Reaper's Embrace

The room was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that makes you feel like you're being watched. I could feel the presence of the men around me, but I only had eyes for one-Santa. The man I'd left for dead once. Apparently, he didn't learn his lesson.

His breathing was heavy, eyes burning with rage. The knife in his hand reflected the low light, but I didn't flinch. I was too busy watching him-waiting for his next move.

Then, he lunged at me, a beast on a mission. The knife gleamed as it cut through the air, aiming for my throat.

I let out a short laugh. "Quite kinky, aren't we?" I dodged him easily, stepping aside with an almost bored grace.

He spun around, fury painting his face as he attacked again. This time, I didn't move to avoid him. I moved to end him.

I let him get close, close enough for me to smell the sweat on his skin. His knife was just inches from my face. But before it could make contact, I reached out-fast, too fast for him to react-and slammed my hand into his chest.

His breath hitched as my fingers dug into his ribs, finding the spot I needed. My hand wrapped around his heart, and I ripped it out, still pulsing, still warm.

His eyes were wide with disbelief as he stumbled back, blood spilling from his chest. I dropped the heart to the floor, watching it land with a sickening squelch.

"I do hate bad manners," I muttered, the blood on my hands already starting to dry.

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Verena Knight. An assassin.
Julius Thorne. Her assistant.
What happens next?