. “I’m not some silly little girl. I’m the thing that’s going to put an end to you…Wolf.”

Such certainty, such conviction… Oh, it’s designed to chill me, but all it does is stoke my excitement.

“Is that so?” I circle her slowly, letting my eyes roam over the toned curves of her body, the elegant arch of her leg as she shifts her stance, ready to strike or evade.

Someone has taught her well.

But she’s nowhere near as experienced as I am. And experience makes all the difference. I keep her talking while I size her up. “If you wanted me, why didn’t you come for me? Why kill everyone but me?”

“I wanted to draw you out,” she says. “Took a while. But you came looking for me in the end—didn’t you?”

“Tell me how you did it,” I say softly. “If you really did. You must be a seasoned warrior to take out so many of us.”

She proudly lifts her chin, simultaneously angelic and severe. “The same way I did it with you, acted like some damsel in distress. You assholes always take the bait if you think you can get the jump on an easy target. I pretended I needed some big strong man to protect me, and it was that easy to get them all alone. They were too busy watching for witnesses to watch me.”

I tilt my head to one side. “Do you think I was planning to—how did you put it—’get the jump on you’ last night? Honey, I might be a killer, but I’m very fucking expensive, and I sure as hell don’t work for free. None of us do.” I’m getting pissed, now. “If any men from the Syndicate helped you back to your car, it’s because they wanted to help. You murdered them for their manners.”

“It wasn’t murder,” she shoots back. “It was justice. Same as I’m about to deliver to you!”

She’s literally crazy. That’s the only explanation. Time to put this to bed. “Then why don’t you stop holding back and come at me?”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. Scarlett launches herself at me with a scream, all her ferocity and wrath unleashed, but that’s exactly what makes her so easy to deflect. I block her first few strikes easily, reveling in her fire—so much more entertaining than the meek, beguiling act—and I wonder with regret if I should have bedded her again before killing her.

We trade blows, her fists and feet a whirlwind blur as she pulls back her focus and begins to attack with more control. Knees, elbows, deceptive feints and blistering combination strikes…she fights with an almost gymnastic style that admittedly keeps me on my toes, blocking and parrying and slipping away from her onslaught.

I let her vent her fury, staying on the defensive as I analyze her technique, committing every tell to memory. She’s fast, I’ll give her that, with a sprinter’s athleticism that allows her to launch a blitz of acrobatic kicks and strikes.

But there are unforgivable gaps, far too many opportunities for a counterstrike if I was so inclined.

And I really shouldn’t play with my prey.

So I catch her next spinning heel kick and use her momentum against her, yanking her off-balance and flinging her down on the bed in the corner. She tries to roll away but I pounce, straddling her and pinning her wrists above her head with mine in an inexorable vice.

I loom over her and consider my options. One final, decisive strike is all it’ll take…

But something stays my hand, some strange impulse that has me simply laughing down at her flushed, snarling face instead. “Not bad,” I pant, delighting in the trembling anger radiating through her body, pinned and helpless beneath me. “You’ve got some skills. More than I expected from a vigilante brat.”

A rich bloom of color stains those high, sculpted cheekbones as Scarlett bucks and writhes beneath me. But I’ve got her locked down tight, my thighs squeezing hard around her torso.

“Fuck you,” she spits. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to skin you alive for what you did to my brother.”

Brother? What is she talking about? The one who was killed in a mugging? I’ve never?—

Before I can demand an explanation, Scarlett suddenly thrusts her face toward mine. For a wild, crazy second, I think she’s actually trying to kiss me, unleashing some final act of desperation…

And I let my hands slacken on her wrists, just a little.

It’s all she needs. She twists, reaches out, and then a cloud of smoke flows into my face, filling my lungs with a thick, burning fog. I reel away, coughing and choking as the mist stings my eyes. I lash out blindly, but my swinging fists connect only with empty air as Scarlett slips free of my hold.

“You sneaky little bitch!” I cough out, swiping at the dissipating haze as I blink away tears.

The sound of a window opening makes me whirl around just in time to see Scarlett’s silhouette vanish through the open window, out onto the fire escape.

I surge across the room and fling myself out the window, onto the fire escape, hoping for fresh air as well as a glimpse of my quarry. Leaning perilously out over the precipice, I scan the quiet street three floors and see her disappearing around the corner at the end of the alley.

There are a score of streets she could be running down by the time I get there, or she might even have a getaway vehicle—or a partner. No point burning my lungs any worse by chasing her down.

With a growl of mingled frustration and admiration, I climb back into the apartment and kick at the nearest piece of furniture, a spindly side table that cracks satisfyingly against the wall. The smoke is clearing fast, but, needing air still, I double over and brace my hands on my knees, trying to make sense of the chaos that just erupted in here.

That lying, manipulative little…

No wonder I was so instantly, viscerally drawn to her.

For a fleeting moment, a thrill rushes through me at the thought of finally finding an equal…another apex predator.

But Scarlett—whoever she is—is fucking crazy. That’s all there is to it. Accusing me of some misdeed against her brother? I’ve never mugged anyone in my life, not even when Hadria and I were trying to scrape together a few dollars for a can of soup while we were on the streets.

Okay, maybe I quietly relieved a few people of their wallets when things got really bad. And if anyone tried to jump us, it was only fair for us to take a fine from them afterward. But I’ve never threatened anyone specifically for money.

Which probably means—if Scarlett isn’t just making all this shit up—that her brother wasn’t some innocent. If he was a mark for the Syndicate, for me, then he must have been doing something wrong, because one of Hadria’s founding rules was that we don’t hurt innocents.

And if anyone ever comes to us asking for that? We hurt them, instead.

And hell, Scarlett isn’t some innocent, either. She’s been trained. Not by someone as good as me, but not much far off.

I set about exploring the apartment thoroughly, and find nothing of note. No personal information. Not even any photographs or tech that I could break into. This place, this apartment, has been staged.

She doesn’t live here, not in her normal life.

So just who the hell is this Scarlett, I wonder again as I give up my search—if that even is her real name? One thing’s for certain: this isn’t over, not even close. If she thinks she can slip through the cracks and escape me, she’s got another thing coming.

A blade. Or a bullet.

Either way, I’m taking her down for her crimes against the Syndicate.