Page 44 of Breaking Rosalind
“Having it with you?”
She chuckles. “Text me when you’re ready.”
Gunther’s office is at the other side of a boardroom where he holds weekly briefings for each project our section has on its roster. Twelve assassins report directly to him, and I’m technically the thirteenth because I’m stuck as an analyst.
Analysts are recruits who have survived the Moirai Academy’s deadly curriculum. Most are between eighteen and twenty-one. At the grand old age of twenty-eight, I’m not just a relic but a cautionary tale.
Because of Gunther’s mistreatment, only a handful of assassins speak to me directly. Most whisper about me when I’m in earshot, warning others not to screw up in their assignments in case they end up indebted, like Rosalind.
I pass the boardroom table and open the door, not bothering to knock. Gunther leans back in his desk chair, his face illuminated by a lamp. His brows rise the tiniest fraction, showing both his surprise and the effects of his Botox.
He grins. “Rosalind, take a seat.”
“I’ll stand.” I fold my arms across my chest. “What’s this I hear about you telling everyone I got promoted overseas? Is that the standard excuse you give when operatives get captured and you leave them for dead?”
His smile melts. “How did you escape?”
“Does it matter? What I want to know is why I’m over three hundred thousand in debt? Why didn’t you approve my medical expenses?”
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he clears his throat, his gaze darting to the door. “I didn’t think you would escape the Montesano brothers.”
“Why wouldn’t I when I saved Axel from an impossible situation and completed the mission he failed?”
Gunther’s shoulders rise, and his gaze drops to his desk. “Axel’s report says otherwise.”
“Can you blame him for lying when you’ve kept a skilled assassin in debt for a decade? He probably thought you’d fine him too for his failure. Now, it turns out that every promotion is actually a cover up for someone we won’t rescue, and?—”
“Enough.” He waves his hand. “Tell me what you want.”
“You’re going to write off my debts.”
He huffs. “Impossible. HQ will decapitate me for making fraudulent transactions.”
“Then revisit all the money I didn’t get for contributing to a kill, starting with Axel. Claw back my bonuses, take me off probation, and give me an assignment.”
Jaw tightening, he screws his eyes shut and inhales through flared nostrils. “I don’t have the authority?—”
I slam a palm on his desk, making him flinch. “You’re just punishing me for rejecting you when I was a new recruit.”
“And you’re just going to skip over stealing an armored car, a grenade launcher, guns, and ammunition?” he asks with a sneer.
“Which I would have paid off in a few kills if I hadn’t been demoted,” I snarl.
He sighs, exhausted from having this conversation every time we meet. For the first time, he can’t lord his power over me and smirk because I finally have some dirt that will stick.
If the assassins knew the true death rate, everyone who’s already built up a nest egg would leave. Gunther wouldn’t be able to recruit enough impressionable young people to make up for the mass exodus, and the smaller firms that value their employees would get all the work.
“Fine,” he growls. “As of today, you are restored to your former rank.”
“What about my debts?”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. “You can pay them off with future bonuses.”
“And all the past bonuses I should have earned?”
“Claw those back yourself by convincing your colleagues to do the right thing.” He folds his arms across his chest.
My stomach sinks. Thanks to Gunther’s machinations, that’s never going to happen. “I need you to sign off my medical bills and the costs of replacing everything I lost while gathering information on the Montesano mansion.”