“You’re going to burn to a crisp. We only just got here,” I pout, as my phone signals it’s time to go with another quick buzz.
“I’ll be okay, Bear.” His hand moves up, his palm cupping the side of my face as he swipes his thumb across my lower lip. The action kills my pout instantly, but ignites a burning need to feel his hands in other places.
If this keeps up I’m gonna need another long bath…
“Ooh! You know what, I saw a drugstore on our way here, I’ll go grab you a bottle!” I beam, turning to walk away.
“Wait, Bear! One of us can come with you,” Kade offers through a mouthful of fries.
“Oh, that’s okay! You guys all just ordered. Sit, eat. I’ll be back before you know it to prevent Max from going full lobster on us!”
With a soft smile, I spin on the ball of my foot, and head towards the main road. When the line of sight breaks, I discreetly slide my hand against my inner thigh, feeling for my weapons. The cool metal of my glock provides a welcome relief as I head for my target’s location.
It’s show time.
It took less time than I expected to get here, which worked to my advantage because when I arrived—expecting a hotel or an office—I walked up to a god damn parking garage. Pulling up the saved picture of my target once again, I make my way to the stairs against the far side, clocking the camera locations along the way. I need to stay out of sight, which seems to be easier than anticipated.
This whole building has less than fifteen cameras total, four of which are meticulously placed on the third level, two facing the central elevator. You’d think they’d want to have all the exits covered, whether leaving by car or by foot. But the stairs that carry me up are completely void of the little electronics.
I can see why Jerome picked this place.
Once at the top floor, I slide along the half-wall, remembering to duck behind the vehicles as I search for a vantage point. The one I select gives me an uninterrupted view of the elevator doors and the down ramp. This way if I miss the asshole when he first comes out, there’s no way he can get off this floor without me noticing.Not alive anyway.
1:56, I duck low, hiding in the shadows of the cars.
1:59, I keep my eyes glued to my target location.
2:08, the elevator door dings and out he walks.
Like snowflakes falling against the earth, I’m quiet as I slip through the garage. Trailing him as he heads for his car. He walks with a slight limp, his knee not quitebending all the way. It suggests an improperly healed or re-occuring injury to his leg.Weakness noted.
I sometimes wonder if video-game pop-up windows should be appearing like little thought bubbles over my head when I work. Calculating moves and tracking weaknesses. Stalking my target until I know the best way to take them down… I’m practically made for a fighting simulator.Hell,I’m probably better than one.
His crappy little car sits on the far side of the lot, smushed against the eastern wall and a truck someone has paid way too much to alter. It’s not uncommon for me to have jobs where the intended dead have no idea they’ve been targeted, but this guy takes it to a whole new level.
He’s smug, like the world owes him a favor and he’s come to collect. His movements are languid, lazy, as he strolls through the structure without a care in the world. Whistling an off key version of—and I’m not even kidding about this—What a wonderful world.
I never bother to learn the names of the people I go after. It makes killing—or maiming, or torturing, or drugging—them easier, but if I had to guess a name, I feel like he’d be a Stuart.
Stuart, here, has absolutely no perception of his surroundings, as he walks up to his driver's side door and searches his pockets for his keys. Completely missing my lurking frame hidden in a shadow at the front of the truck. Quietly, my hand slides the hem of my sundress up, reaching for my sheathed dagger. The leather wrapped handle and steel blade mold to my hand perfectly. A beautiful, and deadly, extension of my arm.
My grip is tight as I wait for my moment. Watching this man fumble around and inserting the wrong key into the lock on his door. Just as he figures it out, unlocking the door and grabbing the handle, I jump forward.
Lunging at him, he’s better than he seemed. Aiming for his throat, my blade misses when he ducks to the side and lands a heavy kick to my abdomen. Knocking me back a few feet as I regain my balance. My breaths come out in short bursts as I look at Stuart with a narrowed glare. This man is not the easy job I figured I’d have today and the lopsided grin he’s now sporting confirms that.
Well then. Game. Fucking. On.
“Bring it, motherfucker,” I taunt with an arched brow. Stuart smiles sadistically, his broken and yellowed teeth making my breakfast want to return for an encore. But just as I expected, he launches himself forward with the first swing.Man, grown men are so easy to provoke.
I dodge with ease, swinging my daggered arm around while also bringing my leg up at the same time. His narrow mind is so focused on where and what direction my blade is moving, he completely misses my foot headed right for him. He tilts to the side, the unnatural angle making him groan, as he narrowly avoids my arm. Too bad however, that he brought his head to meet my approaching appendage, and it connects with his nose—hard. Satisfaction blooms throughout my body at the sound of his nasal bone shattering, his head snapping back from the force.
Blood is leaking from his face like a loosened faucet. His hands moving to cover and protect the now broken appendage, grasping at his face as if he can force the red liquid back into his body. He’s disheveled, confused, and I use this distraction to my advantage. A quick drop to the concrete, and a sweep of my leg has Stuart’s ass and head bouncing against the ground in quick succession.
A screech echoes amongst the parked cars, taking me by surprise as I turn to make sure we are still alone. My momentary lapse however, comes with repercussions. Whirling around at the last moment, I manage to snag Stuart’s fist as he swipes at my cheek with a blade of his own. His wrist flicks, and the blade twists, nicking me across my lip. Rage floods my vision, as I slam his fist against the hood of his car. The knife bouncing out of his hand and sliding under the next-door truck.
My eyes track the blade, but miss his hand as it grabs me by the throat—and not in the fun way. With a blow to my knee, I collapse. The tiny pieces of gravel that litter the ground sting as they dig into my skin. Stuart continues, thinking he has the upper-hand, bringing his good knee up to collide with my face. I throw myself backwards, clenching my abs to hold my back off the ground—in a total superhero style move. My forearms shoot out, stopping his leg as I thrust a devastating punch to his family jewels.
Finally, his grip around my neck loosens, his hands now focused on consoling his crushed testicles. Without hesitation I reach down, bringing my glock out of its holster, and pointing it between his eyes.
