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Alone in the elevator, I read the name and the location of the mark. And flick open Layla’s lighter to start burning the contents of the envelope after I have the information memorized.
Back to the east side of the city. A few blocks over from the club, where the man works at one of those consumer cellular places.
It’s not up to me to ask what he did or why Broderick thinks he deserves to die.
I wasn’t lying when I told Layla about my profession.
The reaper.
The one the big boss calls in when he needs someone eliminated, whether they’re a threat or he’s simply bored. Not my call. I just do my job and I do it well.
The mark is closing up the shop for the night by the time I make it there, standing in the shadow of an awning and watching him fiddle with his keys. In his thirties, the guy stands at about my shoulder if I have to guess, glancing overhisshoulder to see that he’s still alone in the street.
Like I said: too easy. Finding him like he has a flashing neon light over his head. Tonight’s mark doesn't even give me the opportunity to stalk my kill. It’s a pity.
Distracted, I follow the man down the street, my thoughts in several directions when they need to be in one.
Which means the sooner I get this over with, the better.
The man trips over a crack in the sidewalk and yelps. I use the sound to cover my approach and slam him into the alley between buildings, holding him against the wall. My knife is out in one move and slicing down the man’s face before he even has a chance to understand what happened to him.
Then his eyes land on me, go wide, and he starts to shake.
The pain registers when I lean close and smile. “I’ll make you a deal,” I murmur. It’s the same deal I give to all of them. Sometimes they take it. Sometimes they don’t. “Taking the deal means one scare, where I just sliced you, to remember that I’ll find you no matter how far you run.”
A lot of these lowlifes piss themselves in the end and want to run. I’ve only ever had to hunt down one person who tried to come back. A lot of them are content to take the money I offer them and get the fuck out of Dodge to start over fresh somewhere.
They take the money and they disappear permanently.
The ones who don’t take the offer?
I slice them and dump them somewhere. Either way, they’re never heard from again, and that’s all I care about. That’s all the boss cares about. Nothing else matters.
I’m no saint. Not even close. But I give them one chance because Broderick doesn’t get to be judge and jury all on his own.
I remove my hand from the guy’s mouth, waiting for him to yell out for help and pleasantly surprised when he does nothing. I’ve got my features covered by the mask worn by all Black Market Syndicate operatives when we do business. A black turtleneck and pants, coupled with gloves, disguise every piece of me that might be recognizable.
“Disappear. Leave the city,” I continue, the tip of the blade pressed to his jugular. “I’ve got cash. Take it and I don’t want to catch you here again.”
The longer the mark looks at me, the more the fear in his eyes dissipates into something sly. He knows who I am. Even more surprising.
“Why should I?” he sneers. “I’m willing to bet whatever petty cash you try to throw at me today isn’t anywhere near the payload I’ll get when I cut the rug out from under Broderick.”
Wrong answer.
The guy clearly has no intention of going.
I won’t give him a second chance to reconsider.
“Fine.” My smile flashes right before I slice clean through the skin and muscles of his neck. A giant red gash leaks blood.
I butcher the mark, stopping only to make sure we’re far enough into the alley that there will be no eyes. No one cares what we do. I butcher him, leaving pieces behind and the lighter on top of the pile of flesh.
He had his shot and he blew it.
SEVEN
gabriel
