Karma planed to never kill anyone again.
She was going to leave the group of assassins she thought of as family, and never look back.
However, to save her step-brother she would have to take one last job.
For this hit she would need an extra gun...
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* Chapter 2*
His palms stung when they hit the cement floor. His father's large black army boots ground into the floor near his head.
"Get up."
Rea pushed with both hands and made it to his knees. Pain beat at him where his father's fist had been. He forced back tears. His girlfriend was gone, his friend Eric left, and his mom was dead. He didn't want to get up. Why bother when his dad would knock him down again?
The blood in his mouth gathered over his tongue. He spit. A mixture of saliva and blood clung to his lips. The tip of his father's boot crushed his fingers. Rea gritted his teeth. He refused to cry or admit he was hurt. He was already a disappointment. He wouldn't add to it.
"Get up, fucking lazy piece of shit." Rea didn't have time to move. His father's foot met his ribs. Air whooshed out of his lungs. "I told you to be at training at seven. You'll train with my old army squad, or I'll throw you out into the snow." When his dad crouched next to him, his hot breath fanned Rea's neck. "I wish you'd died in the Oil Wars instead of your brothers. If your mother were alive, she'd say you were worthless."
His father's voice was cold and calculating on that last sentence. He said the words like they were a fact. Rea knew that the last sentence was a lie. He had a unique ability he'd only ever told one person about. His father didn't know. Rea knew when someone was lying. Knew it. He felt the lie in his gut. His mom would've been proud of him. Proud that he kept living every day when so much was gone. When the world was covered in ice, and so many people died, she'd asked him to keep going.
He was trying.
Blood decorated the cement floor of his bedroom. Rea pushed again and finally came to a standing position. His father stood in front of him and smiled. His old man crossed his arms over his massive chest. The action pulled at the fabric of his army uniform.
"You're no fighter, Joseph-Rea MacBain, but you will be. By the way, today is a holiday. Happy Ice Year or some shit. I got you something."
Rea was prepared this time. His father's huge, meaty fist came toward his face. This time, he ducked. Stumbling forward, Rea almost nose-dived into the table next to his door. His balance was still off. That's what happened when you got hit in the face multiple times. Quickly, Rea used his tongue to check if he still had all his teeth.
After he righted himself, Rea moved to the pathetic kitchen area of his room. He looked for the best place to run. His dad was in front of the door that exited into the underground base hallway. No escape there.
His father chuckled. "You look like someone fucked you up."
Rea refrained from saying anything. There was no point. After his mother died, his father had gone crazy. He always was a mean son-of-a-bitch, but now he was truly out of his mind. His old army buddies couldn't see it, but Rea did. Maybe living underground is what had gotten to his father.
