What The Bad Deserve [σи нσℓ∂]

Chapter 1- Stubborn; Just like a tiger

STARTED 11th February 2017- **PLEASE DON'T COPY MY STORY, ALL RIGHTS SERVED. I WILL NOT BE A HAPPY BEAN IF YOU TAKE MY OWN IDEAS AND CHARACTERS.**

I hope all you readers enjoy my story, for I sure am having a fun time writing it for you all! Kind comments are welcome here but please feel free to correct any mistakes I've made, that'll help alot. Thankyou and on with the story!

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Bullets of rain pounded the ground around us brutally, conveniently matching the current mood and situation.

He pushed the knife impossibly harder against my neck, not enough to kill me, but enough that it drew blood. The man had a firm grip on my right hand, holding it back so I couldn't move it. I tried my best not to gulp, for I feared it may lead to more blood.

"Any last words, Stone?" He murmurs, a small grin riddled with evil grew upon his face.

"You do realise I'm left handed, don't you?" I managed to say, practically gulping down fear as I do so.

He raised an eyebrow at me, puzzled. He wasn't quick enough to stop my hand from snatching the knife right out of his possession. My right foot raised behind me and swung towards my new acquaintance. My foot striked right on his shin with such a force that he yelped in pain.

"How do you know my name? Did Kyron send you?" I asked the man, now kneeling on the ground grasping his leg in agony.

"It may have been child's play fighting me, Corida. But you won't stand a chance against Kyron. Not in a million years." His raspy voice spluttered.

"I've fought him before. What makes it any different this time?" I questioned him whilst pointing his own knife at his head. I wasn't afraid to finish him... It's nothing new.

"He's smarter now; stronger, he has his ways."

"And I have mine" I say sternly, "I've had enough of you. Any last words?"
I mimicked. He lowered his head in defeat as I shot the knife towards him. I had to.

It was my job to kill. My job to hunt. My job to not care. Although sometimes I had a hard time forgetting. Forgetting all those people I've murdered. I was ordered to, of course. But that doesn't change the slight hint of guilt that pierces my gut after each and every life I take. This is my life.

As an assassin.

I carefully place the knife in the back pocket of my dark jeans, making sure to wipe away any extra blood on a napkin from my pocket before scrunching it up and tossing it into a nearby bin.

I heave the lifeless body along into a rather gruesome smelling alleyway nearby, my gloves covering up any fingerprints that may be found on the man when his body is found by my boss.

My boss usually sends one of his toughest henchman to come and take the body of any rivals or threats and disposes of them once I contact him and reassure that they're taken care of. This doesn't mean that his henchman are clever though, I must admit. If anything, I think I can handle covering up a body if he gave me a chance. But that's far from ever happening.

A bead of sweat rolls down my forehead and I'm quick to wipe it away, flicking the scruffy, red hair off my shoulder afterwards.

I take a deep breath in as my head jerks from left to right to confirm I was now the only person in the street... alive.

I brush myself off and start to walk calmly down the street, no strangers passing by. I whistle casually as my eyes glare straight ahead.

My hand hesitantly reaches to my neck and I wince slightly in pain before looking at my hand again. Blood. Not much, but I definitely drew some. It should hopefully heal soon; it's nothing to worry about. It's just just a new addition to the bruises and ever lasting scars I get from this job...