MAYA, a girl who goes through life with an unwavering smile-around other people that is. While juggling four jobs to support her father and a side hobby of modelling, Maya is rarely at home-to her content. Even through the mental and physical turmoi...
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UNLIKE MOST PEOPLE in brazil, growing up, we were dirt poor. My mama, my little sister and I lived on benches. Some nights it was in the park, some nights it was just me outside of a shelter because they only took women, and some nights it was in front of restaurants, in hopes that they'd pity us and give us the throw aways. They rarely did.
Wherever it was, it didn't matter— not to me anyway. I was the man of the family. My job was simple. Protect Lina and mama, make as much money as possible, then keep Lina warm at night while mama went to work.
That was all before the incident.
On my twelfth birthday, I found myself homeless, family-less, and without knowledge of how to take care of myself.
I always took care of them.
That is, until a little girl found me. A little girl with brown skin, raggedy clothes and long, greasy black hair.
She'd taken me back to her family of six, in there one bedroom shack. She'd insisted they keep me, because she was tired of being the oldest and wanted and older brother.
They couldn't afford to feed another mouth, so from then on, the little girl shared everything she had with me, her tiny portions were split in two and the old beaten up pillow on the floor had two heads on it.
That thought is the only thing keeping me from shooting her in the forehead, right here right now for being so fucking boring.
"Hello?" She snaps her fingers in front of my nose "pay attention."
With an exaggerated sigh, I turn my head back to the computer screen before me. "Nish, I'm going to lose my mind. We've been doing this for four years and every time we get a new job you do this shit." I run a frustrated hand through my hair, "I didn't get it last time, I don't get it this time and I won't fucking get it next time."
"But the tracker—"
"I. Don't. Care."
"Fine." She breaths, closing her laptop "Then why am i here?"
"Because I need you to set up the tracker and plant it." I state.
Most hit men just find the person and snip them. No questions asked. But I'm not just a hit man, I'm an assassin. Which means I'm cleaner. No chaos, no mess. But to achieve that, I need to know my victim. I need to know their routine, when there alone, when there at home ect.
I rarely shoot people, it draws attention. Stabbing is the easiest for a case like this. Simple, fast and easy to hide.
"Ahw you need me!" Nisha places both of her hands in her heart, sarcastically tilting her head in affection.
