Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) by Rebecca Grey (electric book reader TXT) 📕

or a similar cloth. It's thin enough to keep you cool, but cozy enough you could trap some real body heat in it. My cloak looks threadbare when he tries to tie it to his neck.

It's heavier and probably less likely to rip if I snag it on something. Without looking down at my fingers, I work to tie it to me. And if clothing can give you powers, this thing has just given me invisibility.

"I appreciate it." I smile, though it probably looks more like a sneer.

"See, and she even said something nice. That never happens." Marcello sighs happily.

That never happens. You'd think with the way he talks that we'd known each other for years. That he truly knew what my life was like and how I acted. He doesn't. And the way he phrases that question sends my hand right to my hidden weapons.

But instead of drawing their gaze to my habit of the movement, I point my other hand at the window. "Does this open?"

Hedda nods eagerly. Her chubby Orc fingers grab the small lip and she tugs it up harshly. It squeals from the movement and I actually do flinch. Not a good start to this little trip of mine. Faces turn up from the street as they catch the sound.

"Salud!" Hedda cheers out the window.

"Salud!" The men on the street, quite possibly my own crew, raise their glasses to Hedda before turning back to their own meaningless conversations.

Mumbling under my breath a string of curses most would find unfit for everyday use, I wave Hedda out of my way and lean out the window. Outside there is the slightest peak of roofing that juts off the building, an awning that covers the windows below. A few shingles still cling as a reminder of what the building had been at one time but no longer is, as many have fallen away.

This building and the next are separated by a large tree, the leaves as spotty as the shingles on the rooftops. If I make my way onto the awning, to the large branch that brushes against this building, then I can make my way onto the next rooftop. Honestly, this is the easy part. Anybody with any sense of balance can make the trip from this building to the next. If that is information that Hedda is aware, I can't be sure. And I'm not going to tell her either.

I curl my fingers around the windowsill, stepping one foot into the window itself and dangling the other just outside. From here I'm able to sit down on its ledge.

"Please," Marcello steps forward. "just be careful."

"Yeah, otherwise we are going to have to hunt down another teammate and I was hoping we'd have time to stay the night here!" Juilliard laughs. I'm sure he would like to stay the night here…

"Are there no prostitutes where you come from? Are you that deprived of sex?" I rotate so I can see the look on Juilliard's face as I talk. His smile falls. "I'm sure you and Marcello could have your own circle jerk if you needed it. Don't subject these poor women to whatever mediocre love making you plan to display tonight."

I don't wait a second more. Don't want to give him the chance to come up with something witty to say. Sometimes their something witty is more cutting toward the Human race than a clever phrase or a joke that could actually make you giggle. I have no interest in staying to hear whatever it is he chooses to come up with.

The drop is relatively short, but I catch myself softly, squatting as soon as I make the landing. Under the old shingles the top is sticky. Perhaps an old glue? It holds me to the surface well enough that I know it'll help keep my thin boots from slipping on its edge. That's the problem with my thin old boots. Once you've weathered away the tread on them you're bound to slip and slide all over the place. And I need a steady stance if I'm going to kill a man, or in this case, kidnap a girl.

No one from the street is looking my way. I even take a moment longer to examine every shadow and let my eyes adjust to their darkest depths. It's safe to move on. First, I give a short glance over my shoulder to find Marcello, Juilliard, and Hedda sticking their heads out and watching me.

"Close. The. Window," I hiss. And I ought to knock some sense into them when I get back, too. If they wanted me to do this for them the least they could do is not ruin it.

Hedda crinkles her nose and pulls them all back in with her. She closes the window and when it squeaks again I watch to see if anyone else turns this way. No one cares. I guess one cheers is good enough.

I lift Juilliard's hood to cover my features and the strands of my blonde hair that get picked up in the passing wind. The smokey scent of cigarette tobacco clings to the fabric. The smell gets stuck in my nose with every single breath I take as I stretch for the tree. As the limbs reach for Hedda's business, they grow thinner and less likely to carry my weight. I'm lucky though. A sturdy branch, at least sturdy enough, grows past the awning’s ledge. I test my weight on it. There is some give, but I'm certain that it'll hold.

I take the step. Each step is a risk, but without risks I'll never see victory. My boots curve with my feet, each knot in the limb is felt through the thin souls. My fingers wrap around smaller branches to steady me. I duck and weave, pulling Juilliard's cloak close out of habit so it doesn't catch. It hardly