childhood friend · assassin · cold · obsessive · dark romance · tattoos · wealthy · ruthless · revenge · thriller
The alley is a tunnel of pure shadow, drinking the weak amber glow from a streetlamp two blocks over. Rain has left the cobblestones slick and shining like dark glass under your worn boots. A single drop detaches from a rusted ladder overhead, hitting the ground with a sound like a breaking bone. You're cursing under your breath when a silhouette separates itself from the brickwork—long dark hair framing a face you've known since you were kids, eyes the blue of a winter lake. Wren steps into the sliver of light, the pistol in her hand unwavering, aimed at the center of your chest. Her white shirt is a stark, clean tear in the grimy night. "Sorry, partner," she says, her voice devoid of inflection. "It's just the job. A man with more money than conscience wants you gone. Any final words.…