Page 1 of Pretty Little Assassin

PROLOGUE

Most sixteen-year-olds want chocolates for Valentine’s Day. Many want a kiss or red roses. I want something red, alright, but it’s definitely not flowers.

“Valentina, come here. Let me see you. We need you to be perfect for tonight.”

My stepfather’s voice causes a visceral reaction in me now, like an involuntary gag the moment you realize the sweet-sour smell down the hall is actually puke.

Tomorrow is the yearly prestigious Valentine’s gala. Tonight is a meeting with the alpha he’s promised me to. And since I’m an asset instead of a daughter, he’s decided to do a pre-inspection of the goods.

I walk out of my bedroom and stand at the end of the hallway. Eleven steps of polished marble between us, and a camera mounted high in the corner where the hall meets the stairs.

At the other side of that long floor, my stepdad stares back at me like a vulture. All the designer clothes and private school classes in the world can’t cover up the truth of what he is. And with my first heat hitting, he can smell it. He can practically taste the money he can make off of me. I can see the tiny pool of saliva forming at the corner of his mouth even from several feet away.

I’m his ticket to advancement, more wealth, leverage.

I’m still so pissed at my mom for leaving me with him.

“Perfect.” He grins, takes a few steps closer, and inspects the dress he bought for me to make sure it hugs every curve. “Now we just need to make sure you have the attitude to match.”

Six steps. Five.

I grimace and clench my fists at my sides as he walks closer. When he reaches out to sweep a strand of copper hair over my shoulder, his breath in my face makes me clench them harder.

He smells sickeningly musky, like a wet wolf who’s just rolled around in the carcass of its kill.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to being terrified. But I'm also prepared.

I let my shoulders drop. I let my chin tip down. I give him the exact posture he wants.

“When you meet my business partner, you will be polite and sharp. He likes his omegas soft, but not stupid. Don’t disappoint me.”

I smile at him, and this time I don’t even have to force it because I already intend to be sharp, very sharp.

I dip my head. “Of course.”

“Good. I knew you’d understand.”

When he turns to walk away, all I can think about is pulling his eyes out of his skull by their roots.

I remember him on the phone a few months ago, his voice slick with confidence through a door half closed, calling me the perfect little virgin omega that won’t be missed.

It’s the truest thing he’s ever said.

I will not be sold into a life I don’t want. I will not wind up face down in a bottle of gin like my mother either.

I intend to outlast them all.

Men like him mistake obedience for weakness. I plan to let him keep making that mistake.

As soon as I turn to go back in my room to peel off this god-awful dress, my stepdad calls out one more thing over his shoulder.

“Valentina, I wouldn’t get any ideas about this meeting.”

“Ideas?” I ask.

“Do not mess this up for me.” His eyes narrow in on me as if the hallway has suddenly turned into an interrogation room. “You will behave yourself and act like a good little omega. You will not decide to get suddenly headstrong.”

Suddenly? Ha!