Chapter 2 #2
Closing my laptop, I push away from the desk to head to my closet.
My entire bedroom is utilitarian. Nothing fancy.
Just a bed, dresser, nightstand, desk, white down blanket, gray walls, and a walk-in closet with my own en suite bathroom.
It helps my brain to keep things as plain and basic as normal. Too much color gives me migraines.
I pick out midnight-blue dress pants, a black button-up, and a harness to match.
The familiar weight of my gun and tranquilizer comfort me.
Although, I’m not going to kill the senator with either, they’re just for my protection.
The man seems to like to drink, so I’ll sneak into his room, give him a bottle of liquor from the bar with the bartender’s fingerprints all over it, and mix some of his blood pressure pills in so it looks like an accidental overdose. Easy as pie, as my mom used to say.
After a scalding hot shower to warm my bones, I return to the bedroom to find a plate of salmon on my desk, along with a tired-looking Hayden reclining on my bed.
“I can tell Robin no,” Hayden says apropos of nothing.
“Absolutely not.”
Hayden closes one eye, then the other, no doubt trying to sus out if I’m full of shit or not. Which I am totally full of shit. I really have a bad feeling about this one.
“I can come with you.”
“No, you know the rules. Only I get my hands dirty alone.”
“I still don’t get why,” Hayden whines.
That’s for me to know and for them to never find out.
Yeah, I have a particular skill set none of them have, but I also enjoy it in a way none of them ever will or could.
Can I make a living as a hired hitman for real after college?
English literature professor by day, hired hitman by night.
I could pull it off. Maybe. I sigh as I drop my towel to tug on a pair of boxer briefs.
I can feel Hayden’s eyes on my back—the familiar territory of scars from fights over the years, the hastily sutured wounds that would’ve killed me had Mandy not been readily available for us.
“Claude is still out there, by the way,” Hayden announces from where he continues to lounge on my bed, the perfect picture of a Greek god.
“I’m aware.”
“You’ve heard nothing yet?”
I shake my head as I toss myself into the desk chair to eat my dinner.
Hayden stares at me a little longer but swings himself up out of the bed to leave the room, seemingly satisfied with the answers I’ve given him.
Once alone, I devour my dinner, then finally get back to doing the most important task at hand, my gothic fiction essay.
The next evening, I leave the house under the cover of darkness.
A haze of low clouds blots out the stars, only giving me a view of the full moon every few minutes when a cloud passes by.
I go over the evening in my head as I make the drive into town.
I’ll park a few blocks away and make the walk as incognito as I can.
After a few minutes at the bar, I’ll grab a bottle of scotch while the bartender is distracted.
I’ll sneak up to the senator’s room through the security elevator after Hayden has made the security cameras “glitch” for a thirty-minute window.
I’ll poison the alcohol with his blood pressure pills, then wait in the closet to watch him drink and die. Easy peasy.
Parking downtown is always a shit show, so I roll up to the lot that valets typically use.
“Hey! I’ll give you two hundred cash to let me park my car here for one hour, no questions asked,” I ask once I’ve rolled the window down.
The young guy grins and holds out his hand. “Pay up.”
Two hundred dollars later I’m parked in the lot and working my way toward the hotel a few blocks over.
People pass by but I ignore them. Instead, I keep my focus on the mission at hand.
Clenching and unclenching my hands a few times, the leather of my gloves makes that eerie creaking noise that usually sets me on edge.
The Adoria Hotel is one of the oldest and classiest hotels in the entire state.
The doorman stands out front helping people still arriving for the gala, a thick red carpet underneath their feet.
The alleyway beside the hotel is so clean I could almost pretend I’m inside the hotel.
No garbage stench, no piss stains. Amazing.
I look up toward the security camera that’s blinking red above me, waiting for the light to disappear, and once it does, I take that as a wink from Hayden that it’s safe to start the mission.
It’s quiet when I push inside, despite the gala being in full swing just a few floors above.
The hotel bar is a couple of hallway turns inside and I keep my suit jacket on tight to hide my harness.
My habit of pushing my glasses up my nose when nervous eats at me, but then I remember I’m wearing my contacts for this mission.
The bar is dark, warm light from the chandeliers giving it a certain kind of ambiance.
I beeline for the bar with a single-minded focus. Scotch.
The bartender is a woman only a few years older than me, yellow-blonde hair, short, with flower tattoos on her shoulders.
“Hi,” I say, voice a little low, smile a little forced.
She blinks at me for a minute before grinning back and leaning against the bar. “Hi, sugar.”
Yuck. “Two fingers of scotch, please. The most expensive you have.”
“You sure about that?”
I wink at her. “Yes, please.”
“Identification, please,” she shoots back. Fuck.
I fumble for my wallet and drag out an identification with my fake name. I also toss her a fifty-dollar bill while I’m at it.
Once satisfied, she grabs the brand-new bottle of scotch behind the counter, then pockets the fifty into her bra.
Normally, I’d like to pretend that it does something for me, but not tonight.
Nerves have me too rattled. Another patron calls her away for a moment, so I use that as my chance to lean over the bar to grab the full bottle of expensive scotch.
Perfect. I sneak away, used to hiding in corners to not be seen.
The security elevator is right where the hotel plans said it would be.
I take deep, slow breaths once I get inside and hastily punch in the code Hayden guaranteed me would work.
When the light turns green, I take another relieved breath.
Maybe tonight will go exactly as planned. That would be great.
Reaching the penthouse floor, the doors open to reveal deep mahogany wood floors, stark white walls, and a dark red door at the end of the hall.
The swipe card Hayden programmed for tonight gets me into the dark hotel suite, alerting me to the fact Senator Warton is definitely still down below at the gala.
I place the scotch on the table by the door, along with the pre-typed note thanking him for some bullshit that I don’t give a shit about.
His medicine is easy to find in his bathroom.
Grabbing the bottle, I shake out half the pills, then return to the foyer table to work my magic.
I open the scotch and drop the pills in, then hurriedly screw the top back on, grab my lighter, and light the edges to reseal it so it looks like it’s never been opened.
Dipping into a squat, I watch as the pills slowly dissolve in the alcohol.
Five minutes later, I’m shaking the bottle to ensure they’re all mixed in when I hear the card swiper ding. Fuck.
I scramble toward the hallway closet and make it inside just in time to hide myself from view.
Heart pounding, sweat dotting my neck, I wait for the senator to come in and drink the scotch, but everything went a little too perfectly today, so I don’t know why I expected this part to go perfectly as well.
A mission always has to have a hiccup or two.
My breath catches in my lungs when Mason follows anxiously behind the senator into the room.
Mason’s eyebrows are furrowed, hands in tight fists at his sides.
Whatever the senator is murmuring to him doesn’t reach my ears, but Mason gets angrier and angrier with each lowly uttered word.
Every protective instinct in my body alights again just at the mere fact Mason is alone in the room with the senator, someone vile enough I’ve been deemed fit to kill him.
“I told you, this is the way it’s going to be, kid.”
“But I’ve done enough. There has to be a point it ends,” Mason argues, a plea in his shaky voice.
The senator finds the scotch, tips it back with a slightly cruel smile, and proceeds to twist it open and pour himself a glass.
Oh fuck. He’s going to drink it right now and drop dead in front of Mason.
Then I’ll never get out of here. I swipe a hand across my forehead and close my eyes tight.
Think of something, Parker. Think of a way out of here.
The booming sound of a gunshot shakes me out of my thoughts, and I open my eyes to the sight of Mason standing over a gasping senator.
The gun hangs loosely from Mason’s fingers, a dazed, scared look on his face like he can’t believe what he’s just done.
Double fuck.