Page 15 of Assistant to the Assassin

I raise my needle, I take aim, and I plunge it into his neck. Jacob begins to struggle, grabbing on to my arms and shoulders in an attempt to get me off of him. His fingers grip on to the mask I wear, and before I can stop him, he rips it off my face.

He stares at me as his struggling becomes weaker. I watch the fear in his eyes morph into calm, and within a few moments, they become blank. His struggling stops, his arms drop. Just as I’m about to retract the needle, a flicker of the lights has me pausing.

In this line of work, you have to account for every variable, every possible outcome, every nail that could blow out the tire. This includes the weather. Beth and I scanned every station for the last two days, and we were assured that this area would not storm today. But it is storming a few miles away, and it must be live out there, because the lights flickering indicates a power surge, which has a tendency to reset or disrupt electrical devices. Like a camera.

I dare to lift my eyes to the security camera, and I find the light next to the lens blinking a bright green.

It’s working.

And I’m staring right at it.

“Fuck,” Beth and I curse at the same time.

I pounce out the window, planting my feet on the wall so I can scale up the side of the building and get back onto the roof. Once I’m there, I make quick work of untying the rope from my body, then I start running across the roof. I hear shouts coming from below me, and a quick glance down informs me that the whole house is on high alert. Armed men and women are running about the grounds, every light is flipped on, and a security alarm blares through the property so loudly that it nearly bursts my eardrums.

I’ve had a few close calls throughout my three different careers. There were times in the SEALS that me and my team barely made it out of a situation alive, there were times in the CIA where I was nearly captured, and as a contract killer, I’ve had a few wounds that could have been fatal. But this is beyond all of that. I was caught on camera killing a British politician. Johnathon Harrison and his entire mercenary group know what I look like. All because of a goddamn power surge.

When I make it to the other side of the roof, I don’t hesitate to jump down to the ground, where I crouch and roll, preventing myself from getting more than just a sprain or bruise. A broken ankle would be a death sentence right now. Thankfully, I ran towards the side of the house I had climbed up, so on the other side of the metal fence is the motorcycle I rented. I hop the fence, making a beeline to the bike, then I turn on the engine. It blares to life, rumbling like thunder booming from the clouds above, and I don’t hesitate to floor it.

I dare to glance over my shoulder, finding no other than Johnathon Harrison staring after me. His eyes narrow, meeting mine through the black metal bars, and I sense a determination and rage that I know all too well. I see him grip on to the fence so tightly that his knuckles whiten, I see his expression grow cold and unresponsive, and I know that this moment will irrevocably change my life moving forward.

And Beth’s.

With a screech of the wheels, I’m taking off down the street, trying to put as much distance between me and the estate as possible.

“White Walker!” I shout into my earpiece.

I hear the sound of engines starting up behind me, along with a barked order from Harrison that comes out more as a growl. “I want him alive!”

“H, are you sure?” I hear Beth ask, her voice frantic with worry.

“Yes! You know what to do. I want you out of the office and heading towards an airport in an hour, you hear me?”

“What about you? I just watched the mercs cram into two cars and now they’re racing down the driveway after you. I can help you find a safe passage, a place to lie low—”

“I’ll be fine, Beth!” I shout, increasing my speed as the sound of rumbling engines gets closer. In my side mirror I can see a pair of grey Lexus splitting off, trying to get me in between them. “I’m sticking to our plan and so will you. As your boss, I order you to enact the white walker protocol.”

Beth’s voice is firm as she replies, “Come back to me in one piece. Promise me.”

There’s a slight waver to her voice as she says those last two words, and even though it’s stupid to make such a promise, I am unable to deny her anything. “Promise.”

She goes offline, allowing me to focus on keeping that promise to her. The two cars position themselves on either side of me like I expected, and instead of trying to crush me between the two vehicles, one of the mercenaries—a white, blonde male with unnatural green eyes—pokes his upper body out of the back window and starts to shoot his pistol, aiming down for my tires.

I slow my speed, reaching out to grab his outstretched arm as he attempts another shot. I yank on him as I pass by the window, and a loud crack fills my ears as I dislocate the guy’s elbow, making him drop the gun. I catch the pistol, aiming the barrel at the car’s tires. I get one shot, then two, then the pistol runs out of bullets. My shots were enough to blow out a couple of the tires, and when we reach a turn in the road, the car skids and flips over, landing on its side near the road barrier.

The other car is still right on my tail, but the backroad we’ve been traveling on is about to come to an end, with the intersection to get onto the highway coming up. It will be easier to lose this car with so many others surrounding us, but if those mercs decide to start shooting in front of civilians, it will draw more attention, and right now that’s the last thing I need.

The car increases its speed, and on instinct I do the same thing, but when I see the pothole in the middle of the road, I immediately veer to the right, which isn’t what they had planned. Instead of me going 90 mph into a pothole, the car does, which expectedly makes it do a somersault before landing hard on its back, smashing the windows as a result. Glass pieces are scattered all around the road as I drive away, slipping easily into the crowd of cars and bikes on the highway.

Henry and I created code words based on Game of Thrones a while back, each with their own meaning that come with a carefully laid out plan. Varys means we’re being followed, Greyjoy means one of us has been captured, Wildlings means one of us is stranded or lost, Red Wedding means one of us is injured.

And White Walker means we’ve been compromised.

“Shit shit shit shit!” I push away from my desk, running over to our storage area where three gallons of gasoline rest in a dust-ridden corner. Our protocol for being compromised is planned to a T; first, I have to burn down the office. All our computers, hard drives, and documents have to go. I empty all three gas jugs around the office, leaving only my purse unscathed, which I grab the second I’m done. I start searching for my lighter, but I remember the extra insulin vials I have in the mini fridge, so I stuff them in my purse. No way in hell I’m letting those go to waste.

I return to searching for my lighter, and I find it in the back of my desk drawer. With a single flick, the flame comes to life, and when I drop the lighter onto my desk, the whole thing gets consumed by fire. I quickly vacate the office, locking the door behind me.

I spare a glance at our fake company logo printed on the opaque door, and a stab of sorrow hits me right in the chest. Henry and I created this business from the ground up. All the late nights researching targets in this office, all the lunch breaks consisting of McDonald’s Big Macs shared, and all the times we came up with plans to distract the nosy dentist receptionist, happened here. And now it’s all gone. Once you’re compromised, there’s no going back. We have to go underground and stay there. This life, the one Henry and I chose and forged for ourselves, is gone. All because of a freak thunderstorm.

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