Redemption || MorMor

An Offer He Couldn't Refuse

His body was cold and stiff. He'd been lying on a damp roof in the heavy wind for an hour too long. Dammit, where was his target? His phone buzzed. He sighed and read it.

Txt:[He's in the hotel opposite. Go there. Presidential suite.]

It was from his current employer.

"A 24th of my day wasted..." the man muttered under his breath, packing his weapon away. It wasn't often he had to get up and get personal with these sorts of things. It was always done from afar - he was given the orders and he followed them, but he was never compromised. However, this was a special target. A more important job. As far as Sebastian could gather, at least 12 people had requested this man dead and had all paid a fraction of the cost of the job.
He'd go drinking tonight: he'd already decided that. With the 400 million pounds coming his way once he'd gotten this done, he could drink all day for every day of the rest of his life and still have enough money for 10 houses. This was his last job. His last target. His last murder. Well, unless another pub fight broke out, like what happened a few years back. He shook the memories off and approached the hotel.

Swiftly putting his incognito sunglasses on, he walked past the grand reception and to the lift. He pressed the button for the top floor and prepared his hand gun. That gun was an old favourite of his. He'd saved up for weeks to get it back when he was just a teenager. Before he even really needed it. He'd just loved guns. Always had. He'd play with soldiers and toy guns when he was a child and always knew he'd have a real one some day.

Anyway, no time for living in the past. He was here and now and he was about to make his fortune. One shot, one job, one man and that would be it. He'd be a millionaire. Sorted for the rest of his life. And he couldn't wait.

The lift arrived with a satisfying ping! and he got out, slotting the firearm into the inside pocket of his coat. The door to the presidential suite was large and gold-encrusted. He inhaled deeply and knocked.

"Room service. Can I come in?" Sebastian called, his heart thumping hard in his chest, as it always did before he killed.

There was a rude hum of, "yeah..." that came back. He pushed the door open and took in what was on the other side.

It wasn't the elaborate decorations or the posh furniture or the general air of rich that got his immediate attention. Oh no. It was the man who he was hired to kill who was sat on a large, red chair with his legs crossed, resting his head on one arm. He had dark, dark eyes and dark, dark hair and a look on his face that read, at just one glance, 'don't even try.' He was a man of small frame and height but had a clear and natural attitude of being in control.
Moriarty. That was his name. Seb didn't know what his first name was but that didn't matter. He wasn't the sort of man who needed to be known by two names. He only needed the one. But he'd be dead very soon. Just a legacy.

"You've come here to kill me..." the Irish man glanced up and made eye contact with him, "but, unfortunately, that's not going to work. So you may aswell take your hand out of your jacket and leave the gun right where it is." He sang the last few words with a smug smile on his face that instantly annoyed the hitman. It made him want to punch him in the face. But he refrained and kept his hand where it was. His cover had been blown but how?

"Moran. Colonel Sebastian Moran. Hitman for hire." The criminal stated it like he was trying to sell him on TV. "Beyond excellent reflexes. Hands steadier than anything. Best sniper in Europe. About to make his biggest hit. Well, he would be. If it wasn't for what's about to happen." He stood up and Seb took a step back, his grip tightening on the gun. He didn't trust this man at all. He had a lot of enemies. A lot of rich enemies.

"And what's about to happen?" Seb's voice came through gritted teeth. He was on edge, ready to shoot at any moment. He didn't like the way this was going.

"I'm about to make him an offer he can't refuse."

Despite Moran's initial scepticism, the offer did transpire to be one he most definitely could not refuse. Blow the money he would've made, Moriarty had offered him something he'd be an idiot to turn down. Sure, it meant a lot of work, lots of hours, a lot of time and effort. It would be mentally and physically exhausting. But he was certain it would be worth it.
A Live-In Sniper is what he called it. The title was pretty self-explanatory: a sniper that lives with his employer. At first, of course, Sebastian was appalled by the idea and was milliseconds away from putting a bullet in the criminal's pretty face. But the criminal soon convinced him otherwise.

The pros would outweigh the cons. Sebastian would be a form of bodyguard for Moriarty, and in return would be given a more-than-adequate wage and free lodging in whatever mansion the man was staying at the time. His primary goal: keep Moriarty happy and safe.
This was quite the opposite of the reason he was there. He didn't want to be weak and give in to him. He didn't want to go back on what he'd said he would do. But there was something about the strange, short man that made him consider the words he was saying. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was something.

"So, what do you say?" By then, the man was only a few inches away from him, looking up at him and straightening his suit.

Seb sighed begrudgingly but then nodded, "fine. I'll do it."

Moriarty's face like up like a Christmas tree and he smiled brightly, "great. You start tomorrow. Get your things packed up. I'll pick you up at 3." He had turned Sebastian around so he was facing the door. "Now off you pop." The shorter man had opened the door and pushed Sebastian, who was pretty much speechless by this point, through, singing, "bye!"