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A single bloody warning.
A man who has an eye for the most aberrant missions like me. Needless to say, I’ve filched a few of his scores back in the day, same as with Jackson. Only the latter was man enough to give respect when respect was due.
That fuckingcustomer supportrepresentative hand-selected the bastard to eliminate me. He’ll either leverage Whitson or Luxury to smoke me out, and right now, Luxury’s all alone. The lift’s doors coast open.
Sidestepping a bellhop with a roller full of Louis Vuitton luggage, I hurry straight for the exit.
Once outside, I run hard and long since the traffic is at a standstill. If Sidorov has been here for a while, he's seen Luxury with me and will use her as bait.
I sprint through the intersection, weaving through the traffic that decided to sit in the crosswalk.
At the street before Urban Gardens, I zip into the alley. I’ll scope the place out before making a fool of myself if Sidorov is not around.
Worry tangles the muscles in my abdomen. My selfishness won’t allow me to stop seeing Luxury. Now, she’s the key to my downfall. Though Monica provided a report on Dr. Charles Everhart, I still don’t know where he is to stop him and stop the hit on Dr. Whitson. Monica has all she needs at the tips of her fingers. Social media can be a powerful device. But even that won’t tell me where the bloody bastard’s hiding.
Too stubborn to acknowledge Burt was right in the first place, I run along another street. Yards away, I glimpse Luxury.
Awarningwraps her in his arms.
A bloody fucking omen.
Sidorov’s filthy arms engulf her. On the opposite end of the alley is a windowless van. The bloody wanka planned to abduct her. Whitson would’ve been next, and Sidorov would use them to draw me out of the darkness.
Fire rushes through my veins. My Little One’s legs kick out in the air.
Their attention veers toward the store. I stop myself from calling out to Luxury. Quickly attaching the silencer to my 9mm, I calculate the rhythm of Luxury’s flailing.
Her flying arms.
His noggin.
Her kicking legs.
The perfect kill shot.
If you fail, you deserve every punch, slap, kick, and hit your father gave you!
Without hesitation, I measure the movements a third time then squeeze the trigger.
Nice.
Quiet.
The bullet meets its intended. At the same moment, I hear a shot ring out, along with the sound of shattering glass. Sidorov falls, bringing Luxury down with him.
Luxury screams, lifting from his dead weight. She sprints into the building. I brace myself for the scenario playing out before me. Obviously, Luxury hadn’t seen me, but what the fuck is she doing?
Sirens ring out loud as I stroll around the building, back against the wall. An unfamiliar male voice encourages Luxury’s patience. The wanker claims thathe got him.
I edge around, getting a good look at the chap. I recognize the barbershop owner a couple of doors down from all the recon I’ve done. There’s fresh glass littering the hallway behind the register to the door exiting into the alley. A bullet broke through the security window on the back door.
All right, sure, thetosser’sa crack shot. Though my trigger finger twitches as he consoles Luxury, the stranger serves a purpose. Fuck him. He can go down for murdering Sidorov. A small smile plays on my lips as I imagine the wanka sitting in prison over my kill if ballistics doesn’t acquit him.
My thoughts turn back to the Customer Service arsehole. X-Member thought oneblokecould take me out and secure my assignment. I’m disgusted. That’s how they treat their bloodybest, like kindling for a fire.
I fade into a mirage of spectators and stroll toward the main street. Luxury’s safe for the moment, and my identity won’t be compromised. All because those customer-centric fucks have their secrets to keep. My confidentiality is of utmost importance too.
27
