Apparently, Iâm not emotionally stable enough to be an assassin. They say that Iâm too short-tempered, lack restraint, and that Iâm downright unhinged. Given that I poisoned my seventh-grade chemistry teacher for not recognizing my genius, Iâm inclined to agree.
That was one of the times when I was glad that my father was a hitman. When I came home and proudly told them what I had done, he went back there and covered it up so that it just looked like a tragic accident instead. But after that, my parents decided that I was ill-suited to follow in my fatherâs footsteps to attend Blackwater University and become a contract killer. So the burden of upholding our familyâs great legacy has fallen solely on my brotherâs shoulders.
And as I look down at his bruised and unconscious body, I canât decide whether I want to kill the person who did this to him or kill him for not telling me that he was in danger.
âI donât understand,â my mother says, tearing her gaze from Connor and turning it to the nurse standing next to the bed.
âMrs. Smithââ she begins.
âDo not Mrs. Smith me,â Mom snaps. Her pale green eyes flash with anger as she stabs a hand towards where Connor is lying sedated. âHow could this have happened? This is a school for hitmen! People whose entire skillset involves hurting others. Surely there must be rules preventing the students from murdering each other before their education here is done!â
An apologetic look drifts across the nurseâs freckled face. âWell, yes, of course there are. Butââ
âThen how come my son is lying here, looking like he was beaten within an inch of his life? Weâre lucky that nothing is broken! His whole future could have been destroyed. So what, in Godâs name, happened?â
âWell, he, uhmâ¦â She clears her throat and glances around the rest of the universityâs hospital wing, as if sheâs afraid to be overheard. Then her worried brown eyes shift back to us. âAccording to witnesses, your son almost shot Eli Hunter during a training exercise.â
My mom goes unnaturally pale. Narrowing my eyes, I frown at her since I donât understand what caused the reaction. But the nurse keeps speaking.
âSo we suspect that this was payback for that,â she finishes.
âThen why hasnât anyone done anything about it?â I ask, scowling at her.
Uncertainty swirls in her eyes, and she looks at me as if she doesnât even understand the question. âBecause itâs Eli Hunter.â
âWhat does that even mean? Who the hell is Eli Hunter?â
Both the nurse and my mom whip their gazes around as if theyâre afraid that someone heard my outburst. Then Mom slides hard eyes to me and shakes her head.
âRaina,â she says, her voice full of quiet admonishment. âEnough.â
With great effort, I bite my tongue to stop my angry retort. Crossing my arms, I settle for a scowl instead.
Since my parents decided nine years ago that I shouldnât become an assassin, they have kept me firmly out of that world. I know that my fatherâs side of the family has been hitmen for generations and that our family is one of the great ones, or we were before my dad died at least, but thatâs practically all I know about this bloody world of theirs.
âIs there any risk of⦠continued targeting?â Mom asks, shooting a pointed look towards Connorâs battered body.
The nurse gives her a helpless look that I think was supposed to be sympathetic. âUnfortunately, yes. According to rumors, the Hunter brothers have been overheard saying that they will make your sonâs life a living hell this entire year.â
Mom runs a hand over her face and then through her blond hair. âGod help us.â Desperation floods her features as she looks back at the nurse again. âThis is his senior year. He needs to do well. We need him to do well, otherwiseâ¦â
She trails off.
Deciding that Iâve heard enough, I spin on my heel and stalk right out of the hospital wing.
âRaina!â Mom calls after me.
But I donât stop. And she doesnât go after me. She thinks that Iâm being emotionally unstable again and that Iâm storming out to throw an angry tantrum. Technically, I know that I am a bit unhinged. But sometimes I just wish that people would stop assuming that I never think anything through.
Even though I donât understand everything about this world and this university, I understand enough to know what I need to do now.
Following the signs, I make my way out of the hospital wing and through the academyâs administrative building until I reach the admissionâs office. Undecorated concrete walls stare me down as I pass through the corridors.
As opposed to other elite universities, this one wasnât built to be beautiful. It was built to be practical. Isolated on a stretch of flat grasslands, itâs far enough away from the nearest town that no one will hear the gunshots that no doubt always echo from this sprawling complex of buildings. There is also a forest and a lake close by, which I assume are used for various training exercises. But I donât know for certain, since Connorâs explanations of what exactly he studies here have always been very vague.
