Page 16 of Thrown to the Wolves

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.

CHAPTER 8

Scarlett

My feet pound against the pavement as I race through dimly-lit back alleyways. Heart thundering, I weave between grimy dumpsters and piles of discarded refuse, desperate to put distance between me…

And Lyssa.

Those cold brown eyes, filled with a terrifying blend of amusement and irritation as she pinned me down…

I should have killed her as soon as I got her back into the apartment tonight. Hell, I should have killed her last night, stuck her full of that syringe when she wasn’t looking and watched her die in agony then and there. Instead I just snuck a tracker into the gash on her arm and sewed it in.

Something has been holding me back.

Is she right? Am I just a silly little girl playing at being an assassin? It’s not like I haven’t thought that myself sometimes. And I know I’m not like her, not someone for whom evil has become mundane.

I have a flash of her body, all that toned muscle and all those scars, pressed up against mine?—

No. That’s got nothing to do with anything.

Shaking my head to dispel the treacherous thoughts, I force myself to focus on escape. Up ahead, the harsh glare of streetlights beckons from the main road. I need to ditch this area before Lyssa hits the streets hunting for me.

A burly man crossing the sidewalk is talking on his phone. He doesn’t see me coming until it’s too late. I barrel into him, snatching the phone from his hand mid-conversation.

“Hey! What the fu?—”

I don’t stick around to hear the rest, sprinting away as his curses echo behind me. With trembling fingers, I hang up on his conversation and punch in the secure number I have drilled into my mind.

“Extraction. Now.” I hiss the words, my breath ragged from more than just exertion. There’s a brief pause before Ariadne’s smooth alto crackles through the line.

“Location?”

I rattle off the cross-streets, praying she’ll be swift and knowing there’s always a chance she just won’t show up at all. Daring a glance around the corner I just rounded, I see no immediate signs of pursuit. But I know that could change at any moment if I’m not careful. The familiar fear of failure, of disappointing Grandmother, churns in my gut. I try to disappear into the shadows, cursing the bright red top I’m wearing.

At least I chose flats tonight instead of heels.

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