Clay
CLAY
Blood.
The smell never got easier to deal with. Despite the number of times had smelled it in his career, he could never rid himself of the recoil deep in his guts. It was as though some instinctual part of him, etched into his genes, shirked being around the iron-rich smell of someone’s lifeblood. The smell hung thick in the motel room as he crouched beside the dead man.
The best he could manage was to ignore his instincts as he hooked a finger under the dead man’s chin and turned his face toward him. ’s dark eyes swept the man’s features, his gloved fingers pressed to the unmoving throat. The man was dead, but didn’t like to leave loose ends. He closed his eyes, ticking away the seconds silently as he waited, feeling no pulse against his fingertips.
His work was clean. The job had been easy, perhaps too easy for ’s taste, but that came with the territory. Uriel had always told him that an easy job was one done perfectly, but hadn’t always agreed with his mentor. An easy job felt cheap, too easy, nothing to whet the desire for something better. He might be an assassin, a wetwork specialist, whatever someone might call it, but damn it, he craved at least something resembling a challenge.
Bloodlust? Maybe. Or he was just a man with specific skills who wanted to occasionally flex them to the limit. had given up moralizing over what he did, at least to a certain extent. It had been years since he’d questioned the blood on his hands, all due to Fate.
Fate was a fickle mistress to most, but demanded everything from the woman who handled his contracts. It was stupid for a hired gun to care about the morality and state of his target. Even knew that, but he held to it. Principles meant so little in the modern world, especially for a hitman. Still, he refused to lose that last piece of his humanity.
Let the rich and famous hire others who would kill without regard. refused to kill those whose hands were clean, even relatively so. Leave the cheaters, scammers, and greedy to their own devices. craved the men and women who used the blood, sweat and tears of others to further themselves. Child slavers and rapists, peddlers of flesh and drugs, those who were soaked in the blood of their fellow man to get ahead. Those were the ones desired the most, the ones he sought to find on the other end of his blade or at the receiving end of a bullet.
It was easy to tell himself that these were the same people with the most security and constant protection. The sort who could afford hired men and women, who killed for money. Those with the best defenses, the ones who would challenge him the most. It wasn’t morality, it wasn’t ethics, it wasn’t the last screaming kicks of his humanity, refusing to go down easy.
It was simply professional interest.
His work was done. pushed off the ground, careful not to stain his gloves. Nothing was left for him in the tight confines of the motel room. Dead men told no stories, and they almost never gave up their secrets. Then again, he had been hired to deliver a blatant murder from a killer who knew what they were doing.
No one had seen him arrive, and no one would see him leave. The cut had been quick and clean. The man had little time to understand what was happening before his life drained out of him. A simple blade between the man’s ribs as he’d stooped over to grab the remote for the TV. The dead man had never seen , had never heard him. Death had entered his rented room, and the man had never known. He had gone into the void confused as his punctured heart gave out.
stared down at the body and wondered what the official line would be once the murder was discovered. The victim was, by public account, a small-town businessman who traveled to build contracts and keep relations with partners. As far as knew, even the dead man’s wife wasn’t aware of the trade in drugs and flesh. How long would it take before the police uncovered that? How long before the dead man’s wife and family were drowned by the media coverage, hounded by a merciless press that would smear them through the same shit and mud that the dead man deserved?
“Tyler,” said, remembering the man’s name.
What did it matter what his name had been? He’d fitted 's criteria, and even that hadn’t been enough. He’d heard the last gasp of air from the man and made sure he was dead. would leave and make a call, informing Fate of his success, and the money would be dropped into his account. By the time anyone knew of the dead man’s passing, he would be a long way away, safe from scrutiny.
quietly slipped from the room through a back window that latched on its own when closed. Like the ghost he pretended to be, he moved away from the motel and into the nearby vegetation. Careful to disturb nothing and glad for the hard ground that craved a little moisture, maneuvered through the dense foliage. As a boy, before his life had changed forever, he had wondered what it would be like to be a tiger or wolf, to prowl the woods, to stalk prey, and to feel strong.
Turns out, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
His ride was like so many he’d used before. A car, bought with cash, with a license plate that was, by all measures, genuine. Not that it mattered. always made sure to obey all traffic laws. And while the vehicles were never flashy, they were in good shape, and he made sure nothing would draw attention from law enforcement.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, he took the disposable phone from his pocket and placed it in the cupholder. Professional paranoia told him to wait before making the call, unwilling to ping even the prepaid phone on any towers near the scene. Instead, he drew the paper map from the glove compartment and looked it over. There were a number of places within a few hundred miles that would serve as a somewhere to rest.
firmly believed in taking at least a week or more between each hit. A workaholic attitude might be useful in the business world, but it led to sloppiness and mistakes for someone who required a constant sharp edge. Not that the most recent hit had been trying. It was just the principle.
