His Death Bringer (The District #1)

1. Chapter 1

M cLean, Virginia

Her pale green eyes gleamed like peridot stones—my birthstone—filled with love and happiness that seemed to pour out of her, emitting like the sun itself as she sang the boy a song while holding him in her arms. The little hand belonged to a five-year-old as he reached for her long, straight, black hair that draped over her shoulder, shimmering in the dim light.

He twirled a lock between chubby fingers, always needing to touch it.

It was comforting, bringing him closer to her.

Her smile was big, and her teeth were white as her voice rang out in beautiful notes to a song he didn’t remember.

The tune’s notes seemed to float while the words were lost, but it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the love she had for the boy.

That her song was full of adoration. A love only a mother could give. Nothing could break their bond.

But suddenly, darkness spread over her. A void that swallowed up mother and child. Her face morphed into one of terror, and her mouth opened in a silent scream as the blackness turned red.

Blood red…

I shook my head at the errant memory from my youth, not understanding why, at this moment, she intruded into my thoughts.

It was one of the few times I recalled happiness.

I had only been five when someone killed her.

These scenes were bloody flickers in my mind, always leaving me wondering if someone murdered her in front of me.

No one ever confirmed nor denied it, especially not my father. If she had, I blocked it out.

I struggled to remember exactly what she looked like. Only vague, ghost-like snippets pulled out of my brain as I fought to remember her. The more I tried to recall, the further out of reach she was. All that I knew was she had dark hair and light green eyes like mine.

But this was no time to get distracted.

Distraction equaled death.

It would get me killed, and I knew better, but I had no control over when my mother’s ghost would intrude, haunting me at the most inopportune moments as if trying to tell me something. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it hit me hard and fast.

Did she want me to die? To reunite with her? Unfortunately, she was in heaven, and I’d be going to hell. Not that I believed in such things. I just knew there would be no reunions. But if there were such a place, she would be in the beautiful light, where she belonged.

And tonight, I especially couldn’t afford distractions.

My job was to infiltrate the compound and kill everyone in it.

The District had plenty of assassins to choose from, but they wanted me because of my ability and willingness to get close and personal if I had to.

Despite being unafraid to get blood on my hands, I was always careful, never taking unnecessary risks.

Now, my past chose to haunt me, and it took everything I had not to reach for it, desperate for what remained of my mother.

I steadied my breathing, and my heart was only slightly elevated as I made my way through the mansion, having the layout burned into my memory, along with how many men patrolled the place.

Layla, our resident hacker, breached their security system and turned their cameras to run on a loop to keep me hidden and maintain the advantage.

Outside, the guards were already dead. Inside, I had killed several men, including the chef.

All had to die. Those were the orders. Twenty-one men, specifically.

I quickly shoved another magazine into my handgun with a suppressor and fired off two shots into the man’s head, who rounded the corner with his gun drawn, spattering blood behind him like a red halo.

They were now all aware of my presence, but after taking out so many of their men so far, they weren’t taking any risks.

I had them spread thin. Too bad it wouldn’t be good enough to keep them alive.

This job was my biggest thus far with the amount of men I had to take out, including the leader of this little crime cell, which was part of a larger syndicate.

They didn’t tell me why these men all needed to die, nor did I ask or care.

I took the two million in cash and did the job, and I was the best when it came to infiltration.

Generally, my bosses, who handed me the jobs, only did so on the condition that the men we took out served no purpose for society.

They were the degenerates, evil incarnates, the lowest of the low.

Unfortunately, innocents got in the way sometimes, like the chef.

It was the casualty of war. But men like him knew who he worked for.

I may have been my father’s son, but I wasn’t my father. I didn’t kill just anyone.

Though the house was cool from the air conditioning, a sheen of sweat covered me through my combat gear after spending too long outside in the Virginia heat and humidity.

I wore a beanie to keep the hair and sweat out of my eyes, adding to the heat levels.

Maybe I should’ve shaved my head, but I remembered my mother liking my hair longer.

It was a stupid thing, but it was all I had of her.

I pulled out a second pistol to have a gun in each hand as I heard several footsteps headed my way, along with beeps and soft whispers from communication devices. They knew I was here already, but they were finally mounting their forces, despite being diminished by twelve.

The men didn’t rush, taking their time to check each room on the lower level.

I tucked myself away behind a door in a darkened room and calmed my breathing, which was too loud in the silence, while my only slightly elevated heartbeat sounded in my ears.

My hearing was hyper-focused, ready for any threats.

The men didn’t talk, probably using hand signals, not that I could see them hidden away.

I peered through the crack in the doorjamb as two men slowly entered the room I was in with their guns drawn.

Two pops from my gun had them dropping once they rounded the doorway.

Although my gun had a suppressor, the sound of gunfire could still be heard in the silence.

While they died instantly, the backs of their heads exploded in a spray of brain matter and blood.

As soon as the men landed on the floor dead, I dropped and rolled out of the way from the barrage of gunfire peppering through the door and walls, not firing back to save my ammo and not give away my position.

They were extra careful now. One man slowly entered with only the tip of his gun showing because someone had to ensure I was dead, and he probably drew the short straw.

I allowed him all the way in, knowing there was another man not far behind him.

As soon as the second man stepped in, I fired a round at the first man’s leg, dropping him, then took aim at the second man’s head.

Once he was down, I fired extra rounds into both to make sure they were dead.

Four more men down. Five more to go.

While they were professional mercenaries, they weren’t equipped to handle the likes of me. Regardless, they wouldn’t be so careless this time when they didn’t hear back from their team.

Now the tricky part was getting up the stairs without them firing down on me. If they were smart, that would be the way to take me out. My only protection was my Kevlar vest. But obviously, a shot to the head would drop me.

