FIFTY-THREE
Gigi
Five months later
Five men.
All part of some major drug empire.
One assassination attempt.
No specific details, just get the job done.
One of the new recruits – Ben … Byron … Brandon, I don’t know. I just call him B. Well, B with the feather-blond hair and blue eyes, looking like a Ken doll, is shaking like a leaf.
“What are you waiting for, B?” I ask, breathing down his neck. Looking through the window at the large, burly man preparing food in the kitchen, I urge, “Just do it.”
“Richard said we don’t use bullets unless we have to.” He shakes his head. “The more blood splatter, the harder the clean-up … I need to sneak up on him somehow. Put shit in his sandwich or something.”
I roll my eyes at his stupidity. That’ll take forever, and we’re limited for time.
“He’s your boss when you’re in training. We’re on the field right now, which means I’m your boss. You answer to me. I’m telling you to shoot him.”
B gulps, turning back to our victim and shaking his head. “No. There’ll be another way.”
“Fine,” I huff, standing to my full height. “I’ll do it.”
Swiping my Glock from the holster, I switch off the safety and pull the trigger, popping the guy in the centre of the forehead. The glass smashes with the passing bullet, and his body falls against the wooden cabinet, eyes bulging before he slowly topples to the side, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.
Due to the silencer the bullet doesn’t elicit so much as the bat of an eyelid from those next door.
Pity.
Content with the aim, I put the pistol away, dusting my hands together as if I’ve just baked something delicious for tea. Avoiding the smashed fragments of glass, I grimace as I step over the pool of crimson on the floor, managing to get a splash of red on my ankle.
“I loved these,” I sigh, my eyes falling to my Gucci trainers.
Reaching the limp body, I lean down, feeling the inside of the man’s pocket for anything useful. My eyes light up when I find his wallet and a stack of cash. I pop it into my bra, thanking the dead man for his service by patting him atop his bald head.
Harry’s been disposing of the trail of bodies B and I have left in our path, but since I’m ahead of schedule with my present kill, he’s running late.
“Hurry up, St. James.” I tut. “I don’t have all day.”
Feet pound in the hallway, and I turn as someone skids to a stop. Silence stretches across the space as I watch one of the newer recruits stumble backwards.
“What happened?”
“He’s the last one,” I say, peering down at my TAG Heuer . “And we’re ahead of schedule.”
My eyes are forced towards the entrance as Harry storms into the room looking as handsome as ever. His gaze lands on the crime scene, the dead man lying lifeless against the wood, his body twisted at an unnatural angle.
“What the fuck!” Harry shouts, his expression frantic.
It really hurts my feelings.
Several footsteps filter in behind him as people stop at the entrance, taking in the space. Andy catches himself against the doorframe, the wood cracking beneath his palms. Meanwhile Poppy watches on with her mouth agape, utterly speechless.
“You don’t like it?” I ask.
Harry’s nostrils flare, and if we weren’t struck for time I’d appreciate his flushed expression and deadly appearance. He storms towards me until we’re toe-to-toe, and I crane my neck up to look at him, unfazed by his petty anger.
“You know full well we don’t use bullets unless absolutely necessary.”
I shrug. “It seemed pretty necessary.”
“You’re fucking reckless,” he spits. “You need to pull your shit together.”
“What you gonna do? You gonna kiss me, Harry?” I taunt.
But I know he never will.
He may be a teeny bit pissed, but he’ll come around.
If I’m certain of one thing … it’s that this man may kill me.
But that’s only if I don’t kill him first.