All For You

One

Isla

The first thing I'd do if I could escape is skinny dip. I've watched Killian do it for years, and it's torture only being able to see the water.

I need to touch it. I need to know what it feels like to be completely submerged in a body of fresh, soft water again. So free. With all the time and privacy in the world.

After that, I'd find my family.

They moved two years ago. Far away, I'm not sure where. Up till then, I'd kept a watchful eye on them. But I lost track of them, and it's been two years already, so who knows what they've been up to.

I can only pray they're fine. That the organisation hasn't gotten to them without my knowledge. But I doubt it. I would've known. I would've found them first.

Or, at the very least, I would've been told about their deaths by now.

They would've told me with a smile on their faces.

"If you keep staring, I'll start thinking you like me," Killian snickers, sauntering out of the pool with a confidence he shouldn't have.

He's a freak if I've ever seen one, and far too self-assured to be in our line of business. But that's just how he is. How he will always be.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I say, not hiding my disgust. If I wasn't envious of it, I'd find his daily skinny-dipping revolting. But it must feel like pure bliss.

He grabs my chin, squeezing my cheeks together. I don't give him the satisfaction of struggling. It'd be useless, anyway. As frustrating as it is, he's a lot stronger then I'll ever be. And not just because he's a man.

"At least then I wouldn't have to tie you to my bed for something other girls give me willingly." He drops his hand to grab his towel, finally covering his junk.

I glare at him silently as he walks out, and I follow him after a short while, remembering the orders I was given and the annoying fact that this sick fuck is my partner for the time being.

"Our target is Triston Piggots. Big guy, only nineteen. He's repeating grade twelve for the second time, so we're being sent to a fucking school to seek him out. It's a K.O.S. Wonder what the poor fucker did." Kill On Sight missions are the worst. We aren't even allowed to have a conversation with the targets before shooting them dead.

Worst part is hearing them plead for their lives and not even knowing why they're wanted dead. Now we have to murder a kid, and he's only a year older than me, which makes it all so much worse.

But I haven't survived this long by giving into my feelings. It's them or me. They're the ones who tried to fuck around and found out.

At least all of them are assholes when push comes to shove, which makes it a bit easier on my mind.

"Great, another fucking school. Those are always fun," Killian groans, being sarcastic. He's only upset because he can't make a scene in places like a school.

If I had to take a guess, I'd say his favourite missions are gang wars. The killing is endless, and the aftermath is haunting.

I haven't slept the same since my first one. And that was three years ago. Fucking memorable, it was.

"Stop whining and get dressed. We leave in an hour." I walk into my room and double check my gear.

Gun loaded. Knives secure. Mask and earpiece at the ready. Phone and fake ID's safely stacked in one of my pockets. Gloves on.

No extra weight. Nothing to leave behind as evidence. No useless feelings that'll keep my finger from the trigger.

I'm as ready as I'll ever be.