Krone.
The former handler during Asher’s assassin days had decided Cora was preventing him from reaching his full potential and so had decided to kill her for Asher’s own good. He had almost succeeded.
He had abducted her from Asher’s apartment, locked her in a storage unit and sliced her open again and again to send a message to Asher, or just because he enjoyed watching her bleed.
She shuddered as she remembered. The way his fingers felt tangled in her hair, holding her steady, honestly just as unpleasant as the knife itself. The way he cackled in her ear every time she screamed. Enjoying her pain. Reveling in it. The monster who had tried to make Asher a monster just like him.
In her nightmare she watched that knife as it traced over her flesh. Watched blood bead up from the hollows of her vessels, and listened to Krone’s endless laughter, so uncanny she was instantly back in that storage unit. Instantly a prisoner again.
She shuddered again.
She had loved being a bounty hunter, loved bringing evil to justice, she had taken down men thrice her size and dragged them before the law like it was nothing, but nothing had prepared her for Krone’s elevated training and if Asher hadn’t saved her right in the nick of time, she would not have been able to save herself. Perhaps that was the worst part of all: she no longer felt confident in her ability to defend herself, and there was no way to prove otherwise while in hiding.
They were incognito, completely removed from the action their previous lives had held so much of. For this reason, she and Asher were both having trouble adjusting to their new lives. Their new monotonous lives of taking odd jobs under new names. No more bounty hunting for this pioneer, only under the table payments at a nail salon of all things. That was one thing Cora had never bothered with when planning her disguises unless the occasion truly called for it. She needed fancy nails when hunting some extravagant bounty. Rich bastards noticed everything and never would have believed she belonged at some expensive country club without elongated fake nails. She found they mostly got in the way when it came to weapon wielding, so she typically skimped on manicures. Yet now she was painting nails for tips. Irony was a cruel mistress.
They mostly hired her because she spoke English, most of the customers in that part of Copenhagen were tourists which was why Asher had chosen that location. “More foot traffic just like us, less likelihood of standing out,” he had said as if it were that simple and his company didn’t have people on their payroll specifically trained to hunt down deserters.
Especially deserters that killed their handlers.
“Excuse me?”
Cora looked up from the dish of murky mineral water designed to soften hands. She had been gazing at her own reflection for lord knew how long, just reliving the nightmare from the night before.
A plump older woman stood over her table with a polite All-American smile that was tight and didn’t touch her eyes, barely upturning her features. “Are you available?”
She was talking slow, as if Cora couldn’t understand her. “Yes, please take a seat.”
The woman’s eyes flashed with surprise, and some relief. “I wasn’t expecting someone from the United States,” she admitted as she sat with a plop. “You look to be about my daughter’s age, she moved here to study abroad. I’m just here to visit, but I admit, I am a little homesick and a manicure is the one thing my husband lets me treat myself to at home.”
“Well that’s why I’m here. What would you like?” Cora took the woman’s meaty hands and examined her nails.
“Hearts for Valentine’s Day,” Cora’s customer said cheerfully.
Valentine’s Day already? They had only been in Denmark for a few months but it was months spent obsessing over the past, it was almost a surprise to find that time had proceeded forward. What had happened to Halloween? Or Thanksgiving? Or Christmas for that matter. Not that it mattered, she hadn’t really done much to celebrate the holidays since her father was killed. No family, you know? The holidays are insufferable with them, but pretty bland without them. “Valentine’s Day manicure it is.”
The woman presented her barely chipped nails. Clearly, she was only before Cora for the experience.
“So, are you not enjoying your time in Denmark?”
“It’s more for young people,” the woman sighed. “I love your accent. New Jersey, right?”
Shit, Cora thought, keeping her expression passive. She had been trying to rid herself of her accent for this new identity. It would be one of the most defining characteristics about her that an assassin from The Company would be looking for. When faced with an innocent looking plump woman however, she hadn’t given it much thought and lowered her guard enough to sound like herself. Which is why this unsuspicious tourist was exactly the type of person The Company would send. Cora cleared her throat, “Yes, I moved here for college, just like your daughter.”
“Working your way through college then?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Cora lied as she massaged a salt scrub into the possible assassin’s hands.
“Do you ever get homesick too?”
Cora’s hands faltered a moment, then resumed their work. It was more than just fear she had been feeling. She was homesick, she realized. She missed her old life chasing down bad guys and making sure they received every legal punishment imaginable. She missed Brett and Trudy. She missed not having nightmares every night and not being suspicious of everyone. Homesick and haunted, not a great combination.
Cora finished the client’s nails, painting each a bright pink then stamping on red hearts while listening to her bland gossip and retrieving her small tip. That was one thing about tourists, most of them didn’t tip well. Cora sighed once the woman had left, staring back into the murky mineral water she had just replenished, when
