Slade had met plenty of mercenaries.

Professionals.

Killers.

Men and women who could pull a trigger without hesitation.

Those weren’t the ones he worried about.

The dangerous ones were the people who actually enjoyed it.

The new female recruit had an innocent appearance.

Quiet.

Polite.

Almost harmless.

But she’d spent more than enough time in psychiatric hospitals to make Slade pay attention.

She wasn’t unstable.

She was worse.

She was calculated.

On base, she was almost painfully normal.

On the field?

She became someone else.

Cold.

Methodical.

And disturbingly thorough.

She didn’t simply eliminate targets.

She took her time.

Every movement deliberate.

Every decision calculated.

There was no panic.

No hesitation.

No remorse.

Just satisfaction.

The first time Slade watched her work, even his veterans went quiet.

One recruit stared at the aftermath.

“Boss…”

Slade didn’t answer.

His eye remained fixed on her.

She calmly cleaned her weapon as though nothing unusual had happened.

The recruit swallowed.

“She actually enjoyed that.”

Slade finally looked toward him.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“That’s what you should be worried about.”

Because Slade had encountered psychopaths before.

Most were reckless.

Most were arrogant.

Most eventually made mistakes.

She wasn’t like that.

She was patient.

Disciplined.

Thorough.

And somehow, the sweetest-looking person on his team was also the one Slade would trust the least when the shooting started.

That was the kind of mercenary you kept an eye on.

Not because she might lose control—

But because she never did.