I eased out from behind the door of the room, aiming out into the grand hall and scanning every corner ahead of me while listening for every little sound. There were shadows upon shadows with all the lighting in the house. Shadows that hid more than darkness.

Quick movement on the other side of the wall ahead of me showed someone had ducked behind there. With my body pressed against the door jamb, I readied my gun, peeked out around the corner, and held silent and still, waiting him out.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…

After several seconds, the man popped his head out and scanned the area, but he never stood a chance. Before he could duck back behind the wall, one of my bullets landed on his forehead, and the back of his head exploded against the eccentric floral wallpaper behind him.

After quickly replacing my magazines for both guns, I slowly made my way down the hall and up the grand staircase, ignoring the gaudiness of it all.

I pressed my body along the wall, away from the railing, as it curved upward to keep my eyes trained above me for any movement.

If they were smart, they’d let loose all their guns on me, being in a vulnerable position.

Instead, they were hiding, waiting me out, and that would be their undoing. Fools.

Only four men were left, including the leader, Randall Payne.

He was part of a larger criminal conglomerate that had strong connections to the Bratva, and I made no assumptions why anyone wanted him dead, not knowing who hired me to take him and his men out.

Betrayal? Failure? No longer useful? It could be anything, and it didn’t fucking matter.

None of them would see the light of morning again after tonight.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I peered around the hall, left and right.

No one could be seen. Were they gathered in the main room, protecting their leader?

Were some tucked away in bedrooms, waiting me out?

The smart thing for Payne to do now was surround himself with the last of his men.

It would explain why they didn’t just take me out on the stairs.

Always prepare for any possible outcomes and consequences.

My sperm donor taught me that. One of the few things of value I still used.

Before memories of that fuck could intrude on my mind, I cleared my head. My parents had intruded into my thoughts enough for the night.

This mansion was too fucking big. Too many rooms and dark corners, making this job take too damned long and leaving me open to mistakes as I grew tired. But that was why they paid me the big bucks. Regardless, it was almost finished. Four more men, then I could go home to my house and my dog.

After clearing several rooms, I made my way further down the hall and rounded the corner to another row of rooms. According to my memories, after analyzing the layout of the house, the master bedroom was at the end of this hall, which was dead ahead.

The other rooms were clear, and there was only one more before I forced my way into the master bedroom. I slowly opened the door to the last bedroom on the right and was greeted with pale blue walls, lacy curtains, and toys on the shelves.

A child’s room.

Fuck.

No one said shit about fucking kids. Kids were off-limits. When they said to kill everyone, did they really expect me to take out a child, too? The boss and I were going to have fucking words when I wrapped this up.

But it wasn’t a child.

Not often was I surprised, but the boy—no, not a boy—the young man huddled on his bed with his back firmly pressed against his headboard, half-naked, and holding a large stuffed rabbit.

His hair was a warm blond, falling past his ears in curly waves.

His skin was pale, as if he hadn’t seen sunlight in a while, and his eyes were big and wide.

There were no reports of him being here.

Who was he? And why was he dressed as a child and sitting in a child’s room?

He couldn’t have been younger than eighteen or nineteen, but the room was designed for a boy younger than ten; not that I had experience with children, but I remembered being nineteen, and my room definitely didn’t look like this.

His eyes were so large and scared that I could see they were blue from the doorway.

His blond hair was mussed, and the side of his face sported a bruise and a busted lip.

He didn’t belong here. There was no record of him.

Regardless, he needed to die. My orders were to kill everyone at the mansion.

Inside and out. Even if he made twenty-two men.

I raised one of my guns to put him out of his misery before his eyes grew wide.

At first, I thought it was fear of me killing him, but he pointed behind me with a shaky finger.

I whipped around, aiming my gun at the man at my back, but I wasn’t fast enough.

He clocked me on the side of my head with his gun, and were it not for the beanie on my head, he might have knocked me out.

A wave of dizziness hit, but I remained standing.

Why didn’t he just shoot me from behind?

As I shook the stars out of my brain, he knocked the guns out of my hands, and they went scattering across the floor, so I unsheathed a knife from my thigh and sliced it at him, narrowly missing his abdomen.

He was bigger than me, but I was faster. Hopefully.

“Boss wants to talk to you,” he said in a thick Russian accent.

That explained why I still lived. He probably wanted to extract intel from me. To find out who wanted him dead.

He darted each time I took a swing with my knife, and when I missed again, he swung at my face, and I saw only blackness for a second before I felt the leaking of warm blood down my face.

He broke my nose. Fucker. I stumbled backward from the force before I fell onto my back, knocking the wind out of me.

My knife slipped out of my hand, dammit, but I couldn’t look for it now, needing to protect myself from his meaty fists.

A few punches to my gut had me winded again, but I tightened my core to control the pain while fighting the heavier man off, hitting him wherever I could in my awkward position.

When he raised his fist to come down on my face, his eyes suddenly flashed blank, and blood leaked out from his forehead.

He fell on top of me, pushing a grunt out of me.

I shoved him off and then scrambled to stand.

When I turned, I saw the young man holding my smoking gun in his trembling hands, and he suddenly dropped it.

If he was further from his target, he would’ve missed. No way, he was that good of a shot.

I quickly grabbed my weapons and raised my gun at the boy’s head again. He ignored me while he grabbed his rabbit from the bed and held it close to him, burying his nose between the long ears, then turned to face me as if waiting for his execution in comfort.

I’d never been so confused and filled with doubt before. He needed to die, but why did he help me? He could’ve easily killed me, too. Instead, he dropped the gun. And why wasn’t he crying or running or begging for his life?

“Who are you?” I asked.