Raven awoke to the clear feeling of something stuck against her forehead. It wasn't the throbbing ache in her shoulder—that was still present, pulsating like a cranky memory of what had happened last night. No, this was something else. Cold. Metal. And obnoxiously insistent.
She opened one eye, squinting bleary-eyed into the dim room.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she growled.
Dante Voss, the notorious Calloway fixer, loomed above her with the barrel of a gun resting lightly against her temple.
"Morning, sunshine," he dryly replied.
Raven snorted, scrubbing the sleep from her eyes with her good hand. "Is this really necessary?"
Dante sidestepped the query. "Who are you?"
"Damn, no 'How are you doing?' No tea? Rude.
The gun did not budge. Neither did Dante's face.
"Fine. I'm Raven. And since I'm still breathing, I'm going to take a guess that you haven't yet come up with a reason to kill me."
Dante's jaw clenched. "Why do you know about me? And the Calloways?"
Raven yawned, her shoulder creaking in protest. "Because I'm nosy," she confessed. "And because people can't keep their mouths shut when they have a drink."
Dante narrowed his eyes. "That's not an answer."
She smirked. "It's the one you're getting."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. For a second, she thought he might actually pull the trigger just out of sheer frustration, but then he exhaled sharply and—finally—lowered the gun.
"You're more trouble than you're worth," he muttered.
"Flattered."
He turned aside, raking a hand through his already-disheveled hair. Raven seized the moment to take in the surroundings. The room was tiny, utilitarian, and possessed that ever-fascinating 'potential crime scene' feel. There was a battered couch, a table, and a partly open duffel bag stuffed with whatever weapons he'd been able to grab. Typical.
"Where exactly are we?" she asked, sitting up properly at last.
"A safe house."
Raven hummed, not believing him. "So… what happens now?"
Dante picked up his phone from the table, checking something before setting it down again. "Now, I figure out if keeping you alive was a mistake."
Raven delivered an over-the-top gasp. "You like having me around. Just admit it."
"I approve that you've not bled all over the floor. That's all I have to say."
"You're a horrible liar."
Dante rolled his eyes, but then his phone was buzzing. He answered it, looked at the screen, and cursed under his breath.
Raven sat forward. "Ooooh, bad news?
Dante didn't respond. He backed up, holding the phone against his ear. His voice was low, but strained. "Yeah… I know. No, I'm dealing with it." A hesitation. "No. She's alive."
Raven's eyebrow went up. She? As in her? The girl who was sitting right here?
Dante's face grew dark as the person on the other end shouted something. "I'll deal with it," he said, before slamming the phone down.
He spun to face her, shoulders clenched. "We have to go."
Raven frowned. "Oh great. Who's trying to kill me now?"
Dante did not appear to find the situation funny. "You, apparently."
She blinked. "Me?"
He picked up his duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder. "Someone hired someone to kill you. And whoever they are? They're willing to pay top dollar."
Raven gazed at him. "A hit. On me. But why?
Dante was already standing at the door, scanning the hallway. "That's what we're going to find out."
Raven groaned, flopping back against the couch. "You know, I was really hoping for a quiet morning."
Dante looked over his shoulder, flashing her a deadpan expression. "Too bad."
Raven let out a sigh. "Fine, but I get to choose the getaway car this time."
Dante shook his head. "No."
She grinned. "Scooty it is."
Dante pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbling something about regretting every life choice he'd ever made.