There are two families that run this city—the Volkov and the Rossi families.Mikhail Volkov, the head of the Volkov family’s empire of narcotics and weapons, has been a thorn in Bianca’s side for a long time.Driven by ambition, she’d rather see herself running all illicit trade in the area.At best, the relationship between them is an uneasy alliance.At worst, it's a slow boiling pot, ready to bubble over with any slight from one side or the other.
I do jobs for both of the families, but I don’t accept jobs that go between them.I’m not dumb enough to pick a side that would pit me against either of two of the most ruthless crime families in the country.
Just as I reach the door, Bianca’s voice calls behind me, “Oh, and Gray?I’ll be seeing you soon.”I exit the building, followed by an echo of devilish laughter.
* * *
My car idles in the parking lot of a seedy motel until just after midnight.The name of the motel, along with its address and photos of my target, were all included in the envelope Bianca gave me.The lights in room 17 went out nearly two hours ago, leaving me confident that its occupants are asleep.I pull a mask over my face, one of those Halloween Ghostface masks.It’s the only thing I could find on short notice in a drugstore.I don’t normally worry about hiding who I am, but I know that there are two occupants inside that motel room and I only plan on killing one of them.
The locks are simple in cheap motels; it barely takes a minute to get the door open.The room is quiet.The alarm clock on the nightstand bathes the room in a faint, red glow.On the bed, a small-framed woman lays sleeping.She looks rough.Her emaciated body sports large purple and green bruises that peek out over the neck of her t-shirt and along her thin arms.The track marks on the inside of her elbows are inflamed and badly bruised, like she’d tried to fight the injections.
Her frail fingers are wrapped around those of a man—the man in the photos from Bianca’s file.He’s sound asleep, snoring quietly next to her.Poor fucker did this all for a girl—his girl.Maybe that’s why I’m making this quick.Or maybe it’s because I’d hate to give Bianca the satisfaction of making him suffer before he died.
Keeping my eyes on my target, I pull my gun out of my pants and screw on the silencer.It’s easy to shoot an unmoving target, but I want to be close enough that I don’t risk hitting the girl.With careful steps, I inch closer to the bed until my knees almost touch it.My gun is aimed directly between his eyes as I squeeze the trigger.
This isn’t like the movies—silencers don’t make a gun quiet, just quiet enough to reduce the risk of hearing damage.And shooting a man at this range doesn’t leave a small bullet hole, either.I watch as the impact craters his face, sending chunks of his skull and brain crashing against the headboard, splattering onto the face of his sleeping girlfriend.
The girl’s eyes fly open, her hands pawing at the blood and brain matter splayed across her face and hair.She sucks in air with rapid, wheezing breaths while her chest heaves.Her eyes catch mine.I wait for her to scream, but she’s silent, frozen in the bed next to a corpse.
“Run,” I growl.
She remains unmoving, glancing at her now dead savior before staring back into my eyes.I wave my gun toward the door in an attempt to snap her out of her trance.Her hazy eyes follow its direction.When she looks back at me, her eyes widen with realization.She dives out of the bed so quickly that she falls to her hands and knees, the collision vibrating the floor beneath the threadbare carpet.She begins to sob as she jumps to her feet and runs out the door.
I snap a quick photo of the dead man and make my exit.There’s no time to hang around since neighbors will undoubtedly have heard something.No one is going to sound the alarm for a body at a sleazy motel anyway.I send the photo to Bianca as I drive away from the motel.Within minutes, my phone is ringing.
I tap my knuckle on the car’s touchscreen, accepting the call.My car is flooded with a deafening scream from a man.It surges through the speaker, hoarse and cracking.The man cries over and over in short bursts.I imagine the poor fucker attached to the sound, bloodied and tied up in Bianca’s basement.The line goes quiet for a moment until I hear Bianca cooing in a voice as sweet as honey, “Now you’d better keep quiet, or I’ll come back and cut something else off.”
When the line is silent, I speak, “Job’s done.”
She chuckles lightly.“Of course it is withyouon the job.It’s a pity you didn’t bring my girl back, but maybe next time.”
I suck in a breath and press my lips together in a hard line.
“Your payment’s been wired.Maybe next time we can tag-team it.”She giggles.“How fun that would be!See you soon, Grayson.”
I hang up, irritated.Crazy bitch.
