Page 57 of Assassin: Part 1

“Fine.”

I hang up and hand Oleg his phone back. “Find out who the rat is. Whoever is giving information to Simeon Belov is going to send a very important message back to him to remind him just who he’s trying to play with.”

Zakhar’s eyes brighten for the first time tonight, and he rubs his hands together. “Oh, goody. I’m on it.” He practically skips out the door, but I turn my attention to Oleg, whose stony expression matches my own.

“This is one giant clusterfuck.” Oleg sighs.

I nod. Before I can reply, my phone signals a new message. I pick it up and freeze. “Shit.”

Oleg peers around me to look at my phone, his eyes widening. “Fuck.”

I stare at the message and try to decide if this is about to make my life better or worse. Or how they got a new number on my burner so fast. No option is a good one.

Chameleon: I hope you are far more reasonable to deal with than your unfortunate partner in this endeavor, Mr. Romanov. More instructions will follow shortly. Be ready.

22

LANE

THE NEXT DAY

“We need to go over this again,” Reaper snaps, shoving the papers in front of them away. They thrust a hand through their hair. “There are a lot of things that will go wrong if we don’t get this right. My guys are already nervous about this entire situation, and I’m not about to let them down by getting them killed.”

“You’re worrying over nothing,” Hunter snaps. “We have a plan. We have contingencies on contingencies. This is going to go fine.”

“You have the easiest fucking job out of anyone,” Reaper seethes, their expression stony. Hunter’s temper rises, hardening their eyes and reddening their face.

Enforcer sits and watches them, unfazed. Hell, even I’m not surprised. Hunter and Reaper are opposite in everything, and this is no different. Hunter likes to move fast, get the result finished, while Reaper is cautious and untrusting.

It also makes for contentious discussions. Like tonight.

I glance at my phone. We have another four hours before we land, which means we have lots of time to get this ironed out. If it’s up to me, I’ll tell them what we’re doing and they’ll live with it, but for now, I’ll let them work it out themselves.

The last thing I need is the two of them at each other’s throats when we need this to go perfectly.

“You call taking out these assholes before you and your guys go in to clean it all out and the kids to safety easy?” Hunter demands. “That’s way fucking harder. Do you know how hard it’s going to be to make sure nothing gets by us? How accurate we have to be?”

“I know all that, but you do this shit all the time. It’s the kind of shit you live for.”

I tune them out as they go back and forth, focusing again on the papers in front of me.

Reaper is right on one front. There can be no mistakes. This has to go exactly right, or we’re all dead, and I have far too many things left to do to allow that outcome.

For being the one to run and teach at the school, Pasha Antonov is stupidly predictable. He has abandoned all his own teachings because he thinks he’s untouchable. And perhaps to most, he is, but not to me.

It’s taken years for me to find the small things he does that might make this impossible, of putting myself in positions I never plan to again.

Well, except for the right price, of course. I may never need a single dollar again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want more.

I study the blueprints I pulled from the public records. The building looks simple and a standard construction, but few know what it’s hiding. The hidden entrances and exits, the rooms no one can hear you scream or cry from, no matter how loud you get. Or the booby traps to ensure no one gets in or out.

A small part of me feels bad for the kids who were desperate to attempt it in the beginning. They were caught and dragged back, or blown to smithereens in a few of the later cases when the Butcher wanted to make a point. The other parts of me call them stupid. After the first few, they should have known better.

Hell, by then, any of us would have put them out of their misery if they’d asked. Cold? Yes. Cruel? Probably. But it was better than being blown up or brought back and beaten to death.

Well, it’s done now. Anyone going to those schools knows better the moment they step inside. There is no escaping.

I flip through the folder, finding the other pages I need. The ones that list the current students and the incoming ones. The next group will be delivered in less than three months. Five-year-olds and older children from families that have been sent. The older ones who were a sacrifice to gain favor with a man who will eventually try to overthrow them. To take everything they’ve built for themselves.