Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Ivan
The only thing I liked about being back in the city was being on my bike.
The wind ripped through my hair, and the speed sang through my veins.
It was unlike anything else. I hated that I would have to ditch it for a few days to get all of this work over with.
I couldn’t carry around a sniper rifle on the back of it…
I mean, I could, but that would kind of give me away.
At least I could enjoy it for a little bit.
I hopped off of my bike in the parking garage of the hotel while a text pinged through to my phone. I hated the damned thing, but it was a part of my agreement with the grannies that I would try to communicate with the rest of the family and not just my mother.
Audrey
Wouldn’t fireworks be fun for our send-off?
I pressed my tongue into my cheek. The old Ivan would have jumped at the opportunity to be able to blow shit up.
The new Ivan didn’t get excited over fire, explosives, or even fireworks.
The new Ivan preferred the adrenaline after a kill now.
I didn’t necessarily want my future sister-in-law to know I’d changed that much, but I also did.
I didn’t want them to treat me like the kid brother that was probably going to burn down the house…
Even though technically, I’d already almost succeeded at that in one of the brownstones we lived in growing up.
My father had ignored me, and my mother sent me off to a handful of therapists.
It was almost comical, especially since the therapists didn’t help at all; I’d merely stared at them for a straight hour like a psychopath each time.
One of them even had the audacity to mention me wasting my parents' money. I’d looked the man dead in the eyes and said, “When you have as much as they do… your salary is nothing.” I was twelve, and it was the last time I’d seen that man.
Another message came through, and I let out a sigh. She wasn’t going to let up. Alexei’s fiancé was ruthless.
Audrey
I know you’re in town. Stop pretending you don’t have service. Your messages are finally being delivered.
I scrubbed my hand down my face. I didn’t want to respond, but I knew that if I didn’t, she was going to come looking for me and with Benson on her side…
it would take her no time to find me. That was a surprise I didn’t want, especially since the family—besides the grannies—didn’t know what I currently did for a living, and I wanted to keep it that way.
My thumbs paused over the screen of my phone. I would need to play like I was still the same Ivan, at least for the comfort of the wedding coming soon.
Well, duh. I’m guessing you want me to do it.
Audrey
Who else would? You did the proper send-off last time, and I wouldn’t want anyone else to ring in one of the happiest days of our lives.
I’ll get with Alexei.
Audrey
He wants no part in any of this. He’s been busy with work. He’s opening up a couple more clubs.
Old Ivan would have probably felt something.
New Ivan stared down at my phone and frowned.
I didn’t want to have to work directly with the girls.
If I did that, they would hook their claws into me deep, and I would never be able to escape.
After all, I was a sucker, just like my brothers, and I knew once they batted their lashes at me and pouted, I was done for.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me and why I couldn’t stick with no or ignore them all, but they loved to get under my skin.
I felt stuck, and I didn’t like feeling that way at all.
Especially since I wasn’t here for wedding pleasantries, but they couldn’t know that.
As far as they knew, I was here for one of the many lavish parties my mother was throwing for the bride and groom-to-be.
It was better if they were left in the dark, and I continued to play the game of the innocent younger brother.
The rental car that housed all of my equipment was two blocks over.
I would have to play my cards just right.
I couldn’t do this in broad daylight, not in New York City, but I was also going to run into a few issues doing it at night.
This city didn’t sleep, and if I didn’t play right, someone would see me.
I just had to target a man who hardly ever left his penthouse. This would have been much easier if he’d decided to vacation somewhere else.
The trunk popped open with the practiced motion of a man who’d done this too many times.
The cases were black, lined in foam, heavy with quite a few things: a suppressed rifle wrapped in a soft tarp, a compact pistol in its own molded shell, climbing gear that smelled faintly of rubber and oil, a coil of low-stretch line.
I didn’t need the latter today as I had a key pass into the building across the street from his.
Thankfully, it was under construction. I pulled a bright orange vest out and slipped my arms through before covering my head with a hard hat.
