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Covered in sweat from my workout, I make my way into my kitchen, grab the only mug I own, and make myself coffee before settling in front of my laptop to accept my next contract. I finished my last one at 2AM, and I’m already itching to kill, needing that release.
Sometimes I think if I didn’t have it, I might truly go off the deep end.
While the laptop loads, I sip my coffee, not even noticing the burn as I swallow. My scarred knuckles of my other hand rap on the marble island impatiently.
The house is mine, I bought it with my savings—the ones I could access, since being dead makes things like banking hard—but it’s just that, a house, one that’s empty and cold.
It’s a place to lay my head, one I’ve fortified so that I can sleep without being on guard.
The laptop finally loads, and I bring up the system that allows us to communicate privately and anonymously about contracts. The one I finished last night is marked as completed, and the money was transferred immediately after I finished it, but there is one already waiting. After all, they know better than to leave me to my own devices.
That’s when things go bad, like last time.
Clicking on the file, I open the dossier on the target. They always hold the parameters, such as torture or public execution. This one is to be private, and they want a hunt, not just a kill. They have a picture of the target, but no name. They don’t need it.
I know that face.
It’s one that throws me back to being a scared fifteen-year-old. We called him Sir back then, because he ran the foster home I grew up in. If I’m a demon, then he’s the devil. He stole kids’ souls and sold them. My hands curl into fists as the familiar darkness roars inside of me. It’s clear he’s finally pissed someone off, and I find my lips curling in a cruel smile filled with vengeance.
It never crossed my mind to go after all of them, but now that it’s there, I can’t get it out. It might have started with him, but it won’t end there. Not now.
I quickly type a message.
Me:Will accept, have conditions.
I wait as they type back.
Contact:What conditions?
Me:After the job is complete, I want free rein to go after his accomplices.
There is a moment of hesitation as they debate what I mean and if they can let me off my leash for that. It will happen either way, and they know that, because once I have my mind set on something, there is no getting it out.
Contact:Mission conditions accepted only once current target is dead.
Me:Accepted.
I log off and drain the mug of the last remnants of coffee, purpose filling my steps as I head upstairs to shower and prepare for the hunt. Oh yes, he’ll be dead, and anyone who ever helped him will be too.
It’s time to avenge the scared kid they killed back then.
It’s time to protect Zoey in the only way I know how.
CHAPTER2
Zoey
Ifeel Layla’s gaze on me as I continue to read Gage and Sophie their bedtime story. No matter how much they try to fight off sleep, they are slowly losing the battle with each soft word I utter. So much so, they don’t even realize their mom is leaning against their bedroom doorframe, watching them succumb to their slumber. I continue on and flip two more pages until I’m sure they are both fast asleep, their deep, soft breaths a telltale sign that they are going to be out for the night.
“Don’t just stand there and stare. How about a little help here?” I whisper to my sister with a smile, stretching out my hand so she can pull me out of the bed I’m sharing with her kids.
Anytime I come over, the little rug rats stick to me like glue, and bedtime is no different.
Gage always leaves his bed in favor of snuggling up against me on Sophie’s bed, wanting to be as close to the action as possible. My little man never leaves my side when I come over, as if he knows his namesake used to jump in my bed back in the day when Layla read to us.
“Here, let me,” my sister whispers quietly enough not to disrupt her children’s dreams. Ever so gently, she picks Gage up from the bed and slowly places him in his, tucking him in and kissing his forehead. I carefully get out of Sophie’s bed so Layla can repeat the nightly ritual with her daughter.
When Layla’s done making sure her kids are safe and snuggled in their beds, she tilts her head over to me, her silent order for me to follow her out of the room and into the hallway.
