The Assassin
How many times was I going to buy this woman flowers before she threw them back in my face? Three? Four?
I was only on my second strike, and that already felt like too much. This relationship I was building with Simone wasn’t something I could screw up. The past few days of us not talking has been driving me crazy. But, I knew she needed the space and time to breathe after our last blowout.
Shit, so did I.
Now that we’d both cooled down, I figured it was time we could have a conversation, try to mend whatever we might’ve broken.
My stomach tightened as I walked into the apartment, remembering what I’d found the last time we had an argument.
The brightness of the lamps in the living room quickly eased my worries.
Glancing around the living room, I noticed Simone sitting cross-legged on the couch.
Her short curls were damp and slicked back.
Her body was swimming in one of my sweatshirts.
Notebooks were scattered across the coffee table beside her, and one of our computers sat in her lap.
She looked up from the screen as the door clicked behind me. “Hey,” she said, her voice still tinted with sadness.
“Hey,” I replied. I held up the flowers in my hands. “I picked these up for you.”
Her eyes lingered on the flowers, but no smile tugged at her lips. “Thanks. You can just put ‘em in the kitchen.”
I continued towards her and set them atop the coffee table instead. “Look, I um…I wanted to apologize for the things I said the other night. I…I shouldn’t have bought up your father or forced a gun in your hand.”
“It’s fine,” she muttered, returning her gaze to the computer screen.
“No, it’s not.” I stepped in the space between the couch and the coffee table and kneeled at her side. “You didn’t deserve that. Not after giving the assignment your all. Look, I know I hurt you, and I know I can’t take back what I said. But I need you to know that I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize for words you meant. You don’t believe in me, and that’s fine. I get it.”
I gently grabbed her chin and pulled her face towards me. “It’s not that I don’t believe in you, Simone. I know you can do anything you put your mind to. But, you have a good heart. Are you really willing to sacrifice it?”
She ripped her chin out of my grasp and returned her gaze to the computer. “You clearly don’t know me if you’re asking that question.”
I followed her eyes to the profile on the screen. My brow rose at the familiar formatting of the FBI database. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Research.”
“For what?”
“For my own assignments.” She jutted her chin towards the picture on the screen.
“This is Marcos Vazquez; he’s the weapons dealer my father was chasing before he died.
The one in cahoots with the dirty agents in the department.
He’s become a recluse since his wife died a few years ago.
He handed off the business to his son and practically fell off the grid. Figured he’d be a good starting point.”
“Starting point? Simone, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Random targets isn’t the training I need. I have all the basic skills and knowledge I need to kill someone. What I need is the desire to carry it through. To let my anger drive me. The only way to do that is to put my energy into those I actually want to harm.”
I scoffed. “No. You’re not going after the men who had a role in your father’s death. Not yet.”
“I wasn’t asking for your permission,” she said. “This doesn’t concern you or your handler, so I can do what I want.”
“The hell you will. I’m not going to sit here and watch you get yourself killed.”
“Then look away,” she snapped, shooting me a harsh glare.
Her words sliced across my chest like claws scratching through flesh. The blow, unexpected and and brutal, left me stunned. Between the pain and shock, I couldn’t think of any words to say back to her.
The intensity in Simone’s eyes dimmed as she realized the damage she’d caused.
She averted her eyes and spoke with a softer tone.
“I appreciate all you’ve done for me since my godfather tried to kill me, but I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.
As much as I’d like you beside me on this, I don’t need you to be. ”
“You’re crazy if you think you’re doing this alone.”
“Then, you need to trust me,” she said, her eyes returning to me, softening as the shield inside them lowered. “And you need to believe in me. Can you do that?”
I stared at her for a moment, taking some time to ponder over the conviction in her voice and the blaze running through her eyes.
I was hesitant to admit it, but maybe she was right.
Maybe she didn’t need training wheels; she just needed to hit the ground running.
And I’d rather be there to catch her if she fell than let her crash and burn.
From the look in eyes alone, I doubted she would.
“Yeah,” I replied with a nod. “I can.”