“The same way you know I won’t kill you,” she says.

I don’t bother to hide my surprise that she admitted this. I’m not the only one who doles out empty threats, but this one in particular she wraps around her like a safety blanket. To acknowledge that she’ll never have her revenge … this is another turn of events I have to mull over once the time is right.

However, the only reason she would admit this now is because she wants to be taken seriously.

I can give her that.

“Alright,” I say, already groping along the nightstand for my phone. “I’ll inform my men of the threat, and I’ll arrange a morning flight for us.”

And I do.

Perhaps that’s why we never make it out as scheduled.

CHAPTER 23

Serenity

SOMETHING WAKES ME up. I can only hear a phantom echo of the sound, but it’s enough to have me sliding out of bed and pulling on my gear. Habit propels me into action.

Montes wakes just as I’m lacing my boots over my pants.

“Serenity, what are you doing?”

I must seem insane, getting hurriedly dressed as I am for no apparent reason. Just another difference between soldiers and civilians. I’ve been programmed to expect an attack.

Before I respond, I hear it. It’s just a distant, dull thump, like someone sinking a dart into a dart board, but silencers also make that noise. It’s so subtle that I almost discount it.

Almost.

“Get dressed,” I say. “Quickly. Something you can run in. And keep the lights off.”

Montes doesn’t argue. As he’s pulling on his clothes, I grab my gun from beneath my pillow and shove all my spare bullets into my pockets.

I recognize the sound of a jet in the distance. That’s what woke me up, I realize. Before I even recognized the purr of its engine, I heard enough of its whine to set me on edge.

I cock my head as I listen to it. It’s getting closer.

Shit.

Heading to the nearest window, I peer out. Shadows still cloak most of the yard, but I can make out one of the king’s soldiers. He’s splayed out on his stomach, near the edge of the property, and as I watch, two dark forms grab his legs and drag him into the thick foliage.

“Montes, your men are getting slaughtered. I think the enemy is approaching from all sides. Call whoever you need to.” But I fear we are alone.

He swears. He’s just finishing lacing up his own shoes when he swipes his phone and places a call.

War’s taught me to be paranoid. I’m maladaptive in the king’s decadent castle, but out here, out here I know how to survive.

That familiar, rising excitement begins to flow through my veins. I think I am addicted to this sensation. My mortality never means so much as it does now, when it could be seconds away from snuffing out.

Life and death are violent lovers, and today they do battle.

Moving to the sliding glass door, I return to watching our surroundings. I can see figures below, but I’m afraid to shoot when it’s still so dark out. It won’t stay that way for long; the sun’s rising, and if we can survive the next few minutes, I’ll be able to tell friend from foe enough to shoot.

“Montes, grab a gun if you have one,” I say.

He nods, distracted. He’s already on the phone, but judging by his tone, assistance won’t be coming in time.

He covers the receiver. “I wasn’t able to get ahold of my head of security.” Montes’s top guard, who’s stationed here with us, wouldn’t miss a call for anything short of death.

I’m sure death is exactly what befell him.

I hear another thump, and I turn my attention back to the sliding glass door. Two soldiers creep towards the house bearing guns; another man lays sprawled across the grass, a dark pool of blood widening around him.

They’re closing in, and we’re running out of time.

Opening the sliding glass door, I slip out onto the balcony and study the two approaching men. They wear helmets and Kevlar, which means I’ll have to hit their necks if I want a kill shot. And as soon as I shoot, they’re going to know my exact location.

The jet I heard earlier is almost overhead. This isn’t some routine flight path. This is an orchestrated assassination.

We’re dead if I do nothing.

Breathing steadily in and out, I clear my mind and line up my sights.

Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire.

The shots pierce the silence. Blood sprays as one of the bullets finds its mark; the other buries itself into the second man’s vest.

Several things happen all at once. Montes shouts for me, enemy soldiers hiding in the dense shrubs bordering the property now run forward, and the king’s men—what’s left of them—scramble to meet an enemy that’s snuck up on them.

I duck and run for the bedroom. Behind me I hear shots ping against the house’s outer walls as that second soldier returns fire.

I’ve barely made it around our four-poster bed when a violent wind blows my hair, and the jet’s purring engine shakes the house.

I spin just in time to face down the aircraft lowering itself to hover outside our balcony. I stare at it, and for a single second the melee quiets.

This is the moment I meet my maker.

“Serenity!”

Montes tackles me to the ground just as the glass sliding doors shatter, and the pilot opens fire on us. A barrage of bullets lights up the room. Furniture is shredded in seconds. Feathers and cloth dance in the air, and the wooden dresser splinters as the jet unloads its ammunition into the room. In seconds the walls are riddled with holes.