The Archer (18+)

I

Seven days. I had been given seven days to heal. Seven days to get my shit together. Seven days to redemption. And I used all but three of them for some sleep because no way was I going to look like a zombie and limping like one too. Thriller realness? I think the fuck not.

I was in the white training room, re-evaluating my choice to rest. I wasn't alone though; she was watching. Her hazel eyes judged my sheepish form. I held my breath. Sweat trickled a jagged journey beyond my hairline to kiss the tips of my thin eyebrows.

My body was an absolute 90 degrees to the marble flooring with my extended arms a perfect 180 degrees to the black shadow before me. He was mocking my efforts, ridiculing me for missing him one too many times.

"And just like that you're dead." She scorned, her mockery a boomerang piercing through my sensitive heart.

"Unless of course, that body could withstand a few bullets. Which is unlikely. We all know how that turned out. You fucking ran." She was jeering me from behind. I didn't dare face her.

I might have been a failure, but I was no coward!

You sure as hell retreated like one.

I released the arrow. My previous anxiety churning into bitterness so wretched, so tepid it assaulted my entire mouth.

She came to my side, analyzing my shot. Her 5-foot-5-inches frame adorned a leather catsuit with her golden blond waist-length locks atop her head in a no-nonsense bun. Her rounded hazel eyes were bland as she gazed at the target.

Seconds ticked by but it felt like eons, then a tiny crease marred her forehead.

Disappointment.

"The other Heads won't be too happy about this one," It was a lull bubbling with suppressed vexation.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. I gave no fucks if The Heads were pleased with me or not. The only Head I cared about was my mother.

The well-being of the assassin never mattered to those in power. I was only a killing machine: an ace at their disposal. So of course, only when I was underperforming would they show concern.

The mission last week did a lot more than leave a scar in my leg. Above anything else, I could have died. But surely, they thought it took a mere few days to get over shock. It only took dissatisfaction dashed with training to make me anew.

The Organization of Aligned Assassins was one of the few bodies that focused ourselves on the elimination of criminals. Our Organization was built from the ground up by our Prez, Pueblo. A small group of thugs killed his only son and it awoken a monster. He grouped common people together, taught us the basics of killing then we taught ourselves the rest.

After the death toll of gang members skyrocketed in Spain, Pueblo was contacted by The Hierarchy themselves. They were the first and most important Organization of assassins. The lawmakers, the enforcers; whatever they said went. Nothing went unnoticed by their omniscient eye. They knew what we were doing and approved of it. They made our Organization official among the vast others they governed in the world.

Which of course, came with a hefty price. Assassins were vowed to be wiped out by mafias and cartels.

To put us on the safest side, our identities were confidential in every way that was allowed. Assassins stuck to our own kind and never socialize with the outside world unless we were on a mission.

"I escaped within an inch of my life and you're worried about what they think?" I chuckled bitterly.

Pueblo believed it was a good idea to ship me off to Mexico for a paid request. The Mexican Organization was offering a huge lump sum to assassinate the mafia's second-in-command: Lucky Rodriguez. I was the only assassin requested and was skeptical from the beginning. Solo paid requests were an anomaly.