CHAPTER SIX

The weight of Marcus’ words sank into me like a stone dropped into a deep, dark well. You’re going to kill. The phrase kept playing in my head, disbelief gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. Marcus—the man who trained me to defend myself, who taught me true power lies in restraint—was ordering a hit?

I barely had time to process it before the man and woman nodded curtly, pocketed their photos, and turned to leave. Panic surged through me. If they came out now, they’d see me, no question. My heart pounded as I searched for a place to hide, but there wasn't time.

The door creaked open.

I ducked into the shadow of a nearby rack holding training equipment, crouching low and pressing myself against the wall. My hands shook as I peeked out from between the dumbbells. The man walked out first, his boots heavy on the tile floor, followed by the woman, Leah. She moved with the coiled grace of a predator, her fingers brushing the gun at her back as she stopped suddenly, tilting her head like she’d heard something.

I held my breath, my chest burning, willing myself to disappear.

“Leah, come on,” the man said, stopping when her eyes began scanning the room.

“Hmm, I feel like I heard something.”

“It’s probably your paranoia. Let’s go. We have a mission to complete.”

She hesitated a moment longer but eventually followed him, still looking unconvinced. Their footsteps faded down the hall, and only then did I dare exhale.

Scrambling to my feet, I turned toward Marcus’ office. The door was still ajar, and I leaned in just enough to see him sitting at his desk, elbows resting on the surface, face hidden behind his hands. He looked tired—older—but when he spoke, his voice was sharp.

“You can come in now, Osborn. No use hiding.”

The breath caught in my throat again. My cover was blown, but how? I hadn’t made a sound.

Slowly, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, my arms stiff at my sides. Marcus didn’t look up immediately, but when he did, his eyes bore into me like twin blades.

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s too early for training.”

“I—I wanted to talk to you about something, so I came early.”

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “Couldn’t it have waited another hour?”

I forced a shrug, trying to sound casual. “I guess,”

For a moment, he studied me, his face unreadable. Then he sighed and gestured to the chair across from him.

“Sit.”

I complied.

“I promise you, Osborn, it’s not what you think.”

“Then explain.”

“You wouldn’t understand. Why don’t we skip to why you came here?.”

I shook my head. “Not until you explain.”

He gave me a small smile. “You’ve always been too curious for your own good.” Rising, he moved toward the door. “Let’s talk while we clean. The academy opens in a few hours, and this may take a while.”

Reluctantly, I followed him. “You know you can’t avoid this conversation, right?”

He chuckled. “I know.”

***

I wiped the floors while Marcus set up the training equipment, speaking as he worked.

“The academy—what we do here—it’s not just about teaching self-defense. Sometimes, protecting means eliminating threats before they become unstoppable. We train people for those kinds of jobs.”

“So, you’re training killers?” I asked, my voice sharp.

“No, not everyone becomes an assassin,” he replied. “I watch my students closely. I know who has the guts for it.”

I scoffed. “What if you’re wrong? What if someone acts tough but can’t handle the reality of taking a life?”

Marcus paused, taking a seat on a bench. “It’s more complicated than that. I observe, I test, and I choose carefully. I’ve only been wrong a handful of times.”

My mind flashed to the young fighters, picturing them standing over a lifeless body. I cringed.

“Marcus, these are kids. They shouldn’t have blood on their hands.”

“Hey, I promise you, it’s not as bad as you think. Most times, the targets deserve it, and sometimes, no blood is spilled at all.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Most times? What do you mean most times?”

He sighed, rubbing his bald head. “I’d like to say we only go after the bad guys, but to be honest, I don’t know who the bad guys are sometimes. I just follow orders and get my money. It’s all complicated, that's why I never wanted you to find out.”

I laughed bitterly, taking a step back. “I’m not a kid, Marcus. I can't believe you’ve been hiding this from me.”

“I know…I’m sorry, Osborn.”

I searched his face, trying to reconcile this version of him with the man I trusted. “Marcus..” My voice cracked, and I hated how small I sounded. “At least tell me the last person you just ordered a hit on  deserves it.” 

He stood up, holding my gaze. “I swear, Osborn, they deserve it. I was even happy to give the order.”

“Who?”

He shook his head, a pitiable expression on his face. “I can’t say. All clients are kept confidential, and only those assigned the jobs get to know their names.”

“Fine.” I straightened, swallowing hard. “Then I want in.”

Marcus froze. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. You pay your assassins, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“I want in.” I said again, cutting him short.

“You don’t understand, Osborn.”

“I’m pretty sure I do. You order a hit, I deliver and then I get paid.”

He stared at me, his jaw tightening. “It’s not as simple as you think.”

“Then start me with something small—something that just involves protection.”

“Osborn, I..”

I moved closer to him, almost closing the distance between us so he could see the desperation on my face. “Please, Marcus. I need this. I have debts and a deadline to meet.”

Marcus sighed for the upteenth time. “I don’t want to regret this—”

“You won't,” I said quickly. “I’m a good fighter. Just give me a chance.”

He threw his head back in resignation. “Fine, Osborn. Even if I wanted to help, I can’t. I only have one protection mission left, and the client specifically asked for a male-only for the role. You know I'm not that desperate.”

“But I am.”

“No. You’re crazy.”

“So I’ve been told. But I’ve also heard I’m quite lacking in some areas. A little makeup and some baggy clothes will do the trick.” I smirked.