Lyla
I looked over, and my eyes narrowed, why did this man look familiar to me, and then it clicked when he smirked.
“Taskmaster Cain.”
Taskmaster Cain was my mentor’s mentor, you could say. My mother’s taskmaster. He gave her the missions for her assassins. His son was my mentor, and he took off the word Task. I met him once, when I was thirteen and my mother and Papa Roberto took me to the Underground. He was older than dirt, and I don’t know how he’s still alive. Okay, he was in his mid eighties, but still, what in the hell was he doing in an LOC compound? He wasn’t a biker, he must have been a friend of the club.
“Lyla Michaelson. You were trained to do things with stealth, not loud like this,” he said, waving his hand around.
“Things have changed under my leadership. I st
