Chapter 1
It”s been a year since I left the crime group I worked for and my instincts haven”t gotten rusty since; they”re still constant. There is an eerie vibe in the air tonight. Something doesn”t feel right.
A flicker of a red light in an apartment of the older brick building across the street catches my attention. The lights in the apartment are off; the tenants either aren’t home or probably asleep. It is most likely just their fire alarm or coffee machine; or maybe I’m just drunk. My head is throbbing with every heartbeat and I should hurry up and go to bed. But I can’t shake the nagging gut feeling that something is wrong.
Overall, tonight was great. My friends just left after a fun girls’ night in, and I’m alone with the mess we made. I”ve had to keep them at arm”s length for many years to protect them from becoming potential targets on my behalf. But now that I”m finally free, I can be a typical– well, not so typical– twenty-six-year-old and live my life to the fullest. I left the proper way, making sure I had the Boss”s approval. There is no bad blood, quite the opposite; both the Boss and the other superiors understood my reasons for leaving. I”m young and I want to live a normal life, maybe get married, and perhaps even have children in the future. I”m not the first to leave for these exact reasons, and I won”t be the last. It”s been a solid year of smooth sailing, so why now?
I maneuver through my apartment’s spacious, bright living room, collecting the empty food containers and stuffing them into a trash bag. The smell of greasy fries and other treats fight with the lavender air freshener in a battle for scent dominance. Every now and then I steal a glance at the balcony of the apartment where I saw the red light.
Moving on, I pick up the empty bottles of wine and head for the open kitchen. I walk around the island counter, which overlooks the living room, and have a perfect view of the building across the street. The moment I turn my attention to the balcony once more, the red light flickers back on, the beam forming a perfect straight line. Soft particles of dust dance around the flash of light. Frozen in place, my heart rate quickens. My eyes drift down to where the light falls on my body: my chest, a little to the left, aiming straight at my heart.
By the time the reality of the situation hits me, it is already too late. The impact of the bullet hitting the window creates a loud smashing sound, paired with the dangerous sound of cracking glass. I scream and drop the empty bottles, which shatter at my feet on the tile floor. I drop behind the counter, crouching in the mess of green shards. Covering my ears with my hands, I try to muffle the deafening sound of rounds trying to break through the bullet-resistant glass. My heart is pounding against my ribcage, each beat echoing in my ears.
The shooting eventually stops. Whoever it is must be reloading or waiting for a sign from me. Crawling to the end of the kitchen island, I peer around to check out the aftermath of the shooting. A wave of relief washes over me when I find that the windows are still intact, cracked, but holding on. Despite the awkward conversation with the glazier when I requested that particular glass, it was a wise investment. I have to thank Riley for the suggestion. Through the now heavily cracked glass, the sniper will most likely have a hard time identifying where I am.
Turning to my other side, my eyes land on the door at the end of the hallway that leads to my bedroom. My heart rate slows to a controlled pace as I push down my fear and force myself to calm. I will not be intimidated by the person targeting me. I am a professional, just like they are. I crawl toward the other end of the counter, and just as I reach my destination, the red dot flashes back to life right in front of me, pointing at the wall. The air gets stuck in my throat, and I freeze.
The dot starts to move, slowly at first, then more frantic. He is looking for me. When the dot reaches the other side of the kitchen, I take the chance, push myself off the floor, and run toward my bedroom. I scream, my heart stops beating for a split second, and I almost trip as the gunshots pick up again, the bullets penetrating the glass in sync with my steps. When I reach the room, I rush to the windows, dragging the curtains shut in case someone is waiting for me on this side. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins, my chest is heaving, and my breaths come in short gasps.
Who is this motherfucker?
I drop to my knees in front of my bed and drag out the gun case hidden underneath. With shaky hands, I enter the code. “Damn it!” I curse under my breath as I repeatedly enter the wrong numbers. Then, with a subtle click, the lock snaps open. I slide the top half up, revealing my once-trusted companion. I load the bullets into the empty magazine before sliding it into the pistol with a click.
