Page 20 of Black Heart

A situation that’s just become more complicated when I noticed movement on the shore twenty minutes ago.

I knew another assassin would come after my refusal to accept Layla’s kill contract, and I’m not disappointed.

The air is thick with the scent of salt and decay. Gulls cry overhead, circling the lonely tower that has long ceased to guide ships. The surrounding area is strewn with debris from the sea—driftwood, tangled seaweed, and the remnants of old fishing gear.

Lowering my binoculars, I creep forward, moving with practiced stealth, keeping low, and using the natural cover of the terrain. I navigate through patches of tall beachgrass and behind clusters of rocks, closing in.

Every step is calculated and silent despite the crunch of gravel and dry seaweed underfoot. My focus is absolute, my senses tuned to any sound or movement from the lighthouse.

I freeze when the silhouette moves not to where Layla is undressing and getting ready for bed but to inside the lighthouse.

Curious.

As the assassin enters it, I sprint for the door, slipping inside a few minutes after him. Inside, the lighthouse is hollow and echoes with the sound of the sea.The interior is dank and smells of mold and rust, with puddles of sea water dotting the floor. A fragile metal staircase winds up around the crumbling walls.

Taking cover under the stairs, I wait until my new friend is a few steps above my head, then lunge.

I grab his ankle, yanking it sharply. The assassin’s surprise is audible—a sharp gasp cut short as he tumbles down the stairs. I move quickly, my actions honed by years of training and real-world combat.

I don’t let confidence overshadow the situation. The assassin, a trained killer, recovers quickly and swings a fist. I deflect the blow with my forearm, using the momentum to deliver a precise elbow strike to his ribs. The impact is sharp.

As the assassin doubles over, I grab his shoulder and spin him around. Driving a knee into the assassin’s abdomen, I further knock the wind out of him. Every one of my moves is designed to incapacitate without causing unnecessary harm.

Yet.

The assassin, now struggling to catch his breath, tries to retaliate with a wild, desperate punch that I sidestep, grabbing the assassin’s extended arm and twisting it behind his back in a classic arm lock.

“Looking for someone?” I whisper in his ear while baring my teeth.

With my other hand, I reach into my tactical vest.

In a swift, practiced motion, I secure the assassin’s wrists behind his back with black zip ties. I force him to his knees, and with another zip tie, I bind his ankles.

As I stand over the subdued killer, my breathing is steady. There’s no anger in my study, only a cold, professional necessity.

With the assassin now securely bound, I take a moment to survey my surroundings, always vigilant for any further threats. My vision stays cold and calculating, my features betraying no emotion as this attempted threat to Layla looks up at me with shocked, flared eyes, but my mind races ahead to the information I’m about to methodically extract.

All to protect my wraithling.

“Fuck,” the hitman groans as he opens his eyes and sees me standing over him.

I’ve dragged him onto a wooden chair, securing him tightly and waiting for him to come around.

The lighthouse is silent, the darkness broken only by the soft glow of the moon through the broken windows overhead, laced with the neon green that glows through my mask.

He squints as his vision comes together and notices my snack. “Is that…?”

“Red licorice?” I ask, snapping the rope of candy between my teeth, chewing, then swallowing. I hold the other half between us. “Would you like some?”

“Who the fuck are you?” The would-be assassin spits on the floor, the chair creaking under his weight.

I move faster than he can react, wrenching his chin back to face me.

“Wrong question,” I growl, punching him under his jaw and almost sending his entire tongue down his throat. “What you should be asking is how much pain you’re about to endure.”

The hitman’s bravado falters. Fear flickers in his eyes, a delicious sight that sends a thrill down my spine.

I decide to add to it.

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