Page 2 of Twisted Fate

“Sit.” Kane gestures to the tobacco-colored leather chair across from him, standing to retrieve a bottle of aged Macallanfrom the bar cart. He pours two fingers into another cut-crystal glass and extends it out to me.

I’d prefer a gin cocktail right now, or maybe tequila. Something crisp and clear and strong to cut through the summer humidity. But this is Kane’s preference, and so I take it, sipping lightly. The whiskey burns a path down my throat, sending a faint shiver down my spine.

“It has a bite, doesn’t it?” Kane smiles, pleased, and sinks back down into his chair opposite me. I smile back, trying not to let my exhaustion show.

It’s ingrained in me, after years, to not want to disappoint him. I don’t truly believe he’d ever hurt me, but like an attack dog that wears the guise of a family pet, it’s better to be cautious.

“It’s good.” I take another sip of the whiskey. “The job is done, Kane. He’s dead. I verified the kill myself.”

“I’ve heard already.” Kane’s smile spreads across his face, warm and genuine. “You did well, Valentina. My little assassin. You’ve never failed a job. Never botched a kill. You make me proud, every time.”

Warmth spreads through me at his praise. A breeze washes through the wide windows, ruffling my hair, and I glance out toward the beach. Aqua-colored waves are crashing up onto the shore, soft and foamy, and my toes curl in my flats with the desire to go out and walk on the sand, to feel it crumbling under my feet. I want a break. A respite. I know what’s coming next—another assignment, another job, another kill. Just the thought makes my shoulders slump. After ten years, I’m exhausted.

I’m tired of hunting, tired of killing. The act itself has never bothered me. I’ve never felt any sympathy for the marks that Kane sends me after. Most of them are evil men in one way or another—scammers, liars, cheats. Men who made promises and failed to keep them. I’ve never asked too many questions or allowed myself to think too deeply about it all. Whateverthese men have done to put a target on their backs, it’s not my business.

My business is hitting the target, that’s all.

The one in Moscow was a banker. I don’t know who he crossed, for his name to slide across Kane’s desk. Only that it did, and that I was his end.

But Kane is a puppet master, and after ten years, I’m tired of having my strings pulled. I want more freedom. I want the possibility of a life that I might choose for myself.

I’m not even sure what that would look like, but I’ve begun to want to find out. To fantasize about possibilities that right now aren’t an option for me. Not when Kane holds all the cards.

“You look tired.” Kane’s voice cuts through my unspooling thoughts. “Perhaps you need a vacation.”

My gaze snaps to his. “It’s like you read my thoughts,” I say lightly, taking another burning sip of the whiskey. “I could use a vacation. Maybe an extended one. I was thinking?—”

Kane cuts me off. “What about a job that’s also a vacation?”

I laugh at that. “Those are mutually exclusive, Kane. You can’t be workingandon vacation.”

He chuckles, stretching in his chair like a pleased cat. “Why not?” He shrugs. “Look at my life. Every day, it’s as if I’m on vacation. I’m surrounded by the most beautiful beaches, in a city with thriving nightlife, the best food at my beck and call, and gorgeous women available to me whenever I please. Sure, I spend some hours of my day working, but it hardly feels like it in this setting.”

“Because you stay home.” I take another sip of the whiskey, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. The sunlight catches the cut crystal, sending off bright rays. “I go to places like Moscow, Kane. I sit in cramped hotel rooms with dirty showers and a bed that I pulled the blankets off of because I was afraid I was goingto get bedbugs, awake for twenty-one hours a day, watching for a sniper mark.”

Kane’s gaze sharpens. “Is this work not to your liking any longer, Valentina? Do I not keep you in fine enough style, give you enough comforts when you’re home, pay you well enough?”

I bite my lip. “It’s not that.” That’s true enough. My every comfort has always been attended to when I’m home. Kane pays me generously on top of that, and with no need to pay for rent or groceries or pretty much anything other than on whatever I please, my bank account and investment portfolios are egregiously fat. I don’t want for anything—except for the one thing he hasn’t given me yet.

“I want the information about my parents.” I lean forward, looking into Kane’s ice-blue eyes. “It’s time, Kane. It’s been ten years. You’ve raised me, taken care of me, made me the perfect weapon. And I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me, always. You’re right, there’s nothing that I want for when I’m home. But now I want tobehome. I want to know what happened to my parents, and…” I lick my lips nervously, tasting whiskey.

I lean back in my chair, trying to adopt Kane’s casual posture, his attitude of assuredness that no one will ever refuse him. “I want out.”

It’s as if the windows slam shut and an icy chill enters the room. Kane’s gaze hardens instantly, turning flinty in a way that sends a shudder down my spine. For the first time, I feel real fear in his presence. I haven’t just disappointed him—I’ve upset him.

“You had to know this was coming,” I say softly. “Tenyears, Kane. You just talked about how your life feels like a vacation because you live it here. How long did you travel and kill for before you wanted out? Before you wanted to pull the strings instead of being directed?”

Kane appraises me, taking a sip of his own drink. “Longer than ten years,” he says finally. “You don’t wish to work for me any longer, Valentina?”

I swallow hard. “I could do something else,” I suggest. “Train someone to take my place, or…” I trail off. “I need to know,” I say finally. “This has been hanging over my head all my life, Kane. My past—what happened to my parents. It’s kept me here, working for you. And it’s been a good life… but I want to know what else it could be. I want to travel for myself, without a mission telling me where to go. I want to not have to look over my shoulder constantly while I’m away, wondering if someone has picked up that I’m following them. Even… just getting to be home for a little while, without knowing that sooner rather than later, you’re going to send me off again.”

There’s a note of pleading in my last words that I wish I could shake off, but it’s there all the same.

“You’ve thought about this.” Kane regards me with that same flinty look, but it’s softened slightly. A good sign.

“All the way home from Moscow,” I confess.

Kane tips back his glass, finishing off the remainder of the whiskey before setting it aside. “You’re an exceptional assassin, Valentina. One of the best I’ve ever known. It would be difficult to let you go.”

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