KILL SHOT

Silent Wounds

I stepped into the shadows of the warehouse, but no matter how hard I tried to shake it, my mind kept circling back to her. May. Who the hell was she? Why was she so good? I'd crossed paths with plenty of assassins, none worth remembering, but something about her was different. Fearless. Unshakable.

I ran a hand through my hair, still feeling the weight of her body pressing against mine. That brief moment in the fight... there was something electric about it, almost too close for comfort, almost intimate. Even though we were trying to kill each other.

I climbed into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut harder than I needed to. The hum of the vehicle starting up was a comfort, a reminder that I was still alive, still in control. But that control was slipping because I couldn't get her out of my head.

I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. I had never been one to lose my focus, but she had gotten to me, shaken me in a way no one had before. That couldn't happen again. I wouldn't let it.

As I drove through the winding streets of the city, I forced myself to focus, pushing the memory of her out of my head. But it kept creeping back in, like poison slowly seeping into my veins. The way she moved, her black hair whipping around her as she fought, the sharp glint in her eyes. And fuck, I couldn't deny it. She looked good—too damn good. That was part of the problem. She'd gotten under my skin in more ways than one, and I hated it.

I pulled into the underground parking lot of the agency, killed the engine, and stepped out, shaking off the distracting thoughts. I needed to get my head straight. The last thing I needed was to be thinking about her.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and I walked through the maze of sterile white walls and flickering lights. This place was built to strip away any sense of personal connection, and I liked it that way.

I reached the training room. The sound of gunfire echoed through the space as recruits practiced their shooting. But my mind was somewhere else. I grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat from my face. My muscles still ached from the fight with her. That fight should've been mine to win.

"Dude, you look like you got hit by a car," Marco, one of the trainees, called out with a smirk.

"Just a long night," I replied, forcing a laugh.

Marco raised an eyebrow. "Since when did a mission exhaust you that much? What happened? Run into a pretty face and get distracted?"

I clenched my jaw at the jab, but I shrugged it off, keeping my voice steady. "Yeah, kinda."

But inside, my mind was anything but steady. I could already hear my father's voice ringing in my head, full of disappointment. He had expectations, high ones. I couldn't afford to mess up.

Right on cue, my phone buzzed. A message from him. ,,We need to talk. Now,, A knot twisted in my stomach. I knew exactly what was coming.

I gave Marco a playful punch on the shoulder. "Yeah see you around Man."

With a deep breath, I made my way to my father's office. The tension in the air thickened the closer I got. I knocked on the door, then stepped inside. He was there, behind his desk, his expression unreadable.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

"Sit down," he commanded, his voice cold, dangerous. I swallowed hard as the tension grew thicker.

"What took you so long?" His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "What happened with the target?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but he cut me off before I could speak. "Do not make me repeat myself, Aze. What. Happened?"

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. "The target is dead."

His gaze hardened. "You're not telling me everything. I can smell failure on you."

"It was complicated," I said, keeping eye contact. "There was another assassin. A woman—"

"A woman?" His voice exploded, filling the room with fury. "You let a woman distract you? You're an assassin, Aze! You kill whoever's in your way. Man, woman—it doesn't matter. You're not some lovesick fool."

I felt my blood boil, anger igniting inside me. "The target is dead. That's what matters."

Before I could say more, his hand came down, a sharp slap across my face. The sting of it shocked me into silence. "You let her take control of the situation. You're weak if you let emotions cloud your judgment, and I don't tolerate weakness."

I fought to keep my rage under control. I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but I bit my tongue. "Yes, Father."

"Have you killed her, at least?" he asked, swirling the whiskey in his glass, his voice calm again.

I looked up at him. "I tried to but"

The glass shattered against the wall behind me, just centimeters from my head. I didn't flinch.

"You tried?" he roared, his face twisted in rage. "You don't have the balls to kill a fucking woman?"

The heat of his words burned through me. "I did what I had to do. She was stronger than I expected—"

"Stronger?" His voice dripped with disgust. "That's what you call it? I call it failure. If you can't handle a single assassin, how do you expect to lead this organization one day?"

I met his gaze, feeling my own fury bubbling beneath the surface. "It won't happen again."

His eyes bored into mine for a long moment before he finally leaned back in his chair. "It better not. I expect you to take care of her without me having to babysit you."

"I'll handle her," I said quietly, but firmly. "Next time, I won't miss."

He studied me for a second longer, then nodded. "You'd better. Or I'll find someone who can."

I left the office, my chest tight with barely contained anger. Out in the hallway, I leaned against the wall, trying to breathe through the tension.

I needed to clear my head.

Grabbing my bag, I headed to the shooting range. Lining up my targets, I fired, each shot ringing out in the empty space, echoing my frustration. The gun felt familiar, comforting, but it didn't quiet the storm in my mind.

I had to be sharper. More ruthless. Something like that couldn't happen again. But the more I shot, the more I realized... there was a part of me that wanted to understand her. May. What made her tick? And why the hell did she get to me the way she did?