I look myself over in the mirror to make sure everything is in place. Grabbing the papers, I fold them up and tuck them inside my thin black jacket. With it being winter, the sun sets early, which means I don’t have to wait long.
Teaching myself patience has paid off. I clear my mind as I sit on the edge of my bed. Facing my balcony, I close my eyes and practice diaphragmatic breathing.
As soon as the sun dips below the line of buildings, the warmth of its rays leaves my face, and my eyes snap open. Standing from my perch, I raise my neck gaiter to cover my mouth and nose and step outside. Having done this many times before, I don’t have to actively think as I climb down the fire escape.
I stick to the shadows, blending in with my black clothing, as I slip down the street and follow the route I mapped out earlier on my computer. I go unnoticed the whole way, taking alleys and back roads.
When I get to the right building, I easily scale metal ladders and balconies on light feet and make it up to the fourth floor. Theblinds are open in the window, giving me the perfect view of my target.
With the way his TV is positioned, I can make out his reflection through the screen. He sits in a recliner with his feet up and a bowl of popcorn resting on his beer belly. He’s only wearing boxers, and I have to push away the gag that wants to come out of my mouth. He laughs at the sitcom on his TV and shoves another handful of buttery popcorn in his mouth. I can see the oil on his fingers from here.
With expert precision, I lift the bottom rail of the window inch by inch. He doesn’t notice since his back is to me, and his attention is fixed on the screen. When there’s enough space, I slide in and sneak up behind him.
In a few swift movements, I pull one of my knives out and wrap my arm across his front, placing the sharp edge of the knife by his ear. With my other hand, I grab a fistful of hair and pull, exposing the full length of his neck. I don’t waste time as I flex my arms, applying pressure with the knife and slicing him open from ear to ear. Blood sprays from the cut.
His grubby hands attempt to stanch the blood flow as I move to the side of the chair and bend down, placing my mouth next to his ear.
“I am your atonement.”
Then I stand to my full height and watch as the life leaves his eyes. I don’t move again until his hands drop, and he takes his last breath.
I retrieve the papers from inside my jacket, unfold them, and set them on his chest. With the knife still in hand, I raise it above my head and bring it down, stabbing through the sheets and his heart.
A single tear slips free from the corner of my eye as relief consumes my chest, and I can finally breathe again.
Escaping the way I got in, I slip away like I was never there.
His body will be found eventually, and they’ll know it was me. Everyone will know I was here.
I don’t do this for recognition. I don’t do this for fun.
I do it because I have to. I don’t have another choice.
I really am a psycho.
CHAPTER 2
HUNTER
Bare concrete walls line the frame of the empty building. The winter breeze of the night is blocked, but the room is still just as cold as outside.
Rory Bishop, my best friend, shivers next to me. “Gabriel and his friends need to hurry the hell up.”
We agreed to meet our client here, but next time, I’m going to insist on choosing the meeting place. I’ll need to go in for an MRI if we have to wait here any longer because my lungs are filling with sawdust.
The building used to be a strip club, but the men who owned it weren’t good men, and their choices finally caught up with them a few months back. Word is that they kidnapped the wrong woman and, in doing so, pissed off the MS-13. They showed up, guns blazing and got the woman back. Then the building was abandoned, and the MS-13 bought it. I’m not sure what their plans are for the place. They could be building another strip club or new headquarters. As long as their cash is green, I don’t care what they do here.
Luke Ellis, my other best friend, stands as still as a statue on my other side with his hands in the pockets of his thick, longcoat. He’s been silent since we got here, but that’s nothing new. He’s always been a quiet guy.
“I don’t like that they’re still not here,” Rory comments. “I never show up first. It ruins my reputation of being fashionably late.”
I internally roll my eyes. “You’re forty-eight years old. Being fashionably late should not be part of your so-called ‘reputation.’”
Rory spears me with an insulted look. “Just because I have a serious big boy job, doesn’t mean I have to be serious in every aspect of my life.”
“Don’t we know it,” Luke remarks under his breath.
“What was that, asshole?” Rory leans around me to give the same scathing look to Luke, but Luke ignores Rory’s indignation and acts like he didn’t say anything at all.
