An Unlikely Triad

Chapter 8 - Levi

taking song requests :>

TW: Blood, violence, death

My peripheral vision of the roofs around me blurs as I sprint forward, only seeing the gaps ahead of me, leaping at each one. It offers me a sort of freedom, I muse. Nobody can see me unless they were trying to look for me up here.

The burner phone rings in my pocket, and I pull it out and answer it. "I'm close to the location," I answer without bothering to look at who the caller is. I already know. "Wire the money."

"I'll wire it after you've done your job," the voice at the other end of the line snaps. I don't know who he is, what he looks like, why he wants someone dead. I don't ask questions unless it's part of my job.

"You'll wire it now," I say coldly. I stop running and reach into my backpack, pulling out my sniper rifle, assembling it and adjusting its position. "I have a thirty-second window. If you don't send it within that time frame, I'll guarantee you that you'll see your target again, very much alive. Not sure 'bout you, though."

Static on the other end, then the voice growls. "Done."

I check the PayPal notification on my phone, then smile to myself. "Pleasure doing business with you, good sir," I say lightly, hanging up the phone. I lay flat on my stomach, bringing the scope of the rifle into my left eye. Not that I can even use my right.

The crosshairs hover over a man in his mid-thirties, and I take a deep, shuddering breath before I pull the trigger.

The man collapses right there on the street in broad daylight, a gaping red wound between his eyes. Bystanders nearby shriek in horror, and a woman faints.

I stand up, pack my supplies quickly, snap a photo of the scene, and send it to my client's number. I jog off, never turning back, keeping my hood low over my head.

A few hours later, the murder makes the news.

- - -

I check my phone again and take a look at my target. Purple suit, light brown hair, sunglasses.

A guy with a purple suit shouldn't be hard to find. He's practically begging to be assassinated at this point.

The phone buzzes, and I pick it up, swiping the green button. "I've wired half the money," the man says, his voice made thick by a European accent. Sure enough, four million dollars sits in my account. "Do your job, confirm the kill, and I'll send the rest."

"Thanks," I murmur, hanging up and slipping my phone back into the purse.

I'm sure I've had this client before. The accent is too familiar, considering he paid for a mayor candidate's death... and I almost died myself.

I despise every bit of this. The purse, the high heels, the red dress that reveals more than I'm comfortable with. But a clean sniper kill is impossible from this position, so I'm forced to sneak into this party and kill him up close. Not my forte, but I'll manage.

He must be rich if he's attending this party. Or important. Maybe that's why my client wants him dead and is willing to pay eight fucking million to see him in a coffin.

I smile at the people who greet me, filled with hate and disgust at their leering grins, the way their eyes rake my body. I feel the heat of their gazes even as I turn away. But I don't let it show.

My eye flicks across the room, scanning for a hint of the color purple. It's funny how immediately my gaze locks on my target.

He's more handsome in person. A shame to waste such a pretty face, I muse.