How to Raise an Assassin

CHAPTER 48: THE BOY WHO CAN'T DIE

"Sir, shall I call in a clean-up crew?" Xavier asked my father once we were back in the car.

My father shook his head as he placed his foldable scythe into a briefcase. "No, the contract calls for his body to be discovered and plastered over the media. Let it serve as a sign to those who target the hard-working people of society."

"As you wish," Xavier said, driving the car off of the property and onto the road.

My father then pulled out his tablet and was tapping away for a couple of minutes until he finally spoke to me. "When you get home, I want you to pack your bags. You're ending the school year early. You'll spend the last third of the year overseas."

I wanted to argue, but I wasn't in the mood. In fact, he was probably doing me a favor by putting me as far away from him and the memory of this day as possible.

"Your older brother Kaorc has been tailing and attempting to kill a high-priority target in Africa. It has been months and yet no success. He says the boy is 'unkillable.' You'll verify that for me while clearing your head of all this."

My father shut off his tablet and stowed it in his briefcase. "I suggest you gather intel on the boy first. You'll be attending the same school as him since he's of your own age. I expect success where your brother has failed."

Then he placed a hand on my shoulder, and I recoiled as if a bird had pooped on me. My father gently pulled back. "Perhaps by summer's end you'll put all of this behind you."

And for the rest of the car ride there was silence until we reached the estate.

***

By the end of the week I was gone, flying to Lagos to admit myself into a boarding school where my target was attending. On the long flight over, I promised myself to finish this quickly. I didn't need the thought of a contract lingering on my mind for several weeks.

But I won't do it the way my father intended.

If I was going to finish this contract, I'd do it like Noa would've done it. I'll keep the boy alive and gone. My days of killing for money were over. I had only one outstanding contract that could be resolved with violence.

And I wasn't even strong enough to complete it just yet.

I quickly found out that this boarding school was going to be much tougher than I had imagined. The school looked more like a prison. It had electric fences, barbed wire, security guards, and gray buildings that looked like a place where innocence went to die.

Yet, when I got inside, I saw banners encouraging reading, trophy cases, and lockers. Children were tripping each other, guards were trying to separate fighting students from one another, and a group of thugs were tossing textbooks at cowering students while shouting horrible slurs.

I wasn't the only white girl at the school. In fact, there was a large chunk of white people at the school, with a majority of the student population being local Nigerians and the sprinkle of other ethnicities. Spotting my target wasn't difficult. He had copper-bronze skin that looked like a third-place trophy. Dirty blond hair reflected the lights from the hallway onto the gray lockers against the wall, many tagged with genitals and curse words. He wore the school's uniform, a plaid gray polo with navy blue shorts.

He was opening up his locker that was tagged with words like "freak," "ghost," "demon." As people walked down the hallway, they seemed to cross to the other side of the lockers just to avoid being within his gravitational pull.

Of course, there were always exceptions to the rule. A group of bullies had no problem surrounding him each holding an odd assortment of objects in their hand.