How to Raise an Assassin

CHAPTER 20: MY BROTHER UNVEILS A SECRET

Remember the tight-rope incident? I gave that soccer player an option to walk between two buildings and he almost made it. Had it not been for the wind that gave Chicago its nickname he would've survived.

Lay advised me to have contingencies in place. By simply tying one end looser than the other, it would guarantee that no failure could come on my part, because in the end, the target would still die.

I took that lesson to heart. So, even if I gave this drunk woman the option to choose her fate, it was sealed before she even decided.

Because all the drinks were poisoned.

And the foam frothing from her mouth was a clear sign that fate wasn't on her side. I looked back at Ash who stared at the scene in stunned silence. His eyes bulged as if he was watching a car accident in slow motion. His legs trembled, and he slowly took a step back from me.

"Did...did I save a monster?" he vacillated. Then he rushed out the room without another word. When I followed him, he was already gone.

Yes, he did save a monster. I was a monster born and raised by other monsters. There was no changing me. If he thought having me join the Locusts would make me see the light, he was wrong. In the end, his Auntie will die by my hands, and his father's organization will crumble. As much as I hated my family, the thought of ever betraying them was out of the question. If Noa was a loyal assassin till his dying breath, the one person I admire most in the world, then even he knew that family shouldn't betray one another.

***

I scrubbed out the memories of the night with a hot shower. I collapsed into bed, thankful that Ash had left. That meant I didn't have to be bossed around because of some stupid initiation. While Ash was probably tossing and turning all night after his first kill, at least I know I did after mine, I fell asleep quicker than a baby after drinking warm milk.

My dreams, however, made it seem like I didn't even fall asleep at all.

I was in my father's study. I noticed the painting of his old farm hung up besides his scythe he used to glean his victims. I saw the bookshelves filled with books and scrolls, a map of the world, a table in the center of the room that could project a holographic map or intel, and many other toys my father kept for himself. I heard the door open up behind me and my heart tripped over itself.

See, my father hated whenever we were in his study by ourselves without his permission. I've been on the rough end of his stern scolding and the occasional back hand across the face. When I turned around and expected the worst, I was met with the opposite.

It was Noa. He was alive. He looked young, maybe 15 or 16—a year or two before he died. He closed the door gently and tip-toed across the room. Noa was up to no good. That wasn't like him.

Noa went up to my dad's desk. He was looking through the papers, and trying to log onto my father's computer, but showing fits of frustration upon failing. He rummaged through the drawers, trying to find something.

He spent a good fifteen minutes sweeping the room. He checked beneath the desk, pulled out a hundred books looking for a secret entrance or something, and even pulled down the scythe from the wall and almost gagged while holding it.

He sat in my father's chair disappointed. He then spun it around to stare outside the window at the lake. He looked up to the ceiling, almost throwing in the towel, when his eyes glided towards the painting of the small farmhouse on the prairie with a couple of cows grazing and chickens roosting.

Noa stood up and gently grabbed the edge of the frame. He lifted it off its nail and gasped. He set the painting down on the chair and unveiled a locked safe with a keypad. Noa turned it on. Four digits were needed to access whatever my father was keeping secret. Noa thought to himself and started punching in four-digit codes. The last four numbers of my dad's social security number, which my father found "almost as useless as the government itself;" my mom and dad's anniversary; my dad's birthday; my mom's birthday; my sister's birthday; my birthday.