Mia turned corner on the abandoned construction site, and her steps faltered at the sight of a sleek black limousine parked across the street. She and the vehicle were the only occupants of the barren avenue, but the space felt narrow, near claustrophobic. In the dim dusk light, the skeleton of the building cast long shadows across the vehicle.

The limousine flashed its headlights, and Mia’s breath caught in her throat.

Her plan was audacious. Some would even call it stupid, reckless, suicidal. But she had worked her ass off for this opportunity and she was going to see it through, even if it killed her.

Mia’s fingers stroked the silver bracelet on her left wrist. She had to find them; she needed answers.

When her hand dropped, her resolve solidified.

She had been to the south side of the city a hundred times, walking on dark and deserted streets just like this one, but she had never been this anxious, but she had never been this anxious. With many fighting and self-defense classes under her belt, she often felt well equipped. The bulletproof vest under her button-up and her hidden weapons provided further reassurance she’d have a flicker of possibility to escape alive if her employer decided he wanted her dead.

The headlights flashed again.

With a deep breath, she wiped her palms on her pants and approached the limousine, a determined look on her face. Her heart beat in rhythm with her footsteps, as if a war drum was accompanying her brief march.

A man stepped out of the car and stood in her way. He had plump cheeks and a suit two sizes too small that threatened to split at the seams. Wisps of cigar smoke twisted out of the open door as he held out his hand.

“Your weapons.”

Lips pressed together, she removed the Glock 19 from her waistband and handed it to him, grip first.

They scrutinized each other, unblinking.

“I’m not stupid,” he said.

The silence stretched.

“Do you want in or not?”

At that, she reached into her boot and pulled out a dagger, biting back a glare while she extended it to him, blade first.

He stepped aside with a grunt and remained posted on the walkway.

As she climbed in, an intense wave of alcohol and cologne invaded her nostrils. After years spent working in a bar, it evoked an almost comforting familiarity.

The man sitting inside had his eyes trained on her. He gestured for her to sit across from him as the door closed behind her, cutting off the influx of fresh air.

She was finally face to face with her employer. Alberto Testa, head of the Testas, the small, but growing, mafia that had taken over her city in the past years. No one knew where they came from, but everyone found out they meant business when all the smaller fish that refused to associate with them disappeared over night.

The space was tight, and Mia pressed firmly against the seat’s backrest so her knees wouldn’t brush against his. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light.

Testa was not what she expected. He was in his late twenties, with blond hair and a tailored dark blue suit. She’d heard the Don was a handsome man—and the one in front of her was—but never anything about blond hair.

One minute passed, and then two, and neither of them said anything. Mia shifted in her seat and the leather creaked under her, betraying her weakness.

She already knew the Don was a risky first employer, but if she ever wanted to be noticed, she needed to cause some ripples. Besides, she needed the money.

“I’m Bryn Walker,” she relented.

He didn’t reply.

Mia swallowed and tried again, her image eroding with every word she spoke. “You requested my services.”

Another beat of silence passed before the man finally breathed in. “So you’re the wannabe bounty hunter.”

She replied with a sharp nod. Even with the thinly veiled insult, at least they were getting somewhere.

He reached inside his breast pocket and handed her a wrinkled picture of a white woman around her age—mid-twenties—with short, auburn hair and blue eyes. She seemed vaguely familiar, but if Mia had met her before, it was a brief encounter.

“That is your mark, Lara Milbourne,” he said. “She worked in distribution for us, but failed to pay back our share on the latest batch. Our last contact with her was two weeks ago.”

Distribution. Fancy word for drug dealing.

“You are to bring her to the warehouse within seventy-two hours.”

His voice and words were perfectly composed, but Mia sensed a tension coiling just under the surface.

She swallowed hard and nodded. It wasn’t much time, but it was something.

“I can do this job for you, Mr. Testa.”

He scoffed. “Alberto Testa has more important matters to attend to than dealing with the likes of you.”

Mia’s jaw clenched as she prayed for the heat in her blood not to reach her ears, or even worse, her cheeks. Asshole.

“I want her alive.”

Her eyebrows twitched. She was a bounty hunter, not a hitwoman.

“Her address is on the back of the picture. It has already been checked, but you might find something we didn’t.” He said the next words casually, “Do not bother showing your face around again if you come without her.”

An icy shiver spiked down her spine and Mia fought to keep her expression neutral, gritting her teeth as she stared back at him.

He tapped on the window and the door opened for her.

She stepped out and retrieved her weapons, then she adjusted her jacket with shaky fingers as she put distance between her and her now-official employer. It was final. She’d been commissioned! And all it took was a ten-minute meeting, though it felt much longer than that. She ignored the weakness in her knees, fished out her phone and typed in the address.

Time to pay Lara Milbourne a visit.