It would keep my face covered in case there were any cameras Benson missed in the building—it wasn’t likely, but it made me feel better.
If I wasn’t in the big city, I would have brought the folder with me, even though I didn’t need it. I’d memorized everything in it.
James Fairchild, 68 years old. 3 daughters, 2 sons. Everyone was on vacation except for James. He hardly left his home; he was paranoid. For good reason, he did have a hit on him, after all.
The case that hid my gun looked like it belonged to construction tools. I adjusted my grip on it as I walked to the building across the way. I scanned my pass on the outside of the looming, dark building, and the door unlocked for me.
Thank God for Benson.
The building smelled like fresh mortar and motor oil.
The security guard hardly looked up as I passed by.
I had the uniform and the look. He was only posted there to make sure looters, the homeless, and thieves stayed gone.
No one accounted for assassins. I gave him a name and a nod, and he didn’t even bother looking down at the sheet in his lap.
I didn’t know if the name would be on there, but it didn’t seem to matter.
This man wasn’t paid to care that much. His eyes were glossed over from lack of sleep, and there was a thick stubble on his face.
I was sure he was minutes away from falling asleep, which was more than good for me.
I didn’t want my face to be memorable. It was one reason I donned dark brown contacts.
My eyes would give me away every time. They’d been called arctic cold before. Another risk I wouldn’t take.
Most of the building was finished, but two floors up from James Fairchild’s.
The windows had been mysteriously busted out a few weeks ago and hadn’t been prioritized to be fixed yet.
The room was empty and cold. The city was a loud buzz below as I began my quick and minimal set-up.
I eased my rifle out of the foam in the fake case and rolled my head on my shoulders.
Traffic hummed and horns blasted below as I went over my mag and all of my bullets, one by one.
You could never be too safe or careful. I tried my best to avoid the broken glass as I got down and adjusted my stance.
I braced the stock against the concrete lip, let the weight settle into my shoulder, and peered into the scope.
Two floors down, a lamp clicked on, just like it did every night.
I wasn’t usually one for theatrics, but I thought it was fitting to kill him with his dick in the cookie jar.
I watched as he leaned back in his chair, and a woman came into the picture.
It wasn’t his wife, that was certain. She was young, probably younger than his own daughters.
My lips curled in disgust. I wondered if this was one of his trafficking victims or someone random.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting a clean shot.
My finger found the pad of the trigger and settled there as I waited for the right moment.
I’d considered killing her with him. What a mess that would make, him dead with his mistress seated on him—dead too.
But as I overthought it, I knew it wasn’t right.
I wasn’t hired to kill her, and I didn’t know if she was an innocent in all of this.
I watched in disgust as the mistress made a show of rolling a condom on him.
The lithe blonde danced around him for a minute before climbing on his lap and mounting herself.
I couldn’t hear a single thing besides the traffic below, but I knew each moan she let out was over-dramatized, and it made my stomach churn.
I wanted to turn away. I didn’t want to watch as she pressed her handful-sized breasts in his face and rode him like she had something to lose.
I didn’t want to do any of this, but unfortunately, sometimes this was all a part of the job.
So instead of looking away, I lined up the shot, took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.
Clean through the back of the head. One of my best shots.
Even with the suppressor on the end of my rifle, the sound of the gun still sounded like soft thunder as it echoed around the room.
The sounds of construction above and below me drowned it out for the most part, but I still needed to be careful because I could hear the screaming from across the street now.
With careful, gloved hands, I picked up the bullet casings from the ground and began packing my gun away as quickly as possible.
I didn’t need to look back to know he was dead.
I was that good. This was New York City; it would take a minute for the police and ambulance to make it.
I had a little bit of time. So I made sure to ride the elevator up a few floors to catch some of the other construction workers leaving for the night.
We all filed out of the building together, and no one spared us a glance.
I wasn’t leaving alone, so no cameras would pick me up individually, and my van was parked where cameras weren’t posted.
Thankfully, by some stroke of luck, the construction workers all walked down the same way.
When I broke away to get to my van, no one even looked in my direction.