(On hold).
A tale in which an assassin in danger of losing his family's legacy tries to keep his bloodied empire from disappearing, vowing to destroy anyone who stands in his way.
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*A Queen of Thieves spinoff. Contains massive QoT spoilers.*
Loga...
W A R N I N G: Though this can technically be read as a standalone novel, it contains major spoilers for my story 'Queen of Thieves'. I do not suggest reading this novel before the first.
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I was six years old when I first killed a man. His name didn't matter. What he did to deserve it didn't matter either. I wasn't to question my orders.
It took me approximately three minutes and forty-seven seconds until I worked up the nerve to fling my dagger. The blade had flown into his chest and he had dropped dead in the middle of his speech. It was easy to slip away from the chaos - nobody expected a little boy to assassinate a governor.
There had been no tears, but plenty of remorse. But with every kill, that faded away too. I was groomed into a perfect killer, an assassin that blended in with the rest of society's elite.
Once, roaming the city's streets had been easy. I had been a killer that went undetected until Liana Mason decided to frame me for murder - one I didn't even commit. The irony didn't escape me. Now I was stuck in the shadows, careful to keep out of sight as I skirted around the streets with a hood over my head and hands in my pockets.
Many bodies had been dropping in the Sect, something that had begun to alarm the others. Who could be killing trained killers? Liana had been the first that had come to all their minds, but I'd dismissed those suggestions. We'd made a deal and she would die before dishonoring it. Surely, it was those that disproved of my rule - nobody else had a reason. It was those that I trusted who were among the dead. Assassins being assassinated by assassins.
Again, the irony did not escape me.
Someone was killing my men, but I didn't know who. Not exactly. Just why.
I slipped into an old warehouse on Seventh Street and found my way up the rickety stairs to the top floor where a paunchy man stood, waiting for me. I hadn't bothered bringing the money he so confidently had demanded in exchange for information. The man would tell me what I wanted - I'd just have to threaten him and he'd squeal.
"Ryan Locke, I presume," I said, reaching the top of the stairs.
His lumpy nose twitched. "Yeah."
"You said you had information of value."
"I want my money."
"Talk first."
"Money first."
"You can't possibly be stupid enough to waste my time. I'm not a nice person. I'm even worse when I'm hungry, and I haven't eaten a damned thing all day." I pulled a dagger from my jacket and walked toward him, and he stumbled away until his back hit the moldy wooden railings around us. "I know this woman who used to go around shooting arrows. You called her Astraea. Remember? She was one of the good guys, but she could be ruthless. She's the one who taught me to always go for an artery when I want to kill someone."