Sand and warm waters were what he wanted most. He traced his finger over the map, untraceable compared to phone apps, and ran it in different directions. After a few idle seconds, it fell on a city on the coast, and from its size, it appeared large enough to offer more than a few attractions.
“Port Dale,” he murmured softly.
It didn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but it would work just fine for a short break. It would take several hours to reach the town. would need to deposit his temporary car in a safe place in the opposite direction to Port Dale and then purchase another one away from the drop-off point. His employer, the Agency, would pick the car up, but he would buy the next one privately, away from prying eyes. He might work for the Agency, but he’d be damned if he allowed them to track every little movement he made. No, he knew how to get hold of Fate if needed, and would give her the new number once he’d obtained another phone, which was fine by him.
“Vacation, all I ever wanted,” he sang softly as he turned on the car and quietly pulled out.
* * *
It took longer than he’d planned to reach the outskirts of Port Dale. The spot on the map hadn’t done justice to the city. While it was no sprawling metropolis, buildings still sprung up from the city center toward the sky, reflecting the orange glow of the rising sun. It was still early enough that the traffic was thin as he maneuvered along the highway and turned onto an exit ramp.
Once upon a time, the city might have been a bustling fishing port, but it had far outgrown that in the intervening years. had spotted a harbor while on the highway, but the buildings at the center were the showy, towering monuments to big business. As the city developed, its core might have grown to commercial heights, but it became more residential as it spread out. He’d eschewed the far suburbs of Port Dale, aiming for the cluster of small businesses and apartments squeezed in the middle.
First on his list was to find a place to stay. In the modern-day, it was a little trickier to find places that accepted cash. While that might have been a problem for him once, the solution was prepaid cards. He always took pains to ensure the cards didn’t look prepaid when he purchased them, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
Yet, as with most hotels, the one he found had a tired-looking receptionist who barely glanced at him or the card. She rang him up, returned his card, and wished him a pleasant stay in a friendly tone.
The room was nothing special, but that was fine by him. There was little to separate one hotel room from another. They weren’t homes, just waystations for him to plan and prepare while on a job or to blend in with normal people while he was off work. All that mattered was the shower at the back of the room, nestled in the corner.
Dropping his bag onto one of the two beds, pulled his clothes off as he made his way to the bathroom. After fiddling with the shower to get it to the scalding temperature he preferred, he slipped in. The heat of the water flashed against his skin, but ignored it even as his skin turned ruddy. Scooping up the bar of soap provided by the hotel, he scrubbed his arms, chest, and stomach. He always scrubbed a little harder than was necessary after a job, but just like the burning hot water, it was a ritual.
After nearly twenty minutes of vigorous scrubbing, he stepped from the steaming shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. Finally, feeling clean enough to check himself over, he stepped up to the mirror and wiped the condensation off with the other towel.
He wasn’t sure why some part of him always expected to see something different. ’s reflection hadn’t changed since the last time he looked. The same unremarkable dark brown hair, short but easily covering his face during work. His face, with his stony expression, was well-shaped, with a strong jaw, not too good-looking or ugly to draw attention. Honestly, everything about him was average. He was average height, and he never bulked up or starved himself either. His muscles fit his frame. His stomach was flat and chest firm, nothing to give away the deadliness of the skill locked away in his mind.
There was only one thing about him that was likely to draw attention.
Dark brown eyes flicked toward his reflection, sweeping over his naked body one last time. Reaching up, he pinched the flexible lens in his left eye and pulled it free. Then he plucked the right lens from his other eye. He cast both contact lenses into the toilet before turning back to the mirror. Bright blue eyes, as sharp and clear as the finest sapphire, stared back at him.
Sighing, he rustled through his bag and pulled out his clothes. The sun was still rising, and he wanted to witness it before he finally turned in for the day. Once dressed, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes and stepped onto the sidewalk outside his room. He lit one, sucking the smoke deep. It was one of the few vices he allowed himself, and only when he wasn’t working. His head grew fuzzy with the sudden blast of nicotine, and he stood there, letting the sensation roll through him as he watched the sky light up.
There was a soft and barely audible shuffling noise over the growing sounds of cars and the singing birds. noted it, keeping his eyes on the sky. He knew some compared it to fire and thought it appropriate, as though the sun had to burn away the night in order to soar high in the sky and bring light and warmth with it. Sometimes harsh, brutal action was necessary to bring about good things.
Someone was beside him.
