Page 14 of The Pretty Savage

But the joke was on him—I rarely ever slept in, so waking up in time for classes wouldn't be a problem.

"The cafeteria is open twenty-four hours, and once we're done here, you'll be taken there to eat. If you have any questions or concerns, your floor handler will be able to help you with those. You'll find all the necessary information about that inside as well."

"Awesome," I murmured, taking the book in my hands.

I felt his eyes on my face as I flipped through the pages that contained the history of the Academy, the location of the admin building, dorms, the fighting pit, and the main building on campus, and just when I thought he would keep his mouth shut, he started talking.

"You know," he murmured, leaning back in his chair, "it is quite curious that they would let someone like you attend this place." I looked up at him, my eyebrow arched, and I prayed to all that was holy that he wouldn't say something idiotic—again. "You don't exactly have any experience." I almost laughed at that. "You're just starting out with your father, and yet, you're here. Why's that?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, smirking. "Maybe I'm a natural talent."

"I highly doubt it," he mumbled, straightening up. "Look, I'm gonna be frank with you, Ms. Konstantinova." And here we go. "I take my job seriously, and the people who come here, they take their duties even more seriously, which is why this institution has been able to withstand the time and all the politics messing up our world. I won't allow anyone to destroy what we have so carefully built."

"Are you threatening me, Dean Jansen?" I smiled sweetly, resting my elbows on the desk. He might have been scary in his time, but he should've known not to underestimate anyone, especially not me. I could understand why he might try to, given that he had no idea what I was capable of, but that was the mistake many people made when they first met me.

That was the mistake Christian Michaels made when he picked me up on the street nine years ago, thinking he could use me just like he used all those other kids that had disappeared. But the joke, as always, was on him.

He was my first mission.

My first kill.

There were moments after my assignments when I would feel guilty over the life lost and this game I played, but I never felt remorse over the death of that man. That fucking predator.

Andries stammered, taken aback by my sudden change in behavior. Alena's words were well meant, but they wouldn't help me to survive this world.

"Listen." I chuckled, looking down at the files he had spread around, most of them about me and my heritage. "You don't know me, Andries."

"It's—"

"No." I shook my head, interrupting him. "Your name is whatever the fuck I want it to be, you get it, right?" I looked him straight in the eye, slowly removing the smile from my face. "You might think you know me. You might think one look at those little papers in front of you is going to give you the full picture of who I am and what I'm capable of, but I can tell you now," I leaned over the table, standing up, the tone of my voice dropping, "I am capable of things you could only dream of, old man." His eyes widened, and I assumed that not many people spoke to him this way.

Hell, I was terrified of being here, because I didn't want to screw up, but more so—I didn't want to let Tyler down. Then this idiot in front of me had to go and open his big, snobby mouth, pissing me off when I was already tired and cranky.

But I wouldn't let anyone, least of all some washed-out, pathetic man, talk to me this way. Judging me before knowing me, just because I don't have some fancy last name.

"You know better than anyone that underestimating your opponent could only bring both a world of pain and slow agonizing death."

"A-Are you threatening me?" he asked, taken aback.

"Me?" I feigned innocence, sitting back in my chair. "I would never, Dean Jansen. I am just here to learn so that I can help my father and finally become a part of his world."

But that calculating look in his eyes told me he didn't believe a single word that came out of my mouth just now. I mean, why would Alena and Heinrich make it seem like I had no experience? I had been training for this since I was seven years old, far longer than most of the people here, and it would be obvious the moment we started with our combat classes. If their angle was to make me seem innocent and dainty, then they had the wrong girl, but hey—I guess that plan was out the window now, because I was pretty sure that meek and dainty little princesses did not speak this way.

"Now." I clapped, smiling brightly. "Do you have anything I should sign, or…?"

"Uh, yeah," he answered skeptically, looking at me as if he was seeing me for the first time. In all honesty, the picture they had attached to my profile that was made in one of their fancy programs looked like I puked rainbows on a daily basis. The smile, the sweet glint in my eyes, the tied back hair without the visible white lock, it definitely did not look like me. To make matters worse, I was wearing a pink shirt in that picture, and maybe that was why Andries Jansen expected someone a lot less, well, combative.

He pulled out three different papers and placed them in front of me, explaining what each of them was, but his eyes never left me. Unlike before, he was being careful now, and I hoped I hadn't already blown my cover. If I had, both Heinrich and Alena would kill me.

Unless someone at the Academy killed me before they could.

"Sign here." He pointed to the blank field at the bottom of the document explaining that I understood the risks and agreed to partake in any and all activities here at the Academy. "And here." He pointed to a different piece of paper that was a copy of a contract I had already received. I was not allowed to talk about anything that was happening here to anyone that wasn't part of the Academy, not even my parents. It was almost comical that they wanted to keep the semblance of some normalcy here, when this place was anything but.

I was filling out the emergency contact details, just in case, when a soft knock at the door pulled my attention away to the person standing at the entrance.

"Ah, Yolanda." Andries stood up, rounding the table to go toward her. "I'm so glad to see you." I bet you are. "Come in, come in," he said way too cheerfully, and I smirked, happy with the knowledge that he was obviously terrified of being all alone here with me. "This is Vega Konstantinova," he said, pointing at me. I dropped the pen down on the desk and stood up, coming closer to where he stood in the middle of the room.

The girl that had arrived couldn't have been much older than me—maybe twenty-one or twenty-two—and where my black hair and black clothes along with the permanent scowl on my face screamed to stay away from me, her bright smile, blonde, perfectly tied hair, and clothes so colorful it looked like a unicorn had threw up all over her, screamed that she wanted to be everyone's friend.

---