Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
He steps out from behind the large gate he was standing behind, the metal echoing with a loud bang as he walks through it. He passes me, and his smell lingers as he does, salty combined with something woodsy.
I keep my eyes downcast as his boots thud against the concrete with each step he takes. He’s getting closer, and I wonder, Is this it for me? Is this where I die?
I hope not.
“Stay still. Do not run or make a sound.” His voice is commanding, and I somehow make myself nod in acknowledgment. His footsteps pick up again, and he saunters to the men, who are closer than I thought. And when one tries to argue with him, I hear a loud pop, then the man drops. I let out a noisy gasp and slam a hand over my mouth to prevent any more sound from escaping. The other man runs—his retreat is heralded by his boots slamming on the ground.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tell myself, I will never do this again.
How stupid can I be?
Why did I think coming out late at night by myself was a good idea?
I need to take baby steps, not giant ones where a stranger could potentially murder me.
Hands cover mine where they’re still pressed against my mouth and lower them to my sides. I don’t open my eyes, too afraid to do so. I can’t look death in the eye and smile.
“The police will be here soon.”
It’s that voice again.
The dangerous one.
How can a voice be rough, edgy, and sultry all at the same time?
“We don’t want you in trouble now, do we? Run along, little one. Run.”
He drops my hands, but not before I feel him edge closer. Still not opening my eyes, I can sense him at my neck.
He leans in and…
Is he smelling me?
Or maybe he will whisper something in my ear, his hot breath wafting close to my skin. I wait, holding mine, to see what he will do. He pulls away, and I keep my eyes shut, careful not to make eye contact with the devil.
Then, just as quickly, heavy footsteps sound in my ears, and I know it’s him walking away. I count to ten before I dare to open my eyes. When I finally peek through slitted lids, there is no sign of him, and before I can think any more about what just happened, I run home.
Two
Kenzo
“He’s dead,” Kyson says, shaking his head as he walks away.
I squeeze the trigger again one more time to be sure. I can’t help myself. The silencer is on, so the noise isn’t loud.
“Fucking hell, Kenzo, you’ve been in a shit mood for days,” my twin brother grumbles while Zuko, our older brother, simply looks at me and shakes his head. He’s a man of few words, but when he speaks, we listen. Kyson, on the other hand, can talk your ear off, and before you know it, you have turned off and are thinking about all kinds of shit that doesn’t remotely interest you.
I stand over the body as they walk out, and when they’re gone, I take a deep breath.
The hunt.
The fight.
The kill.
It’s why we do what we do.
We are trained artists—hunt, fight, kill—and we rejoice in the fact we are the best. The elite of the elite, if you will. Trained assassins—hit men for hire. Cutthroats who will eagerly take out any asshole for a price.
And if you think you can hide from us, you’re kidding yourself.
We will find you.
We will destroy you.
We will think nothing of it.
It’s just a matter of time before we get you.
Just like this man on the floor.
He was a hit.
One we were paid fucking well for.
There was a time we did it just for the fun, but not so much anymore.
Now, it’s a profession.
Now, it’s a business transaction.
We do have basic rules.
Once we accept a job, if the mark tries to bribe us with more money to not kill them, we never accept. We have standards as hired killers and hold an allegiance to our original hires. And trust me, we have been offered a lot of money in the past to not carry out a hit.
But the one thing these assholes don’t know is that we already have everything we could ever need. Therefore, no amount of extra money will save them.
I exit the apartment. The cleaners will arrive soon to wipe everything down and make it look as if nothing has ever happened here. After I shut the door and lock it, I turn and run straight into someone.
“Sorry, sorry,” a soft voice says as milk runs down my black jeans and onto my extremely expensive boots, which also have blood splatters on them.
Fuck.
“I didn’t see you there,” she says as she bends, her voice somehow familiar to me.