I just had to target a man who hardly ever left his penthouse. This would have been much easier if he’d decided to vacation somewhere else.
The trunk popped open with the practiced motion of a man who’d done this too many times. The cases were black, lined in foam, heavy with quite a few things: a suppressed rifle wrapped in a soft tarp, a compact pistol in its own molded shell, climbing gear that smelled faintly of rubber and oil, a coil of low-stretch line. I didn’t need the latter today as I had a key pass into the building across the street from his. Thankfully, it was under construction. I pulled a bright orange vest out and slipped my arms through before covering my head with a hard hat. It would keep my face covered in case there were any cameras Benson missed in the building—it wasn’t likely, but it made me feel better.
If I wasn’t in the big city, I would have brought the folder with me, even though I didn’t need it. I’d memorized everything in it.
James Fairchild, 68 years old. 3 daughters, 2 sons. Everyone was on vacation except for James. He hardly left his home; he was paranoid. For good reason, he did have a hit on him, after all.
The case that hid my gun looked like it belonged to construction tools. I adjusted my grip on it as I walked to the building across the way. I scanned my pass on the outside of the looming, dark building, and the door unlocked for me.
Thank God for Benson.
The building smelled like fresh mortar and motor oil. The security guard hardly looked up as I passed by. I had the uniform and thelook.He was only posted there to make sure looters, the homeless, and thieves stayed gone. No one accounted for assassins. I gave him a name and a nod, and he didn’t even bother looking down at the sheet in his lap. I didn’t know if the name would be on there, but it didn’t seem to matter. This man wasn’t paid to care that much. His eyes were glossed over from lack of sleep, and there was a thick stubble on his face. I was sure he was minutes away from falling asleep, which was more than good for me. I didn’t want my face to be memorable. It was one reason I donned dark brown contacts. My eyes would give me away every time. They’d been called arctic cold before. Another risk I wouldn’t take.
Most of the building was finished, but two floors up from James Fairchild’s. The windows had been mysteriously busted out a few weeks ago and hadn’t been prioritized to be fixed yet. The room was empty and cold. The city was a loud buzz below as I began my quick and minimal set-up. I easedmy rifle out of the foam in the fake case and rolled my head on my shoulders.
Traffic hummed and horns blasted below as I went over my mag and all of my bullets, one by one. You could never be too safe or careful. I tried my best to avoid the broken glass as I got down and adjusted my stance. I braced the stock against the concrete lip, let the weight settle into my shoulder, and peered into the scope. Two floors down, a lamp clicked on, just like it did every night. I wasn’t usually one for theatrics, but I thought it was fitting to kill him with his dick in the cookie jar.
I watched as he leaned back in his chair, and a woman came into the picture. It wasn’t his wife, that was certain. She was young, probably younger than his own daughters. My lips curled in disgust. I wondered if this was one of his trafficking victims or someone random. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting a clean shot.
My finger found the pad of the trigger and settled there as I waited for the right moment. I’d considered killing her with him. What a mess that would make, him dead with his mistress seated on him—dead too. But as I overthought it, I knew it wasn’t right. I wasn’t hired to kill her, and I didn’t know if she was an innocent in all of this.
I watched in disgust as the mistress made a show of rolling a condom on him. The lithe blonde danced around him for a minute before climbing on his lap and mounting herself. I couldn’t hear a single thing besides the traffic below, but I knew each moan she let out was over-dramatized, and it made my stomach churn. I wanted to turn away.I didn’t want to watch as she pressed her handful-sized breasts in his face and rode him like she had something to lose. I didn’t want to do any of this, but unfortunately, sometimes this was all a part of the job. So instead of looking away, I lined up the shot, took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. Clean through the back of the head. One of my best shots.
Even with the suppressor on the end of my rifle, the sound of the gun still sounded like soft thunder as it echoed around the room. The sounds of construction above and below me drowned it out for the most part, but I still needed to be careful because I could hear the screaming from across the street now. With careful, gloved hands, I picked up the bullet casings from the ground and began packing my gun away as quickly as possible.
I didn’t need to look back to know he was dead. I was that good. This was New York City; it would take a minute for the police and ambulance to make it. I had a little bit of time. So I made sure to ride the elevator up a few floors to catch some of the other construction workers leaving for the night.
We all filed out of the building together, and no one spared us a glance. I wasn’t leaving alone, so no cameras would pick me up individually, and my van was parked where cameras weren’t posted. Thankfully, by some stroke of luck, the construction workers all walked down the same way. When I broke away to get to my van, no one even looked in my direction.
Chapter Nine
Poppy
The only reasonI came home with the other girls was because I was tired. I thought for sure Ivan would come back, and the rejection of it all stung more than I wanted to admit. My mother and sisters were still in the Hamptons, and my brothers were probably out at one of the new clubs.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me stayin’ with you for a few days?” Amelia asked as we rode the elevator up to my penthouse.
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “I think it’ll be fun like when we were in grade school. I mean, if you’d rather go stay in a hotel, be my guest.”
Amelia didn’t have a place in the city and was invited to one of the biggest events of the spring. One of the Cristof boys was getting married, and we were actually both invited to the bridal shower, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go. Now that I knew that Amelia was staying with me, there was absolutely no way I was going to get out of it.
Except when the elevator doors dinged open, all we could hear was screaming. Amelia’s lips turned down into a deep frown as we hesitantly got out of the lift and walked to the only door on this floor.
My mother hadn’t come home early, had she? My stomach dropped as the screaming and crying only grew louder as we got closer.
With shaking hands, I unlocked the front door and pushed it open with my foot.
“Oh my God!” A woman shrieked as we opened the door. “The police aren’t here yet?”
Amelia made a face. “Maybe I should have stayed in a hotel.”
I sighed as I pushed past her and moved through the entryway of my parents’ home. “What’s going on?”
A blonde woman wearing an oversized button-down rounded the corner in the kitchen. Red coated her hands and most of her face. Mascara ran in thick dark tracks down her cheeks as she trembled like a leaf. I couldn’t focus on anything but the red coating her body. Was that blood?
“Who are you?”
Her mouth gaped open as she tried to form a sentence. A sob broke through instead. “The police. I called them. It’s been forever.”
