The dark, abandoned building reeked of something rotten, a metallic, fishy odor drifting thick in the air as blood soaked the cracked concrete floor. A woman dressed head-to-toe in black rolled across the ground, dodging the bullet that sliced past her ear. Pain lanced through her shoulder when her palm pressed against it; fresh blood oozed between her fingers.
She exhaled sharply. She couldn't give up—not now. She had someone to protect.
Meg wasn't in the States. She was in Italy, hunting down the kind of monsters people pretended didn't exist.
And yes, she had lied to Yvienna. Her daughter knew nothing about her parents' past. They promised to raise her like any other ordinary child—one whose parents didn't wield knives for a living, or carry the weight of a profession soaked in crimson.
Meg refused to watch her daughter walk the same path—a road littered with corpses and regret.
"Just f*cking give up, Meg!" someone roared from the shadows.
