Chapter 18 #2
This whole building has less than fifteen cameras total, four of which are meticulously placed on the third level, two facing the central elevator.
You’d think they’d want to have all the exits covered, whether leaving by car or by foot.
But the stairs that carry me up are completely void of the little electronics.
I can see why Jerome picked this place.
Once at the top floor, I slide along the half-wall, remembering to duck behind the vehicles as I search for a vantage point.
The one I select gives me an uninterrupted view of the elevator doors and the down ramp.
This way if I miss the asshole when he first comes out, there’s no way he can get off this floor without me noticing. Not alive anyway.
1:56, I duck low, hiding in the shadows of the cars.
1:59, I keep my eyes glued to my target location.
2:08, the elevator door dings and out he walks.
Like snowflakes falling against the earth, I’m quiet as I slip through the garage. Trailing him as he heads for his car. He walks with a slight limp, his knee not quite bending all the way. It suggests an improperly healed or re-occuring injury to his leg. Weakness noted.
I sometimes wonder if video-game pop-up windows should be appearing like little thought bubbles over my head when I work.
Calculating moves and tracking weaknesses.
Stalking my target until I know the best way to take them down…
I’m practically made for a fighting simulator. Hell, I’m probably better than one.
His crappy little car sits on the far side of the lot, smushed against the eastern wall and a truck someone has paid way too much to alter. It’s not uncommon for me to have jobs where the intended dead have no idea they’ve been targeted, but this guy takes it to a whole new level.
He’s smug, like the world owes him a favor and he’s come to collect. His movements are languid, lazy, as he strolls through the structure without a care in the world. Whistling an off key version of—and I’m not even kidding about this—What a wonderful world.
I never bother to learn the names of the people I go after. It makes killing—or maiming, or torturing, or drugging—them easier, but if I had to guess a name, I feel like he’d be a Stuart.
Stuart, here, has absolutely no perception of his surroundings, as he walks up to his driver's side door and searches his pockets for his keys.
Completely missing my lurking frame hidden in a shadow at the front of the truck.
Quietly, my hand slides the hem of my sundress up, reaching for my sheathed dagger.
The leather wrapped handle and steel blade mold to my hand perfectly.
A beautiful, and deadly, extension of my arm.
My grip is tight as I wait for my moment. Watching this man fumble around and inserting the wrong key into the lock on his door. Just as he figures it out, unlocking the door and grabbing the handle, I jump forward.
Lunging at him, he’s better than he seemed.
Aiming for his throat, my blade misses when he ducks to the side and lands a heavy kick to my abdomen.
Knocking me back a few feet as I regain my balance.
My breaths come out in short bursts as I look at Stuart with a narrowed glare.
This man is not the easy job I figured I’d have today and the lopsided grin he’s now sporting confirms that.
Well then. Game. Fucking. On.
“Bring it, motherfucker,” I taunt with an arched brow. Stuart smiles sadistically, his broken and yellowed teeth making my breakfast want to return for an encore. But just as I expected, he launches himself forward with the first swing. Man, grown men are so easy to provoke.
I dodge with ease, swinging my daggered arm around while also bringing my leg up at the same time.
His narrow mind is so focused on where and what direction my blade is moving, he completely misses my foot headed right for him.
He tilts to the side, the unnatural angle making him groan, as he narrowly avoids my arm.
Too bad however, that he brought his head to meet my approaching appendage, and it connects with his nose—hard.
Satisfaction blooms throughout my body at the sound of his nasal bone shattering, his head snapping back from the force.
Blood is leaking from his face like a loosened faucet.
His hands moving to cover and protect the now broken appendage, grasping at his face as if he can force the red liquid back into his body.
He’s disheveled, confused, and I use this distraction to my advantage.
A quick drop to the concrete, and a sweep of my leg has Stuart’s ass and head bouncing against the ground in quick succession.
A screech echoes amongst the parked cars, taking me by surprise as I turn to make sure we are still alone.
My momentary lapse however, comes with repercussions.
