Page 1 of The Hitman’s Obsession

1

ROMAN

My rifle is aimed at her window. My scope is sighted in.

I’m in an empty building across the street, lying prone on a plywood table, the barrel of my Remington 700 resting on a sandbag that will absorb any recoil. The lights around me are out. No cameras outside. I did my research and showed up early.

You have to prepare if you want to be successful in a job like this and not end up dead or in prison for the rest of your life.

I’m a bad man. A hitman who’s killed men for hundreds of thousands of dollars or sometimes even just hundreds of dollars. Tonight, I’m being paid ten grand to kill a nineteen-year-old girl because her dad owes my boss money. Two million bucks, to be exact.

A blurry photo of her sits beside me. Annie Mercer, receptionist at an art studio. That’s all I know. Anything more would humanize her. But to me, she’s not a human. She’s just another target. Just another job.

Her dad, Chuck Mercer, burned through the money my boss leant him and then disappeared. Must be an idiot to cross Jimmy the loan shark. Surely he had to know the consequences.

“If Mercer wants to disappear, I’ll give him something to come home for.”

An hour later, I had an address and a photo, and half my fee was in my overseas account.

I didn’t ask questions. In this business, questions get you killed. I don’t ask, I don’t hesitate. I just do my job. And that’s why I’m alive today.

My breath is steady, controlled. My heart rate is low. Something else that’s absolutely necessary in this line of work is patience. You must be willing to wait for that exact moment, the precise instant where you squeeze the trigger.

From my research, I know that Annie finishes her shift at the studio at seven. From there, she stops for a coffee and a blueberry muffin, then generally makes it home by seven-thirty. Today, she was three minutes early. I watched her pull up in her green Camry. She stepped out, covered by a red raincoat, and raced into her building.

But it’s been twenty minutes now, and her bedroom is still empty. Like I said, patience.

I move my eye from the glass for a second to stretch my neck, and just like that, Annie finally enters the room. It’s go time.

Target acquired. Safety off.

I bring my eye back to the scope. My index finger slides gently over the trigger, just as it has countless times. This is it. The end of her life and the rest of my money. I take a deep breath, hold…

But then, something unexpected happens.

Annie turns, and her face comes into view. Seeing her at this magnification—it’s like she’s standing right in front of me. And she’s stunning. Glowing with natural beauty and scorchingly sexy at the same time. A thousand times more beautiful than the blurry photo Jimmy provided.

She turns on her bedside lamp, giving me an even better view of her. Wet hair from a shower, bare, slim legs, an oversized T-shirt, and a tiny pair of cream-colored panties. I don’t care about women. I can’t afford attachments in my line of work. But as I move my crosshair over her center mass, an unfamiliar feeling invades my mind.

Her tits are almost too big for her body, causing her shirt to hang loosely off their teardrop curves. Her lips are perfectly plump, a nice soft pink. She looks like a sexy, innocent angel that was sent specifically to fuck up my job. She has no idea that there’s a brutal killer watching through her window.

Slowly, I let my breath out. I’m not here to get an eyeful of a half-naked girl. I’m here to do a job.

I track her as she moves across the room and stops beside her bed. She leans down and picks up a tablet. When she stands, I settle the crosshairs over her chest, right where her heart should be.

This is it. A perfect shot. Time to make my money.

Now squeeze, nice and gently. Don’t jerk the rifle. Don’t miss.

I repeat my mantra, just like I always do. But nothing happens.

Pulling my eye from the scope, I check the safety again. It’s off.

I examine the trigger. Nothing wrong with it. The rifle is loaded. What the hell?

“Okay,” I whisper. “Reset.”

This isn’t the time to screw up. This is the time to come through, as I always do. She’s just another job. But as I return my eye to the glass, I see Annie is now brushing her hair in the mirror.