I push open the metal door that is labeled as the admissionâs office. Itâs a small space. Only one person is sitting behind a desk in front of me. A woman, who looks to be in her forties, with brown hair and blue eyes. Light shines in from the windows behind, painting her athletic body with sharp contrasts.
âHello,â she says. There is a slight frown on her face as she looks at me. âCan I help you?â
âYes. I would like to enroll in Blackwater University.â
A surprised laugh escapes her throat.
I just continue staring at her.
When she realizes that Iâm dead serious, she clears her throat and then folds her hands on her desk before giving me a patient look. âIâm afraid thatâs impossible. The semester started three weeks ago, and you need to submit an application before that.â
I reach into the bag slung over my shoulder. Her hand immediately shoots down to something just underneath the desk. Surprise flickers through me when I realize that she most likely reached for a gun. Does she really think that Iâm going to pull out a gun from my bag and shoot her because she denied my request? But then again, this is a school for hitmen, after all.
Holding her gaze with amused eyes, I pull out my wallet instead. She relaxes and returns her hand to the desk. While fishing out my ID, I close the distance between us and then place the card in front of her.
âIâm Harvey Smithâs daughter,â I announce. âIâm a legacy student, which means that you canât refuse me.â
Surprise flashes across her face, and she raises her eyebrows while looking between me and the ID card. Then she gives me a slow nod. âOne second while I verify that.â
I shrug while she presumably opens some kind of file on her computer to check that the information from my ID matches whatever their registers say. The fact that Iâm even physically present in this room right now already means that Iâve been vetted and cleared to walk through the front gates, but I suppose she has to check again anyway.
âAlright, everything seems to be in order,â she says eventually. She gives me a little smile as she looks up from her computer and hands my card back. âIâve registered you in the database now, and I will inform the instructors shortly, so you can start tomorrow.â
âGreat.â
âAs for the housing situationâ¦â She grimaces apologetically. âLegacy students usually get first pick of the freestanding houses. However, since the semester has already started, all of those are already occupied. The best I can do is a dorm room.â
âThatâs fine.â
The clacking of her keyboard fills the silence as she does something else on her computer for another minute. I let my gaze drift towards the window where the parking lot is visible. It holds a mix of incredibly expensive cars and really shitty ones that look like they belong in a scrapyard. A testament to the fact that far from all aspiring hitmen come from money.
Iâm snapped back to the present by the noise of a printer whirring. Sliding my gaze back to the woman before me, I watch as she takes the papers that came out of the printer and then puts a black keycard on top of the pile before handing it all to me.
âAlright, weâre all set,â she says while I take the bundle. âThatâs the keycard to your dorm and the various training areas. And Iâve also printed out your schedule and a map and any other information you might need.â
âThank you,â I say as I stuff the papers and keycard into my bag. Then I flick another glance towards the window. âWhich car belongs to Eli Hunter?â
She blinks at me, clearly stunned by my question. âWhy?â
âIâve heard that heâs not very⦠forgiving. So I want to make sure that I donât park next to him and accidentally scratch his paint when I open my car door.â
âOh.â Understanding floods her face. She pushes up from her desk and moves over to the window. âYou see those four black Range Rovers over there?â
I walk up so that Iâm standing next to her. Sweeping my gaze over the parking lot, I find the incredibly expensive-looking cars that sheâs pointing at. âYes.â
âThose belong to the Hunters. From left to right, they belong to Eli, Rico, Kaden, and Jace.â
Since Iâm all out of self-restraint for the day, I roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. Of course all four of them drive fucking Range Rovers.
But instead of commenting on that, I thank the very helpful woman and make my way out of her office. I glance at my phone, but my mom still hasnât tried to call me, so I just slide it back into my bag and set course for the parking lot.
Warm September winds whirl between the gray concrete buildings and tug at my hair as I stride out of the door and across the pavement. Since itâs only ten oâclock in the morning, the students are presumably all busy with their various classes. And that means that the parking lot is completely deserted.
I pull my keys out of my bag and twirl them in my hand as I stroll straight towards Eliâs car. Bright sunlight shines down from the clear blue sky, making the light reflect against the gleaming black surface.
With a wicked grin on my lips, I stop on the driverâs side of his spotless Range Rover and crouch down.
And then I use my keys to carve Small Dick Energy into the side of his car.