Whirling around at the last moment, I manage to snag Stuart’s fist as he swipes at my cheek with a blade of his own.
His wrist flicks, and the blade twists, nicking me across my lip.
Rage floods my vision, as I slam his fist against the hood of his car.
The knife bouncing out of his hand and sliding under the next-door truck.
My eyes track the blade, but miss his hand as it grabs me by the throat—and not in the fun way.
With a blow to my knee, I collapse. The tiny pieces of gravel that litter the ground sting as they dig into my skin.
Stuart continues, thinking he has the upper-hand, bringing his good knee up to collide with my face.
I throw myself backwards, clenching my abs to hold my back off the ground—in a total superhero style move.
My forearms shoot out, stopping his leg as I thrust a devastating punch to his family jewels.
Finally, his grip around my neck loosens, his hands now focused on consoling his crushed testicles. Without hesitation I reach down, bringing my glock out of its holster, and pointing it between his eyes.
“You fucking cock-sucker,” I spit, saliva and blood flying from the incision on my lip. “Now I’m going to have to explain that cut to my four overly sensitive men.” My thumb wipes against my face, the blood smearing as I pull the trigger to drop him.
Retrieving my lost dagger, and holstering both my weapons once again, I make short work of stuffing Stuart into his car.
Locking the doors, cleaning up, and leaving his dead ass there for someone else to find and deal with.
A quick picture and confirmation has been sent to J, along with a reminder that my life debt to him has been officially repaid.
I never told him I was headed to Miami, so for him to already have that information scares the shit out of me.
And gives me yet another reason to get the fuck out of here, and away from them.
Heading back to meet the guys seems to be a lot longer of a walk than the first time. Maybe it’s because I know what I’m hiding from them, or maybe it’s my brain’s way of stalling, seeing as I still don’t have an excuse for the knife wound on my face.
Making it back to the sand, the guys are sitting around a picnic table, empty containers and drink cups covering the top.
Why did we bring food if they were just going to eat out?
My phone says I’ve been gone for just over an hour, but at least I remembered to swipe some sunscreen.
On the list of things I’ve done today, I think I get a pass for petty theft.
Kade, Zane, and Ryder all clock me as I saunter up, bottle in hand, but as usual Max is oblivious.
In a split second decision, I sneak around the side of the food truck, and quietly slink up behind Max in a crouched position.
The softness of the sand beneath my feet silences my approach, and before you know it, I’m right behind him.
The other three look up, Zane and Ryder immediately catching my new lip accessory, but they say nothing as I clamp my hands down on Max’s shoulders.
With all my strength, I violently shake him back and forth, laughter bubbling out of me the whole time.
“Earthquaaake!” I chuckle, only letting him go when he squeals like a poked pig.
With a speed I can barely catch, he jumps in fright and whirls.
Hands extended and flailing as he tries to fend off his attacker.
I’ve taken a couple of steps back, watching as he kung-foo-fights the air, with my hands on my hips and a smile lighting my face.
He’s breathing heavily, but upon seeing my smug grin his panic subsides, annoyance replacing it.
“Not cool, Mik!” he screeches, his face red from the exertion.
“You're too easy, Babe. It’s almost a crime not to scare you.”
He shakes his head, but has no response, which has me laughing again.
“Mik, what happened to your—” Zane tries to begin, but I’m already working to divert his attention.
I shove Max hard, knocking him back into an unsuspecting Kade, as I scream. “Last one in the water pays for dinner!”
I’m already running for the shoreline, passing our large blanketed area on the way.
With a brief stop—and with a move I’m very proud to have perfected—I slide off my dress and both my holsters in one smooth motion.
Everything gets tossed into my large beach bag, the guys never knowing what was hidden just out of sight.
Hitting the water, I dive deep, the cold sending a refreshing shock to my system.
When I surface, Kade is already beside me, having been right on my tail.
Zane is barreling with intense force towards us, having ditched his shirt at the bags, whereas Max and Ryder are still fighting with their shirts and sandals.
Tumbling over each other as they try to not be last.