Impossible Attraction (Deadly, #1)

Chapter 1 - Anna

Anna

Present Day

Eight years, that's how long it's been since the murder at the Randal house. The day I lost my best friend and the love of my life. Blake was my everything. No one in the neighborhood had any idea why someone would murder such a kind family. The Randal's were active members of the community, friendly, hell, they even attended church on Sundays. The police said there were multiple bullet holes in Mr. and Mrs. Randal's bedroom wall as well as a gunshot hole in the wall at chest height in the hallway, enough blood around each of them for it to be assumed that all three were murdered in cold blood, but there were no bodies to prove it.

Blake Randal was the kindest guy I've ever met. He didn't deserve what he got. He didn't deserve to die such a terrible death. I've never been a real religious woman, but Blake was a religious guy. He never missed church, ever. If god is real, why take someone as pure as Blake so soon? What did Blake do to deserve such a fate?

The last moment I spent with him is one I revisit often. He'd just finished playing a football game and we were in his car in front of my house. We got talking about school and prom. It was easy, simple, relaxed. I was happy and I didn't even realize just how perfect my life was in high school. I had something that so many people in their life search for and never find. I had true love. Even now, at twenty-six, I know it was real, it was the real thing. I had it and then I lost it, it was ripped away from me in a single fleeting moment.

I waited around, living with my parents and putting off college for a year before it really sunk in that Blake wasn't coming back, that he was truly gone. I snapped and that's when I got mixed up with some bad shit and happened to stumble upon a guy who worked for someone doing contract killing, hitman work. He hooked me up with his boss's contact information and after debating whether or not to call the number for two weeks, I finally met up with him at a coffee shop.

My parents think I went off to college and got a degree in psychology. I didn't. I've spent the last seven years killing criminals who the justice system failed to punish. It's not legal but fuck the law if they can't even find out who killed my best friend. Fuck the law if they can't even manage to punish those who deserve to be punished.

I know I'm doing this to somehow avenge Blake's murder, even if with every kill I make I don't feel any better. I don't get closure, but for a mere instant, the thought of taking out someone who has hurt people, who has killed or sexually abused someone, numbs a little bit of the pain in my heart, if only for a moment.

I'm comfortable with what I do. I wasn't at first, but when you feel so strongly about something it doesn't take you long to learn to deal with the downfalls. It's not an easy job. Killing people, taking people's lives from them, is far from easy and it doesn't get any easier as the body count rises. With each kill my partner Adam and I make, I wince, I think about it afterwards, dream about it. I remember each and every one of our jobs, every person we've taken from this earth, all in vivid detail. Adam's been at this for longer than I have and it doesn't seem to faze him as much as it does me. Adam and our boss have taught me everything I know. In some ways, they're family. We've grown close.

I throw on a pair of pants and big hoodie that I can easily conceal weapons under. A knock on my door tells me that Adam is here to pick me up. I look through the peephole to confirm it's him before opening the door to his smiling face. Adam is dressed in all black, his brown hair buzzed short and his face clear of any facial hair. Although we're nearly the same age, he appears to be much older than me.

Adam is a nice guy. He's been at this since he was sixteen after being tossed around in the foster care system. I'm not going to lie; this guy is messed up. There's something deeply wrong with him. He can shoot a person in the forehead without blinking an eye and without feeling the slightest bit of remorse. He's scary, so I'm glad I'm on his good side.

"Ready for another night?" he asks me grinning. Adam has always been incredibly nice to me, but I wouldn't doubt that getting on his bad side could get me killed. He's dangerous.

"Yep." I pick up my suitcase and toss it into the back seat of his SUV parked right outside the motel room door. I never thought I'd be so sick of staying in motel rooms.

"This is going to be a quick one. I've been watching the guy all week. He's really something. I almost went after him without you. Fucking pervert has a three-year-old daughter. Need I say more?" Adam says with a grin that contains absolutely no humor, it's a sick grin, a demented grin. It's the one he gets when he's so disgusted by someone that he's already picturing their death in his mind. He throws the vehicle in reverse and we speed towards the outskirts of Indiana.

"I can't believe how many sick people there are. It's unbelievable," I mutter under my breath and check my phone for missed messages from our boss. None. Pedophiles are the easiest kill for me. You hurt a kid and you more than deserve a bullet between the eyes.

We park down the street from the target's house and jump out of the truck quietly. Attracting any attention is always bad news. We then slip down the alley to the back of the house and through the yard. Adam picks the back-door's lock as I keep lookout. I glance down at my gloved hands and my gun. This is the moment my adrenalin goes wild.

The sound of the door clicking open causes me to focus. There's no time for hesitation. Adam goes in first. I follow once the coast seems clear. He's been scouting the place all week so that we know what to do and where to go. While he's been here, I've been scouting another target's place that we'll hit up later tonight if all goes well.

Adam silently opens the door of Mr. Wicken's bedroom and shines his flashlight on the bed. He sleeps soundly. We're here to take this abusive husband and pedophile out of the picture and give his family freedom.

His wife is out of town on business; she's a publisher. We've done extensive research on the target as usual.

Adam unsheathes a knife and ends the man as quietly as possible, shoving the blade through the man's eye socket and into his brain. I dry heave at the sight. Since there aren't any foreseeable roadblocks, I go back to the truck and bring it down the alley silently with the lights off. The man is small, and Adam manages to bring Mr. Wicken's body outside all on his own and throw him into the back of the vehicle, while I run into the house, find the house phone, and dial 911, so someone can come find the young girl who is still asleep. I don't respond to the woman who answers the phone. I just leave the call on and race out of the house, back to the truck.

We take off to the next location.