With the firearm ready and loaded in my hand, I can finally take a moment to breathe. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, feeling my lungs inflate and then deflate with each breath as I try to regain control. Evelyn, calm down. I need to think straight. Someone is after me; they are in the building across the street. It would take them about five to ten minutes to get from where they are to my apartment, if they are alone. If they have a partner, someone may already be outside my apartment waiting for me to make a move.
I push myself off the ground. I’m a pro, just like they are. I know how to fight, and if that’s what they want, they can have it. Holding my pistol tightly, I walk out of my bedroom with slow, calculated steps, heading to my apartment’s entryway. I reach for the handle and pull on the door, which remains shut. No one has forced their way in while I was in my bedroom.
I turn to face the living room down the hall. I know I shouldn’t go back there; every fiber of my being is screaming for me to run, to listen to my flight instinct, but I know better. Running will only give him more options. Now, he has a time limit because his little stunt couldn’t have gone unnoticed.
The moment I step through the door frame of my living room, the red dot appears, this time not aiming directly at me, but at the wall next to me. I can’t see much through the cracked glass; I can barely make out which balcony the light is coming from. If the dot is still there, it means he’s still in that building, not on his way here. To test my theory, I take a step away from the dot. And as expected, it follows me, though it keeps its distance. I turn my attention back to the broken windows.
What are you planning to do now?
“Are you really telling me that you don’t know who’s after me?” I ask, my voice filled with desperation.
“I really don’t know.” Riley’s voice comes from the phone in my hand.
I let out a frustrated groan and slump back into the soft cushions of my sofa. I rub my eyes through my closed lids. “And you’re sure you haven’t heard any rumors going around?” I ask her again. I can’t believe she hasn’t heard anything. She is the best when it comes to gathering information and yet she knows nothing about something as important as this.
“No, as I already told you, no one has been talking about you since you left,” she says, her tone insistent. “No one from our group and no one from the others.”
I open my eyes and tilt my head to the side, turning my attention from the ceiling to the broken windows. The red light disappeared just moments before the police arrived. Whoever was over there held out until the very last moment. A bold move, and since I got rid of the cops, no one has come to get me. I turned on the notifications for my security camera just in case, but I think they have given up for tonight. At least, I hope so.
“If no one from the groups is looking for me, then…” I pause momentarily, letting the sentence drag on without me. “It must be someone working alone.” I push myself off the sofa and walk over to the windows, placing my hand flat against the cracked glass.
“That was my first guess, as well.”
“Do you happen to have a list of all the people who work independently?”
“Not really, we only have superficial information. From what you described; it could literally be anyone. But I’ll bet everything I have that it is a man; not doing his homework, not checking to see if his target has bullet-resistant glass, especially when he is planning such a stunt on a fellow killer? That can only happen with men.” Riley chuckles on the other end of the line.
She is right; that little failed stunt screams ‘man.’ But aside from that fatal mistake, what stood out was his precision. I have never seen anyone do what that sniper did tonight, the way he was able to time his shots. Then again, I have never met anyone who works alone, as they tend to stay away from jobs that could potentially involve someone from one of the crime groups. But even then, someone with that skill must have caught someone else’s attention who could have reported it. I’ve been out of the business for a full year. There could be new killers that we don’t know about and that have had very few jobs so far.
“All right, keep me updated if you hear anything.”
“Of course, I will try to gather some information. Until then, Evelyn, please watch your back.”
A small smile finds its way to my lips despite all the chaos and frustration of the situation. “Thanks, you too, Riley,” I say before pressing the red button that cuts the call.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the cold window, feeling the small cracks against my skin. Opening my eyes, I step away from the window, and my attention lands on one of the bullets stuck in the glass; carefully, I place a finger against the small metal nub.
I need to get these replaced as soon as possible.