Chapter 2
I push myself away from the rifle and run my gloved fingers through the messy strands of my hair, attempting to calm the raging frustration shooting through my veins.
“That stupid bitch,” I yell out loud.
Why did no one bother telling me she has bullet-resistant windows? It’s crucial information that my fucking client should have mentioned in the report I received beforehand. They refused to hire my full services, convinced me they had all the information I would need, and assured me that all I had to do was pull the trigger. Yet here I am with my target still alive, safely tucked away in her apartment.
My pulse quickens at the rising rage inside me. I should not have trusted them. I should have questioned the hefty pay for such a simple request. Never, and I mean never, let someone who has no idea what they are doing handle such an important part of a job. I guess I needed to be reminded of that the hard way. They will have to pay me for my wasted time. I didn’t bring anything to deal with this situation from a distance–like the right ammunition to deal with bullet-resistant glass. The only option for me right now is to pack up and go over there and kill her with my bare hands. There is just one small problem.
Making sure the mask on my turtleneck is still in place, covering the lower half of my face, I turn to face the dark apartment behind me. On the floor, in the middle of the small living room, lay a man and a woman, tied at their hands and feet, as well as blindfolded and gagged to keep them from screaming for help.
I don”t know how long it will take me to get over there, force my way into the apartment, and kill her; it will probably take longer, considering I have a feeling she”ll fight back now that she”s expecting me. If I pursue this option, it will most likely give these two enough time to free themselves, call the police, and let them know exactly what is going on. Right now, the police will show up eventually, but they will be overwhelmed at first.
”You stay where you are!” I yell at the man as he struggles against his restraints, trying to free himself.
My attention shifts back to my rifle; leaning forward, I hover over the scope again, quickly locating her, not aiming directly at her, just observing her. My eyes land on the pistol she’s holding. With that, any chance of doing it by hand falls flat, it would simply take too long to deal with her. I follow her, keeping my distance as she maneuvers through her apartment, her focus on the dot that keeps following her. Don”t worry, sweetheart, I”m not gonna shoot again.
I watch her with great interest as she tucks the pistol into the waistband of her tight leggings. Every movement is calculated, every subtle facial gesture gives her away. She’s nervous, as she should be. Her attention darts back and forth, stealing glances at the front door of her apartment. She must be waiting for someone to burst in and finish her off. Rest assured, you are all mine. I”m the only one who will lay hands on you. I”m the one you”ll be looking at when you take your last breath. My heart flutters at the thought of her beautiful face, painted with panic when her life slips away.
She starts cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, picking up the broken pieces of the wine bottles while she keeps looking at the red dot to ensure I”m not pointing it directly at her. And then, finally, her gaze follows the beam of light to where I am. It”s as if she wants to make eye contact. My heart skips a beat as I lock eyes with her beautiful, rich brown ones. They remind me of the coloring of my doves” eyes, so deep they almost appear black. She’s beautiful…the same pure form of beauty that my beloved birds possess.
I bite my lower lip and chew on the soft flesh. Oh, My Little Dove, we are far from being done. We will have so much fun together, I promise you. I will make it worth your while; I will make it pleasurable for both of us.
At the sound of police sirens in the distance, I look up, the wail echoing through the noisy, bustling streets of the city. Fuck, I”ve already wasted too much time. The street is empty as I look at it; the people fled the moment I started shooting. The police are still a few blocks away, but I should be able to make it.
I grab my rifle and quickly stuff it into the bag without wasting time on disassembling it. Shouldering the bag, I step back into the apartment, making sure to lock the balcony door behind me.
”I appreciate your hospitality very much, and I hope we can work together again sometime in the future,” I say to the man and woman on the ground who are unable to respond. I give the man a pat on the head before stepping over them, leaving them to fend for themselves. Releasing them will cause too much trouble; I can”t risk that now. The police are going to find them sooner or later anyway.
