Poison

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I hated the girl.

I hated everything about her, from her painfully thin body to her big, wounded eyes to her absolute eagerness to do whatever my father, Fletcher Lane, told her to.

Most especially, I hated the fact that Dad had decided to train her to be an assassin instead of me.

The girl set a triple chocolate milkshake down on the counter in front of me. “Here you go, Finn.”

Her voice was soft, just like everything else about her. Soft brown hair, soft gray eyes, soft, small body. Even her clothes were soft and big and baggy and utterly forgettable. She never raised her voice, she never interrupted a conversation, she never did anything the least bit dangerous or naughty or risky. It was as if she was determined to draw as little attention to herself as possible and blend into the background no matter what.

She annoyed the hell out of me.

I didn’t even say thanks as I stuck a straw into the frothy concoction and started sucking down the milkshake.

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