DISCRETION SERIES - Stand Alone - BOOK #7
Cyrus Mongomery. A retired world-renowned assassin with a resume as sharp and crisp as his aim. Taking down world leaders, gang members, and politicians was effortless, and although his career seemed promisi...
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Cyrus's POV
I never considered myself an executioner or an assassin. I never considered myself to be wealthy, well-known, or respected, but that was how I was perceived. I only do what needs to be done, and oftentimes, the job or end goal is murder. Though I had a relatively low number of kills, the status of my victims is what holds importance.
World leaders, politicians, gang leaders, sex trafficking operators... people who were hard to close in on and execute. But as it stands, my resume remains rather polished. Free of any errors, mishaps, or losses. In any case, I guess I would consider myself rather punctual... a perfectionist if you will. Sometimes I would value the requests my clients would give me as they genuinely were to make humanity a better place.
Other times, I didn't quite care much. I am unbiased. Impartial when it comes to my work. One could wonder why I haven't been put in an insane asylum or put behind bars yet, and often times, I wonder the same thing. But I've seen how the world works. I've seen how much people value power, status, and authority.
When I was on trial for my life sentence, it was postponed until all charges were dropped. If I were naive, I'd say it was a miracle. However, the judge worthy of my sentencing realized my abilities were far too important to put away. As a result, I was given another job instead of a holding cell and two million dollars to cover my 'pain and suffering.' As the election rolled around, his main opponent seemed to vanish out of thin air, and I somehow gained a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card.
That was usually how things went. The elites always found a way to keep me out of prison for their own personal gain but still kept their distance in fear of being my next target.
As I read the current task given to me in a letter addressed by one of the pakhans/leaders of the Bratva or, rather, the Russian Mafia, I remained the same way I've always been. Unbiased and only slightly uninterested. It's been a few days since I'd spoken to him over the phone, and he was still awaiting my response.
" Cyrus. I see you've received my letter. It seems to be getting harder and harder to reach the retired death whisperer. Have you considered the offer?" He questioned, and I glanced down at the note once again before pacing the floor in slight irritation.
" I'm retired, Dmitri. " I muttered, and he tsked as he continued.
" Do you want to know why you are able to contact me directly? " He asked, and I remained silent, letting him answer his own question. " Because you're the only fucking bastard that can actually kill me. " He almost seethed, and I shrugged as I responded.
" You think it's wise then? Talking to me on the phone with such disrespect? "
" You don't care about respect, Cyrus. You don't care about anything. And that makes you dangerous to my line of work. " He said warily, and I couldn't help but agree with his statement. There weren't many things I'd cared about that didn't have to do with my own benefit. Being exposed to the world's disgusting qualities, as well as the vile people in it who would do anything for power or money, repulsed me enough to care little about much these days.