Reaching the apartment’s front door, I make sure my turtle neck is still in place before leaving. The fire escape stairs provide safe passage out of the emergency exit on the other side of the building, where my car is parked. As soon as I’m in the driver’s seat, the car is moving, and I am off. I have to get out of the city, fast.
My office is dimly lit, the only two sources of light being the moon and its white light filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling lattice windows behind me–the cool light reflecting off the dark surfaces of the built-in wooden bookshelves on the opposite wall. In front of me, the warm light from my lamp illuminates my sturdy desk positioned in the center of the room; reflecting on the glossy fabric of my black leather chair.
I flip through pages upon pages of information provided by my client, as well as the information I have gathered in the last hour, trying to find where I missed the note about bullet-resistant windows, but it’s nowhere to be found.
With the file in my hand, I lean back in my chair and skim through the list of profiles of some of her previous victims, ranging from low-level drug dealers to high-profile individuals. Targets that are supposed to be hard to get to. She has quite an impressive record for the soft age of twenty-six. She was successful, with only a few failed attempts at the very beginning of her career, or rather, when the crime group started keeping track of her hits. However, those failed attempts aren’t anything worth dwelling on– because every hit after her one-year mark with them was a success. Each target was eliminated smoothly without attracting unnecessary attention or leaving evidence that could be traced back to her. She always managed to get away unnoticed.
I wonder why she quit. She was only in the business for five years; that”s not long. But considering the amount of kills she had, she must have earned enough to live a simple but comfortable life for the rest of her days, even in a city like New York.
Flipping to the last page of the file, a stack of photographs catches my attention. Leaning forward, I reach for the lit cigarette resting in the small dent of the glass ashtray. Lifting it to my lips, I cut the dancing stream of smoke rising from the cigarette. Inhaling deeply, the familiar burning sensation of the gray smoke soothes my lungs before I exhale a gray cloud.
Looking through the photos, my eyes focus on the beautiful girl on the shiny paper. She has a different hair color in almost every photo: blonde, brown, and even bright copper in a couple. I wonder which is her natural color. A tiny part of me hopes it’s the beautiful dark brown she has at the moment. While her hair color has changed quite often, she has always kept her hair long. The soft bangs of her layered cut frame her face beautifully. Her eyes are deep brown, her nose is a small button, and her lips are plump. She is truly beautiful.
One photo in particular grabs my attention; it is of her wearing a tight black satin dress. It perfectly hugs her frame in all the right places, highlighting her round butt as well as her small chest, all dolled up for what I assume was a black-tie event.
Looking more closely, I try to make out some details in the background, but there aren”t enough clues to tell which event it was. The mere thought of the slim chance that we have crossed paths before, that we have been in the same room at some point, fills my stomach with that fluttery and irritating sensation of excitement.
The only thing I knew about her before I accepted the job was that she was known to seduce her targets, luring them to safety where she could work her magic. But did I expect her to be that beautiful? No. She is completely different than I imagined her; at first glance, she looks friendly, gentle, and somewhat soft. Not as strict and grim as most of the women I”ve met in the business over the years, many of whom claim to use their looks to seduce their targets. But I”ve never been more convinced of someone”s ability to successfully get every goddamn man on the planet. Hell, she could seduce me. I”m actually jealous of all the bastards that she killed; it must have been exciting to die by her hands, to be able to look into the eyes of an angel while taking your last painful breaths. That’s some send-off…
I tilt my head back and lift the photo into the air to look at it.
Evelyn Black.
Evelyn.
Black.
Poisonous.
Like the deadly nightshade.
It”s a shame I have to kill you, but that”s the job, and I don”t want to give up this opportunity. I want to kill you. I don”t want to leave you to someone who doesn”t understand the gravity of this beautiful moment…someone who won”t honor you the way you deserve. Because you deserve the most pleasurable and memorable death possible, and I will be the one to give it to you. I promise you that.