AVA

Ava

She had an innocent face and a smile that made men look twice. Her hips belonged to a goddess of death—when she swayed them, jaws dropped and hands reached for what lay between. Her name was Ava. Just Ava. An orphan pulled from the rubble-strewn streets of Tripoli after the civil war gutted Libya.

Trained by one of the deadliest factions fighting for control of the oil-soaked nation, Ava had become a blade in silk. Tonight, she stood at a street corner beside a neon-lit nightclub, skirt barely there, top clinging like a second skin.

A convoy of black SUVs rumbled past. One braked hard, tires hissing. The rear window of the lead vehicle slid down a few inches. A thick hand beckoned.

Ava approached, hips rolling.

“Yes?”

“Get in. Now,” Abdul Rahman barked, voice deep as a war drum, edged with malice.

She slid into the leather seat. The convoy surged forward. His hand landed on her thigh, crawling upward. She caught his wrist inches from her heat.

“Not here,” she purred. “Payment first.”

He snarled, fist half-raised—then stopped. He wanted beauty, not blood on her face. A crooked smile cracked his beard.

“How much?”

“A thousand. Five now, five after.”

He dropped a fat wad of bills into her palm.

“There’ll be more if you please me.”

The hotel suite was one of the few still standing in the war-torn city—gaudy chandeliers, bulletproof glass, the stink of cigar smoke and fear. Abdul Rahman didn’t wait. He yanked Ava close, tearing at her clothes like a starving man. Beneath the flimsy fabric, her body was a weapon he couldn’t wait to claim. His breath hitched; he nearly spent himself just from the sight.

Ava played the part—soft moans, arched back, giving as good as she got. But her mind was ice.

She rolled atop him, hips grinding slow. His eyes fluttered shut, a guttural moan escaping.

Now.

Her hand slipped to her hair. A thin dagger flashed—

Steel met steel.

Abdul Rahman’s hand snapped up, impossibly fast, knocking the blade across the room. His backhand followed, cracking across her jaw. Ava flew off the bed, crashing to the carpet.

He rose, naked and towering, a curved Bedouin sword already in his grip—pulled from beneath the mattress the moment they’d entered.

“You’re not the first, bitch,” he growled. “I always know.”

Ava wiped blood from her lip, eyes locked on the blade.

“You knew—and you still brought me here?”

His laugh was gravel on steel. “I wanted to fuck you before I killed you. Shame to waste such beauty.”

He lunged.

Ava dodged, but not fast enough. The sword arced down. She twisted—steel kissed flesh. A searing line opened across her left breast, slicing clean through the nipple. Blood spilled hot and bright.

She hissed, clutching the wound, but didn’t scream.

Not yet.

Abdul Rahman grinned as he licked her blood from his sword. “This is just a taste of the pudding,” he croaked, teeth stained crimson. “I’m going to carve you one piece at a time, and you will rue the day you accepted this job.”

Ava clutched her bleeding breast, eyes darting for a weapon. The only blade in reach was her dagger—three strides away, past the arc of his sword. She couldn’t close the gap without being split in two, so she stalled.

“You call yourself a warlord,” she spat, “yet you flinch when a woman stands unarmed before you. Coward.”

“Call me whatever you want,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t care. All that matters is seeing you dead.”

“Sure—if you can kill me with that little twig swinging like a pendulum.”

“Hey! You don’t insult my—”

She laughed. “Only a fool complains before he dies.”

“Ha!” He barked—then she moved.

Ava feinted a right hook. Surprise flared in his eyes; he jerked his head left. Her left boot was already there. The kick cracked against his skull, stunning him. The sword clattered free.

Abdul reeled, vision sparking. A fist smashed his nose; cartilage crunched. He dropped to his knees with a groan.

“You’re the fool,” Ava growled. She snatched the sword and swung. One clean arc severed his head.

“I’m trained to kill, not talk,” she muttered, yanking his jacket free. She strode to the window and vanished into the night.