21. #2
His shoulders shake as he starts crying.
“What do you want from me?” he whispers, and he looks so much his age right now that it makes me curse the universe for dealing this hand to me.
But I can’t let emotions cloud my judgement.
Intentional or not, this guy is the reason people are dead right now – people that have loved ones who’ll mourn them for the rest of their lives.
And that’s not fair, not by a long shot.
Timothy moves further away from me. “Look, I can p–”
“If you tell me that you can pay me, I swear to God , Timothy, I’ll make you suffer before I end you,” I grit out, then set my clutch on the bench before getting to my feet.
“Fucking stop!” he screams, then sits upright before roughly searching himself. Beads of sweat are now dripping down his face, dampening his shirt. “Where is it?” he asks himself. “Fuck, fuck ! Where did I keep it?” He then glares up at me. “You took it, didn’t you?” he asks. “You took it!”
“Took what ?” I’m annoyed and agitated now. If someone were to come here and find us like this, things could get messy.
“My gun!” he hisses. “You took my gun!”
I let go of a tired breath as I step close to him, causing him to move back. “And why would I do that?” I pull my Glock out of the holster and wiggle it next to my face. “I already have my own, remember?”
“You want me defenseless,” he says, then starts crying again.
“I want you dead ,” I clarify. “Because one way or another, you will meet that fate tonight, Timothy. And trust me when I tell you that you do not want my boyfriend to be the one to give it to you, because that guy – he likes to take his time. He likes to draw things out until the target all but begs for him to end them. Let me be the one to do it, and I promise I’ll make it quick. ”
“Who fucking talks like that?” he half-screams, half-pants as he looks me up and down.
“Is that what you do – call people targets and ask them nicely to let you kill them? Is that a side hustle of yours? And your boyfriend, who the fuck is he? I’m sure whoever he is, he’s way smarter than you and will be willing to sit down and work out a deal with me. ”
I laugh at that. “Do you honestly think Dorran Ledger works out deals with people he’s been paid to kill?” I scratch my temple with the barrel of my gun. “Oh, Timothy; you really are stupid, aren’t you?”
The color has drained from his face as he stares at me. “Do…Dorran Ledger?” His brows crease as he shakes his head. “Who wants me dead so badly that they hired a fucking contract killer ?”
“Would you believe me if I told you who it was?”
He snorts. “I don’t exactly have a choice but to.”
I work my jaw. “Aras,” I state, then shrug when Timothy continues to stare at me, more perplexed now than shocked.
“Is that how you knew about the ODs?”
“Yup.” I point my gun at him. “For what it’s worth: I’m sorry, kid. I want to say you don’t deserve this, but we both know you do.”
He yelps and gets to his feet, then stumbles as he tries to get away from me. “Please don’t…”
I make sure the distance between us isn’t long, since I know for sure that I’ll miss if he’s too far. I only do well with close-ranged shots, but he doesn’t need to know that.
I feel my hand shake a little, so I let go of a breath and try to steady it. The air is especially chill now as it breezes past me, making me realize that I’m sweating.
Timothy regains his balance and turns as he tries to run, but I take a step forward and pull the trigger. He screams as the bullet homes itself in his right thigh, then clutches the wound as he kneels down on the grass, tainting it with his blood.
Bullet count: three.
“You bitch !” he spits at me, dragging himself sideways.
I erase the gap between us and stand over him.
“Call me whatever you want, Timothy. I, at least, know the difference between taking a life that’s deserving, and one that isn’t.
You failed to understand that, and the price you’re paying for it is irreversible.
” I once again point my Glock at him, and as he opens his mouth in a scream, I shoot him directly in the middle of his throat, puncturing it.
Blood and shreds of skin splatter on my dress, and some of it sticks to my gun and arm as Timothy cups his throat, and his body thrashes as he struggles to breathe. He coughs blood all over himself, and his eyes widen as he reaches out a stained hand to grab onto mine.
I step back and kick him in the chest, watching as he falls flat on the ground.
He jerks once as his eyes – so dim of life – bore into mine.
He tries to say something, but all I hear is a wet, gurgling sound as more blood pours out of his mouth.
A long second passes as I continue to watch him while he fights a lost battle, then sigh when his chest arches, and he takes one final breath before going completely still.
No one can prepare you for witnessing the face of death in its true, blatant nature.
We see movies and TV shows where actors pretend to die, and we shed countless tears over their impeccable performances.
But that’s not how things work in real life, because in reality, death is a slow, aching process.
Perhaps not as much in Timothy’s case, but still, it was a process nonetheless.
“What the fuck have you done?” comes an unfamiliar voice from behind me.
I turn, and come face-to-face with a security personnel holding a silver handgun that he’s aimed at me. He’s obviously not one of Aras’s guards, and with Fred having just sent his delivery, it could mean that this guy works for the Byron family.
“My job,” I say, raising my Glock as I jerk my head forward and read the name embossed on his badge. “Drop your gun, Aaron.”
Bullet count: two.
“Why did you kill him?” Aaron asks, refusing to do as I’ve asked him to.
“I’ve already explained everything to him,” I start, gesturing towards Timothy’s corpse. “And I hate repeating myself, so I’m afraid you’ll have to get the reasoning out of him instead.”
He sneers at me. “Fredrick will have my fucking head if I tell him that his heir is dead .” He grits his teeth and shifts towards me. “So stop messing with me and tell me who you are, and why you killed Timothy.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely…” Before he can so much as blink, I pull the trigger, putting a hole in his forehead.
Bullet count: one.
Aaron showers my face and neck with warm, heady-smelling blood, and, to my fucking dismay, small lumps of his brain as well.
I guess it’s my fault for picking the forehead, eh?
“Jesus Christ ,” I hiss as I wipe beads of blood off my left eye, then swipe away a marshy piece of brain off my cheek. “Fuck my life ,” I mumble, but I shouldn’t have, because that results in another chunk of brain to glide down my cheek and onto my lips.
I gag and spit it out, then back away from his body before making my way to the bench where my clutch is. I need to call Dorran so that we can get the hell out of here. I am so done with tonight. All I need right now is a bath and the comfort of my bed. I’ve seriously had enough, good grief .
I manage only to reach halfway towards the bench, and have to stop when I hear heavy footsteps behind me.
My heart starts beating a mile a second as I sense a presence looming on my back, and a chill rakes down my spine when the person releases a shallow breath.
The raw, metallic stench of skin and blood on my body intensifies as the wind picks up speed, but I don’t focus on it for too long, instead keeping my attention on the figure tracking my every move.
Their silhouette flickers in my peripheral, but it’s distorted enough that it’s really hard for me to tell if it’s a man or a woman.
I grip my gun tighter when it starts slipping through my blood-slicked fingers, and brace myself before turning.
But I barely get to shift, because as soon as I move, the person acts, hitting the side of my head with something sturdy, causing my vision to go pitch-black, and for my body to tumble downward as I lose consciousness.
Why does everything feel so weighed down, yet weightless all at once…?