“Your money,” a voice rasped.
turned toward the person who had skulked around the edge of the building to approach him. The voice was distinctly male, but it didn’t belong to an exceptionally large person. Whoever this strange attempted mugger was, they wore a ballcap, turned down, obscuring their face. ’s eyes swept over their stance and the baggy clothes as his gaze fell on the large knife in the man’s hand.
“Give me your money,” the man repeated, waving the knife for emphasis.
took another hit of his cigarette. “And if I don’t?”
“You’re kidding me, right? I’ll fucking stab you.”
glanced at the knife again. It was an impressive weapon, and it would certainly do a lot of damage. It just wasn’t very intimidating when the tip shivered and shook from its owner’s quivering grip.
“Sorry to tell you, but I’m not very intimidated at the moment,” informed him.
“I’m not fucking around!”
“Maybe not, but if you were serious about stabbing me, you would have done it the moment I showed you any sort of fight. Then you could have taken my wallet and room key without fuss and helped yourself to whatever valuables I have. But you haven’t done any of that, so one can only assume you’re not as deadly as you think.”
The man sputtered. “Just give me your money.”
looked down. “And your stance is terrible.”
The would-be mugger hesitated. “Wh-what?”
“With a stance like that, anyone with any knowledge could take advantage of it.”
The man’s lips parted, but was faster than the man’s words. Lashing out, he hooked his foot behind the nearest leg and pulled it toward him. Hand still clutching the cigarette between his fingers, took hold of the stumbling man’s wrist, twisted, and yanked the knife free. The stranger stumbled and fell as shoved him, putting him off balance and sending him slamming onto his back on the concrete sidewalk.
twirled the knife in his hand. “A bit like that.”
Wide, terrified eyes stared up at him. They were green, noticed, and swimming with unshed tears. The cap had fallen off, and he could see that ‘the man’ wasn’t a man at all. Christ, what was he, fifteen at the most?
sighed. “Jesus, what the hell is someone like you doing trying to rob people?”
The teenager’s lip wobbled, gaze locked on the knife. “Please don’t...I wasn’t really going to stab you.”
slid the knife into his back pocket, shaking his head. “I know you weren’t. I told you that. Answer my question.”
The boy’s voice cracked, either from stress or hormones. “Got to. They’re gonna kick us out.”
raised a brow. “They? Us?”
The boy sat up. “My mom and me. She’s got three jobs, but she...they’re gonna kick us out.”
“Evict you?”
“Yes.”
“Christ,” muttered.
He was a goddamn assassin, a killer of men, not a nursemaid.
“You’re...not going to hurt me, are you?” the boy asked, looking up again.
snorted, reaching into his jeans and pulling out his wallet. “No. But you have no business trying to threaten people for money. That isn’t the kind of life you want to lead, kid, trust me.”
“I know. My mom would beat my ass if she knew. Always told me I was better than that,” the boy said miserably.
“Yeah, I could have told you that. Couldn’t even hold the knife steady when you threatened me. Now, this isn’t going to help in the long run. I can’t help with that. But it should relieve the current situation,” said, pulling the thick pile of cash from his wallet and tossing it onto the boy’s lap.
The kid looked up, eyes growing huge as he clutched the money. “What? You’re kidding me.”
“I’m as serious as I was about your stance. Don’t know how much is there, but take it home to your mom. Tell her whatever you want, but my advice? Tell her the truth. Tell her everything. She might whip your hide for it, but you owe your mom the truth. She’s working her ass off to keep you safe and fed, and you’re out here trying to be a thug, even if it is for good reasons. So get your ass home, and stay clean.”
The kid scrambled up, unable to decide whether to look at the money clutched in his hand or . For one horrifying moment, he thought the kid would rush and hug him. And to think, this same kid whose eyes were spilling over with tears of gratitude had tried to act tough.
“Thank you,” the kid said instead.
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t do it again. Otherwise, the next person who fights back might stick the knife in your gut,” told him.
“I know.”
watched him for a minute. “What’s your name?”
“Tyler.”
snorted. Of course it was. He’d killed one Tyler only hours before. Why not spare another Tyler now?
“Well, Tyler, go home. Get out of my face. And I’m keeping the knife.”
Tyler nodded, his mouth opening and closing uselessly before finally turning away. watched the teenager stop at the corner of the building, facing him. shooed him away before the kid could say anything else, not wanting to hear his gratitude or have to see his teary eyes anymore. It wasn’t like the money was an issue, and it was probably more than his mother made in several months. could afford to drop money on some idiot kid to keep him from getting himself killed because he thought he was tough.
Once he was gone, wrinkled his nose at the empty space where Tyler had been. Honestly, what did someone that soft think they were doing? With a grunt, he turned his attention back to the sky overhead.
“God damn it,” he muttered.
The kid had made him miss the sunrise.