Page 5 of Lost in Life

My phone buzzes in my pocket, momentarily distracting me from my target. I don’t often venture outside of the country but sometimes it’s hard to pass up a good opportunity. Taking a sip of espresso, I set my cup back down and pull out my phone.

T

Boss wants to see you.

Jet will be ready in two hours.

I sigh heavily, shoving my phone away.

I don’t need to respond, Tavish will know I’ve seen the message. I don’t know how but somehow the boy genius knows everything when it comes to technology.

Rubbing my temple, I down my coffee and rise from the seat. The small woman in my sights bounds away down the busy Italian streets. Thankfully for me, she likes to frequent the tourist traps, making it much easier to blend in than some of the more native locations.

I follow closely behind, careful not to be too obvious. After about ten minutes of our little cat and mouse game, I grow impatient, feeling the seconds tick by.

“Hurry up, bitch, so I can get on with it.” I mutter under my breath, my agitation growing as the need to kill increases. The woman turns down a deserted alley and I release a breath of relief as I slip on my gloves.

Finally.

Stalking up behind her, I wrap my hand over her mouth while encircling her waist with my other arm. She struggles in my hold but it won’t do any good, I’m too strong and too hungry for the kill to let her escape.

Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “Patrick sends his regards.” I snap her neck before she can fully react.

It’s not quite the level of violence I crave, but Owen has called and when he calls, I have to answer.

Quickly disposing of her body in a nearby dumpster, I remove my gloves and tuck them into my pockets to be discarded in a secondary location.

Time to find out what the fuck the boss man wants this time.

“Come in.” A deep voice rumbles on the other side of the wooden door.

I push inside, shutting the door behind me before walking toward the large desk taking up the majority of the room.

Owen stands with his back to me. “You can leave.” He commands without turning around.

A soft noise sounds as the dismissed member rises from his seat. Catching my gaze, I incline my head as he passes.

We don’t communicate within the Order of Death outside of necessary interactions, most of us opting for seclusion over comradery. Owen likes it that way too. The less we know about each other, the less of a liability we become if something awry were to happen.

The sound of the door opening and closing pulls me from my thoughts.

Owen turns around, sinking into his chair with a sigh. One hand clutches a whiskey glass while the other runs down his face. “Zayn.” He greets, crossing his ankle over his other knee. Indicating one of the seats in front of me, he takes a long sip from his glass.

I obediently take my seat, mirroring his position, minus the whiskey.

Fuck, I could use a whiskey right about now.

“How was Italy?” He asks, resting his arm holding the glass over his bent leg.

Already frustrated by the small talk, I suppress a sigh of my own. “Great, boss. It was a clean hit.”

Boring hit is more like it.

“Hmm.” Owen hums in response. “Good.” Leaning forward, he sets down his glass, resting his arms on the desk. “The reason I called for you is rather…delicate.” He pauses, threading his fingers together.

I raise my eyebrows, surprised he called me and not one of his more trusted lackeys.

Ignoring my surprise, he continues, “I’m going to be gone for a while and need to make sure the ceremony goes off without a hitch.”

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