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Echo hadn’t started out being a killer, he’d grown into the job as a small boy living under duress.
Death carried a particular smell, and the act of killing stayed with a person. The visual violence, the brutality of ending a life hung around. But after a while, even that faded.
When?
It was hard to say.
Years, maybe? Decades? Absolutely.
He couldn’t remember the exact moment taking a life had become an unfeeling act. Now, he just killed. It was his thing. It had made him the man he was today.
Killing was all he’d ever known. Violence was all he’d ever been exposed to.
The act of killing, of ending a life, bothered a whole hell of a lot of people. Of course, some people might find satisfaction and morbid glee in the act itself.
Echo felt none of that.
Murder was just something he did.
The mark lying on the dirty floor at his feet gasped for air. Clutching his chest, the guy made a gurgling sound that slightly echoed in the rest stop bathroom.
Echo crouched next to the guy and studied him—much like he would a bug. The man had killed his entire family and now lay bleeding out on a dirty concrete floor filled with piss, shit, and fuck else. It was odd to Echo that the mark dared to look stunned.
Un-fucking-believable.
“Hello,” Echo said. “I’m death.”
Echo fingered the tip of the bloody blade and gently waved the knife in front of the man’s eyes before he leaned over and slowly shoved the blade into the mark’s meaty side, just beneath the rib cage. The knife went deep with a squelch.
Letting out a gasp, the mark gave a low, agonizing moan. The stunned look faded away and fear swept through the man’s eyes. A gurgling sound emerged from his throat.
Reaching into his back pocket, Echo pulled out the photograph of the man’s smiling wife holding their two little children in her arms. Echo stared dispassionately at the photo of a loving family. He would have preferred to skip this part, but the client insisted.
The dying man’s gaze landed on the photo and his eyes widened—mouth suddenly opening and closing like a fish.
“P…please.”
That surprised Echo.
He was sure he’d removed the fucker’s ability to speak. Hmmm… he’d need to process that particular piece of information for next time. Improving his craft was always paramount. Perhaps he’d put tape over the mouth of his next mark.
“Begging won’t help you.” The blade Echo slid from the man’s side made another squelching sound when it was pulled out.
“I’m sorry…” This time, the words were almost unintelligible, but Echo got the gist of it.
“Sorry?” He moved a bit closer to look into the man’s eyes and smiled. “Tell that to your wife’s brother.”
Terror filled the mark’s eyes. This was the part that Echo loved. It wasn’t a requirement to let his marks know who ordered the hit, he’d added that part in pro bono.
Free of charge.
He really did enjoy his job.
He tapped one flat side of the blade against the man’s forehead, leaving behind a bloody mark.
“I…g, g.”
Echo flipped the photo from his gloved hand and it landed in the middle of the man’s bloody shirt. From there, he placed the tip of his knife at the base of the mark’s throat.
