Page 3 of Vengeful Lies

I throw Hawke the keys to the car. “You drive. I have some work to do.” I don’t even look up from my phone as I slip into the back seat, ready to find everything I can from that license plate. I will ruin this woman. She’s the perfect distraction, something I can destroy while I manage my fortune and responsibilities as the next head of the mafia in New York.

Someone must have put her up to this, and I’m about to discover who is daring enough to undermine my authority.

It doesn’t come as a surprise that the plate comes back as a fake.

The corner of my mouth tilts up, and I reply with a text of my own.

Me: We can play this cat-and-mouse game, sweetheart. But it will be a deadly game and your body will never be discovered.

I sign off with a kiss emoji.

CHAPTER 2

Jewel

But it will be a deadly game, blah, blah, blah.

Men like him make me sick, make me want to vomit all over his pompous, freshly-polished shoes.

I hate men like him the most.

Born into wealth.

Fed on power.

I bet they wouldn’t know a day of hard living even if it hit them in the face. And I take slight satisfaction in being the sledgehammer hitting him in the face right now.

“You know you just have to ask, right?” my roommate, Jenny, says as she takes the heels out of my hand.

“I planned to, but you weren’t here,” I reply with a nonchalant shrug.

“I have a phone, you know.” Fair point. “Next time, please just ask.”

“I’ll do my best,” I lie, and I can feel her gaze on my back as I head toward my room.

This apartment and my relationship with her are conveniences. Nothing more, nothing less. Jenny and I have lived together for a year now. And I made it my mission to be exactly what she was gossiping about over the phone with herfriend when I first moved in—scary and imposing. She’d only met me that day, but her assessment wasn’t far from the truth.

She works some admin job I couldn’t care less about. And she thinks I only work at a restaurant; she doesn’t know about my “contract” work. I’m very good at what I do, actually. I have very specific and unorthodox ways of making an income… and making people disappear.

In truth, I’m not much of a team player. And I don’t need to be.

I throw my phone on the bed and then peel the orange dress off as I mimic the tone of Mr. Asshole. I thought I’d throw in the “You don’t remember me, do you?” just to fuck with him.

There’s a startling truth to the beautifully unhinged man.

I will certainly be his demise.

Especially when I put a bullet between those ethereal eyes, just like my father taught me. Well, if he were alive now to realize the types of hit jobs I take, he might not be so comfortable with the powerful men I target. But, hey, a girl has to find her own way in life.

I slip into the shower, the scorching heat a comfort as I think about my father. Killing people was the only thing he really left me with the knowledge to do.

He was the one to teach me how to shoot, and when he died when I was fifteen, I never stopped. I took more than a liking to sniper rifles in particular, although I’m well-rounded in close combat, including knives and hand-to-hand. But my biggest thrill is through the scope of a sniper rifle because it challenges my accuracy, even though I never miss the mark.

My mother, who walked out on us when I was six and barely made reappearances in my life, hated my love for weapons. But at least when my father died, she gave me all of his guns. And to be honest, if she hadn’t, I would’ve stolen them anyway. I haven’t seen her since his funeral. She has what she once openly told mewas her “normal family.” Some fluffy white-picket-fence bullshit that I don’t entirely understand or care for. I’m good as long as I have my guns.

I lather the shampoo through my hair as I get ready for my day job waitressing because every multi-millionaire with blood money needs a cover story, right? Okay, so this definitely wasn’t the direction my father intended for me.

He was one of the best snipers for the Air Force—so a good guy. It was when he told me I was better than him that I knew I wanted to do some type of work around guns—just not the same as what he did. Discipline, rules, and restrictions in the armed forces would be too much for me, considering how much havoc I wreaked for my father, even under his strict guidance.

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