“Yeah?” Victor chuckled, stepping closer until his shadow fell across her. He bent at the waist, eyes glinting. “Strange…because my intel says otherwise.” He pulled a folder from the table, flipping the pages with exaggerated care. “Night Owl. Real name: Scarlett Draven. Taken in by Ryan at sixteen. Since then, his deadliest weapon—”
His gaze flicked to the next line and a grin spread. “And his lover. You keep him warm at night, too, huh?”
Scarlett’s fury boiled over. She twisted hard, lashing out with a kick aimed at his chest.
Victor caught her ankle mid-air, twisted and slammed her down.
“Not bad,” he murmured, pressing closer, tone dropping to a rasp. “You’ve got skill, little cat. Such a waste that you worked for Ryan. Why not work for me instead?”
“Dream on.”
Scarlett spat the words, then grabbed the gun at his hip, yanked it free and pressed the barrel to his temple. She pulled the trigger—but only a hollow click answered.
Her stomach dropped. She pivoted and ran.
Victor straightened slowly, dusting his sleeve. His voice was cold steel.
“Catch her.”
***