I start packing my things in my office to head to family dinner when I hear my phone buzz on my desk. Picking it up, I see a message from Mitchell with coordinates and atask.
Darren Danforth. I want it done tonight. No questions asked.
I blink at the message. Usually, Mitchell gives me the courtesy of time and questions— the time to research our target to make it as clean of a hunt as possible.
I understand he’s upset about what happened at the brewery, but he’s usually smarter than this. Mitchell doesn’t kill just to kill. But no questions asked means no questions asked. So I won’t ask any and prolong my time to get to family dinner more than it already has been. It may bite me in the ass, but that’s a mess for later.
Pulling up the coordinates has a pit in my stomach. I don’t like completing hits without knowing exactly who it is and what I’m walking into.
Tonight, Mitchell is persistent, and I’m not in the business of challenging the threats he made to me at the brewery. My girl has enough to be running from, I won’t add to that list.
Peeling off my work clothes, I exchange them for my gear. Boots a size bigger, filled in to leave no distinct print. A black hoodie and pants along with a backlav to make sure no trace of me is recognizable. I’ve mastered it so easily, it ultimately becomes another part of my day that doesn’t require much thinking.
I get in my truck and drive to the place Mitchell gave me, playing music to distract myself from what I’m about to do—but it doesn’t help. This one isn’t sitting right with me.
I pull up to Harvard University; my alma mater. Entering the campus, I’m brought back to memories of me, Anthony, and Cole here.
Lots of nights throwing up in random bushes, pulling pranks on the trust fund frat boys who bought their way into this school. It’s where we started our annual Christmas sledding competition. It’s where we started our family dinner.
All the traditions I hope to see Sunny through. Thinking about her in a time like this grounds me. My heart started beating differently when she came into my life. It has more purpose now that she’s here. A reason to walk out of a hit rather than let it go south.
As I walk through the building, I see the name of the man I’m about to kill on the signs leading me to his office in the building of fine arts.
Darren Danforth, Head of Fine Arts, Harvard University.
Why does Mitchell want a professor killed?
The name rings a bell. He was the professor that helped Sam when she was here. He let her use the art studio here as her outlet because she couldn’t get a degree in art herself.
That can’t be why Mitchell wants him dead, right? That was almost ten years ago. Sam got her degree in finance, and her art studio doesn’t interfere with her work at the company.
The alternative comes to mind. Did he do something to hurt Sam? If so, that makes this job a hell of a lot easier than it initially was.
Standing at the door of his office, I pause. A part of me wants to turn away and just leave. But Mitchell will make me pay for that, and I know the first thing he will take as payment.
When I open the door, the man jolts in his seat and his eyes turn wide when he sees me standing in the doorway. Herecognizes me and for some reason, something about him is familiar, too.
His brown hair is flecked with salt and pepper, his brown eyes wide as he watches me. He licks his trembling full lips, trying to formulate words. He knows who I am, and why I’m here—like he was expecting me.What did you do, Darren?
If it was anything involving Sam, I would’ve known.I would’ve known.
He lifts his arms in surrender. “Mr. Caddell. Let’s just talk about this.”
I stalk over to him. Though his panic is prevalent, he willingly lets me take his hands and tie them behind his back. Forcing him to his knees, I pause again.I fucking pause.Why is this so hard tonight?
Darren’s shoulders shudder up and down with hushed cries. I finally turn him to face me, deciding to make this quick and look like a suicide. Bullet to the head is usually a man’s choice of a way to go, anyways.
A knife is usually my choice of weapon, and I usually prolong the pain since the ones I normally kill are sick fucks. Men who have done bad things to hurt our name. But something tells me this hit is personal to Mitchell, and that the man in front of me isn’t like the others.
Fuck.
“Please, I’ll pay him whatever,” he begs. “I’ll disappear. I’ll do whatever he asks. Just let me talk to him. Man to man.”
Closing my eyes, I sigh as I lean my head back. I fucking hate this. I fucking hate what Mitchell has made me. Maybe I am just as bad as him.
“Sorry, man. Orders are orders.” Turning my head, I close my eyes as I place the barrel of the gun to the side of his head. I pull the trigger.
The cries are silenced and met with a thud as his body hits the ground. I stand over his lifeless body, wondering if he had agirl or children at home. If I didn’t do it, someone else would’ve. They would’ve been a lot less merciful than me.
