J͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞n͟͟͟͞͞͞i͟͟͟͞͞͞e͟͟͟͞͞͞.
To many, I am a myth.
The 'Kiss of Death', a hired killer, revered by some of the greatest criminal organisations in the world. Trained by the bratva themselves, without conscience, without mercy.
The per...
I'm pinned behind the upturned dining room table, taking fire from three bodyguards.
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(Her outfit ^)
Joseph Leng is currently being ushered into one of the emergency elevators and no doubt taken to the chopper on the roof.
A loud crack rings out, and when I glance to my left there's a splintered hole in the thick mahogany, approximately two inches from my face. I was frisked before I came in here, so I don't have a gun.
The only weapon I have is the small blade stowed in my wrist cuff. It'll do.
Dropping it into my hand, I roll to the side, throwing it at the neck of the nearest shooter before rolling back behind the table.
Another round of gunfire hits the wood like hailstones. Now I have to wait them out. I remain quiet, tucking myself into a tight ball and waiting patiently for them to come and see if I'm alive.
When the barrel of the gun just grazes over the top of the table, I leap up, grabbing hold of it and forcing it out to the side, even as it fires into the window.
I use the heel of my hand to smash his nose upward. He staggers for a second and I spin him, allowing his body to take the next round of fire that comes from his friend. A bullet manages to tear through his shoulder and graze my arm.
Well, fuck.
Swinging the gun under the guy's arm, I pull the trigger, downing the second guy. I shove the dying man away from me and step over his body on my way to the door. Picking up the second gun, I swing the strap over my shoulder.
I leave my shoes in the hotel room and I break into a jog, forcing open the fire exit door and taking the stairs up to the roof two at a time.
When I push open the emergency exit that opens onto the roof, the wind from the chopper blades hits me, blowing my hair back until it whips around my face.
Leng is four feet from the helicopter, covered by four guards. It's now or never.
Dropping to one knee to lend more support to my body, I pull the gun up in front of me. I close one eye and stare down the sights.
One of the guards bobs in front of Leng before giving me a small gap. If I don't make this shot then I'll have to take them all out. That's messy, and I don't do messy.
I take a steady breath in then out, waiting for the gap. When I have it, I squeeze the trigger. It's not the cleanest of shots, but it hits him in the neck, a kill shot.
Hurriedly, I push to my feet and step back through the door, using the spare gun to jam the release bar in place. I take off running down the stairs, exiting on the floor below the blood-bathed hotel room I walked out of.
I have to get to another stairwell fast. A woman in a blood stained dress, toting a semi-automatic is going to raise the alarm.
My phone rings just as I slip into the stairwell on the opposite corner of the building. I touch my earpiece. "Not a good time." I growl.
"I've been trying to get a hold of you for the last week. So tell me, when is a good time?"
Jungkook.
"I've been off the grid."
"No shit."
There's something about him that manages to elicit a certain level of irritation, dare I say, anger. It's a skill; really it is, because I don't do angry. Anger is a useless emotion and only serves to blind reason.
"Look, is there a reason for this call?" I pant, running down flight after flight of stairs.
"Of course. I have a job for you."
"Have Tae contact me."
He huffs a laugh. "Oh, Jennie. I think we're past that."
Really? "I don't." I say bluntly. The door at the top of the stairs crashes open, the sound echoing around the empty concrete stairwell. "Shit!" I have a good lead but I'd still rather get out clean. Someone fires a couple of rounds and they ping off the metal bannister next to me.
"You sound busy." I can hear the amusement in his voice.
"No shit." I growl.
"Text me a location. I'll be there tomorrow." I hang up and pick up the pace, throwing myself through a door that I know should lead to the parking deck. Sprinting up the ramp to the next level, I check over my shoulder for any possible contact. I jump in the Porsche parked under a broken light and slam my hand over the start button. The engine purrs to life and I ram my foot on the accelerator, making it spit and snarl as the tires shriek against the tarmac.
I pull out of the parking garage, leaving smoking rubber behind me. Leng's men burst onto the street on foot, only to watch me drive away.
That was close. Too close.
Pressing speed dial, I listen to the earpiece ring out with a dial tone. "Jennie." Olov answers on the first ring.
"Я в двадцати минутах езды. Приготовьтесь немедленно уйти. {I'm twenty minutes away. Be ready to leave immediately.} I tell him, speaking in quick-fire Russian.
He hangs up and I speed towards the private airfield on the outskirts of the city of Singapore.
