Page 36 of Assistant to the Assassin

Oh, to be a rooky.

I pull the target towards us and see a hole just to the right of the target’s shoulder.

She does a cute little growl in frustration. “I was pointing it at his head!”

“I know. You owe me a secret.”

“I’ve never killed someone before,” she admits, and I can’t gauge from her tone how she feels.

“Does the idea of killing someone bother you?” I ask.

She bites her lip, looking back and forth between me and the target. “I don’t know. I guess when I’m doing research on your targets or talking to you in your ear while you are on a job, I know how awful the person you’re killing is. I know what they’ve done, and I know that the world would be better without them. But I don’t know any of these mercenaries. What if they’re just doing a job, like us? What if they think they’re doing the right thing?”

I move closer towards her, adjusting her head to face the target and positioning her arms and shoulders so that they’re more aligned. I then move behind her, grabbing on to her hips to position her posture and legs. “‘Mercenary’ is just a fancy word for what I am. These people are killers, make no mistake. Whatever their intentions or justifications, they will capture, hurt, or kill you without hesitation. They’re all ex-military, many have been through war, some have worked in the CIA or MI6. You are trained to offer your enemies no hesitation, no mercy, and no thought. If you hesitate, they won’t.”

I step back from her once again and push the target back. I watch her reload her gun, making no mistakes, then she shoots again. She doesn’t react as intensely to the noise as before, but she still flinches. I bring the target forward. She’s still way off.

“How the fuck do you make this look so easy?” she demands.

I shrug, pushing the target back. “Years of practice.”

“Any way we can condense years of practice into weeks of practice?”

I chuckle at that, shaking my head. “I don’t need you to be an expert sniper in a few weeks. I just need you to know what you’re doing and be able to fend off a merc if they come for you. You don’t have to hit their head or chest, at least not at first. Hitting any part of the body is helpful, especially the arms. Making their arms immobile increases your chances of getting away. But if you can get a quick shot to the head or chest, it would ensure your safety more.”

She nods, looking a little uneasy. She fires again, barely grazing the target’s shoulder. I watch her stew in anger for a moment or two, then I remind her of our deal. “Your turn again.”

She huffs, swallowing down her pride, then she says to me matter-of-factly, “Your harsh and violent existence should be a turnoff but it’s the complete opposite. Thinking about the power you wield as judge, jury, and executioner to evil people in the world is stupidly hot.”

I grin at her, pushing the paper target back. “Stupidly hot, huh?”

She nods, aiming her gun once more. “You may think you’re fucked up, H, but I’m in the same boat as you.”

She fires again, and this time it’s better. She barely hits the arm of the target, but I’ll give it to her. Before she has a chance to gloat, I unveil a secret of my own. “Even though I consider myself a devout Catholic, I have not stepped foot in a church since my mother’s funeral, but not for that reason. Knowing that churches in the faith aim to harm others, I could not stomach being inside them. Especially as a bisexual man.”

She gives me a sympathetic nod. “Same here. I mean I’m not bi, but I hate how harmful organized religion can be and I don’t want any part of it.”

She fires again and it hits inches away from the target’s head. She growls, aggressively reloading her gun. “I’ve only slept with one man in my life. It was another analyst at the CIA that I went on a few dates with. When he saw me naked, he grimaced at my stretch marks and made comments about going to the gym together.”

I see red at her words, and it doesn’t escape my notice that she hasn’t revealed the name of this weasel of a man. I may be on an abandoned island in hiding, but I could still eliminate that motherfucker. And she knows it.

“A man like that doesn’t deserve to be in your presence,” I say through gritted teeth. “Your body is one of my favorite parts of you, and that includes your stretch marks.”

She smiles, taking aim again. “He wasn’t very good in bed either. Had no idea where the clit was.”

I roll my eyes at that. “Men who don’t know how to please their partner are either too stupid to learn basic anatomy or couldn’t be bothered to care about anyone other than themselves. Either way, they’re not real men.”

“Even before last night I knew you weren’t grouped amongst men like that. You’ve always struck me as someone that gets off from the pleasure of his partner.”

I wink at her, biting back a smile. “I’ll show you how correct your assumption was tonight.”

With a large, triumphant smile, she fires again, this time hitting the target’s bellybutton. She turns to me with a smug grin, and I give her a defeated nod. “I’ve had sex with ten people, six women and four men. But I haven’t been with someone since we started working together. Meaningless nights of passion lost their appeal when you came into my life.”

Her cheeks blush a bright pink, and I don’t miss the little smile on her lips as she fires again. Her bullet hits a fraction of an inch away from the target’s head. She reloads her gun, and without looking at me, she says, “I told you that music was a big part of how I coped with my childhood, but the other way was through being as positive as possible. I never really knew my parents, my grandparents were old and didn’t really know what to do with me, and school was really difficult for me as a diabetic. Convincing myself I was happy and looking for any silver lining I could find helped me get through all that.”

“You’ve mentioned having problems in school a couple times. What happened?” I ask.

She stares down at her feet, her expression the most guarded and cold I’ve ever seen it. “At my middle and high school, I wasn’t allowed to carry my insulin on me or administer shots myself, so I had to leave class a lot. And you know how I get when my blood sugar is low or high: I have to pee, drink tons of fluids, and eat half the pantry. Everyone thought of me as a distraction and a troublemaker. I was harassed and bullied by a lot of teachers, staff, and students. I was blamed for having to take care of a condition I never asked for. My grandparents would get calls from my teachers or the guidance counselor to complain about me, but they told me to ignore them. I tried talking to my teachers, to the principal, I even had a meeting with the superintendent, but nothing helped.”

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