When I got back, the Lexus was still there. I breathed a sigh of relief when I got inside and locked the door. Feeling safer, I poured myself a drink and tried to calm my nerves as I decided to keep an eye on the window.
two
a killer war
War
Slipping between buildings, I moved swiftly with silent steps, mirroring my target's pace, desperate to remain unseen. Clutching my Glock at my side, I ducked behind a dumpster as he pivoted, his paranoia spiking—likely fueled by drugs or a premonition of being followed. Either way, his erratic behavior was delaying the fucking job and throwing me off schedule.
Still crouched, I screwed on the silencer, switching to plan B, eager to finish this shit, deliver the proof to E, collect my payment, and meet my girl at the club for a drink.
Watching intently, he pulled out a crack baggie, packed a small rock into the glass stem between his dirty fingers, and took a hit, oblivious to his surroundings.
Fucking crackhead.
After a few puffs from his pipe, he resumed walking, constantly glancing over his shoulder. Fuck it, I thought. Raising my gun, I flipped off the safety, placed my finger on the trigger, and aimed for the back of his head. With a single, perfectly centered shot, he dropped, a soft pop echoing in the dead of night.
Approaching him, I watched as his blood stained the white snow beneath his head, and after a few involuntary twitches, the crackhead went completely fucking still. Getting rid of the body was always the part I hated most. Messy, time-consuming, and hard fucking work.
Taking a life was a piece of cake, especially for an ex-marine. I’d done my time overseas—in plenty of wars—and now I was home fighting worse ones. But it was all part of the job, and you didn't cross the boss. He’d make your ass disappear, ensuring your body was never found.
After handling the scene and cleaning up my mess, I hit the road, heading to my boss's house, the crackhead’s body sunk at the bottom of an ice-covered lake in Manhattan—minus his hands. You steal from E, he’d cut off your hands—or have someone else cut them off—so this motherfucker must have stolen something from him. I lit my blunt and tried to relax, cruising casually as the snow intensified, blanketing the city and almost erasing all visibility.
Pulling up to the snow-covered, dark mansion, I parked and got out, straightening my black jacket as I walked through the doors. After being patted down and searched, E's bodyguard led me to his office, not a word exchanged.
“Warrin, is that blood on your hands?” E asked as I sat across his desk, here only for my pay.
“Quite observant, I see,” I retorted, a mocking tone in my voice.
“I take it you did the job?” he asked, retrieving an envelope from his desk.
“Yeah, he’s dead, buried, and everything's taken care of," I said with confidence.
E nodded, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He slid the envelope across the desk, the sound of it scraping against the wood echoing in the silence. I snatched it quickly, eager to finish this exchange and disappear back into the night.
“But there’s something else,” E's voice cut through the tension, making me pause before tearing my gaze away from the envelope. “Something unexpected came up, and I need you for another job.”
My heart skipped a beat. Unexpected events were never a good sign, especially in this line of work. But I remained silent, waiting for E to continue.
“There’s a girl,” E explained, his eyes searching mine for any sign of recognition.
There was always a fucking girl.
My mind raced, adrenaline surging. This wasn't part of the plan. The target was dead, his body hidden, no trace left behind—thatwas my job.
E leaned back in his chair, a hint of amusement playing at the corner of his lips. “I need you to stake out her house and make sure she isn't a threat.”
Panic threatened to consume me. “I don’t do that kind of shit. I kill, Idon'tstalk.”
He shook his head, anger swirling in his dark eyes, and I knew he wasn't going to let me walk out of here until I agreed to the job. Once you were in with E, there was only one way out. And shit, I wasn't ready to die just yet.
“What do you suggest I do?” I asked, my voice betraying my fear as I gritted my teeth.
E’s gaze narrowed, weighing his options. “Watch her and let me know what she’s up to, War; it's fucking simple.”
I nodded, already formulating a plan in my twisted, calculating mind. E and I had faced countless challenges together, relying on each other’s resourcefulness. This was no different. But at the same time, it was absolutely different. He knew I didn't stalk people. He knew I was a killer. So him giving me that bullshit assignment had me wracking my brain to figure out what was so important about that job—about him making me takethatjob.
“Come, I'll walk you out,” he said, rising from his seat.
