How to Raise an Assassin

CHAPTER 22: THERE'S NO ONE I LOVE

Waking up from a dream that seemed so close to reality was daunting. I wasn't sure if I was experiencing a flashback from Noa's life or if it was just my frustrated imagination going wild after nearly dying last night.

It was Sunday. In the afternoon, I was due back at Royden. Ash was supposed to be with me since I was technically his special servant for the day, but he had not called, texted, or left any response to the messages I sent throughout the morning. I was hoping he actually showed up to the hive, because if only I showed up, there will definitely be questions asked. It may result in me having to fight my way out of there—and I honestly wasn't sure if I could make it out alive.

On the bus to Royden, three ingredients mixed around in my blender of a brain. The first was seeing Noa's image upon falling to my death. He told me to use my talents to end the "right people." I didn't know who the "right people" were that deserved to be murdered. I wasn't sure if anyone deserved such an end in a world where so many factors and causes of death could send you into the afterlife.

The second ingredient was Ash. Noa's hand reached out to me, offering me an anchor in this world. When I grabbed onto it, I was holding Ash's hand. I wondered if that was a sign...a sign that Noa was trying to guide me through Ash. Ash, the son of the leader of our family's arch-rival gang.

The third ingredient was the dream. I desperately didn't want it to be real. If it was, and father beat Noa like that with little guilt or shame...it just boiled my blood. Getting injured in training was one thing, but to snap your son's wrist and punch him across the face until he swelled and bleed was abuse. And the whole "Operation Sweeper" couldn't have been real. Dad looked down upon the poor, like most rich folks, but to seek their utter decimation was a stretch. For starters, if my father had this idea years ago, then why wasn't it put into play yet? Poor families weren't disappearing. The homeless were still abundant in Chicago.

As the ideas mixed together, I started making connections. When I pictured Noa telling me to use my talents to kill the right people, followed by giving his blessing to Ash, and showing me my father's evil plan—I asked myself if he wanted me to join the enemy and bring the fight to my family. The dream really did show Noa frustrated enough to want to kill my father, something he never expressed whenever I hung out with him. He didn't want me to take on the life of an assassin, but he always reminded me that family was the most important thing to fight for no matter how small it may be.

"Royden," the bus driver announced over the static intercom. I tossed my smoothie of thoughts into the fridge for later use. I left the bus and made my way towards the hive.

***

When I couldn't find Ash waiting for me at the entrance of the abandoned factory into the hive, I got frustrated and at the same time I started to worry. I know that bum didn't leave me so I could get beat up by Auntie and her LSD soldiers in olive.

Then the worrisome thought kicked in: what if he didn't make it out of the high-rise yesterday? What if more goons captured him, or a police officer shot him for breaking and entering? If he ended up dead and I left him thinking I was a monster that didn't care for anyone...

"Finally!" Auntie huffed waiting by the tattoo parlor. "You take way too long in the bathroom girl. You got the shits or something?"

Ash was standing next to her, his back towards me, not even glancing over his shoulder. Seeing him there released the worrisome feeling. I felt like I was holding my breath the entire time while navigating the tunnels of the hive. Now I could finally exhale.

I played along with the lie Ash must've used to cover up for him coming solo. "Yeah, had some bad tacos last night."

Auntie chuckled. "That Mexican food is good, but it makes your ass hug a toilet forever if you ain't too careful. Now, how did the servitude go yesterday?"