Page 3 of The Tower

My eyes follow her every movement as she reaches for the glass, struggling to hide her thirst while still looking as elegant as she's expected to.

She's a dangerous distraction.

I want to believe I see a hint of disappointment when I move away from her as soon as she retrieved her drink, but my imagination may just be playing tricks on me. If she's a guest at this event, she'll see nothing but a waiter in me. Unsuspecting, disinterested.

I walk away, shaking my head.

Focus. I need to fucking focus instead of lusting after a girl who can in no way play a part in my life, not even for a night.

Especially notthisnight.

I just hope she's moving a safe distance away from the mayhem we're about to unleash on these festivities.

The event started about an hour ago, and it has been the longest hour of my life. I've been dreading this hour—and the upcoming thirty-something minutes, for that matter—ever since I first heard about tonight's plan.

I hate waiting. I hate standing in position, ready to pull the trigger, but not being allowed to do so.

If I was the one in charge, things would be done differently.

But I'm not. I fucking never am.

"Thirty minutes to go," the dark voice inside my ear adds. As if I didn't fucking know that.

I don't respond, knowing one's not needed this time. We talk as little as possible during our operations, and if we do, it's only via our headpieces.

I do a quick scan of the room to confirm my surroundings before my gaze locks back on the target. Clyde Abbott is a tall and slender man who's still in good shape, considering his age. His gray hair still crowns his big head in voluminous waves with a heavy strand covering half of his left eye. He looks more like a sleazy artist than a cruel moneybag.

Very few people would use that term to describe him because he's good at hiding and even better at pretending.

But we know better. The Abbott family has been leading one of the most influential crime syndicates in the area for decades. That alone isn't impressive, but the fact that they did it while still maintaining a perfectly clean public image is. Even some of their own family members don't know about their wheelings and dealings and the power they hold over large parts of the town and its corporations.

All of that will end tonight.

The Abbott family has been on our list for years, and one by one, we've successfully eliminated their leaders and most prominent figures. Now, there are only two left. Clyde Abbott and his wife. Margaret Abbott may have less of a say within the family's operations, but she is no less evil than her husband. In a way, I'd say she's even worse because she tries so much harder to portray the image of the perfect wife and mother figure, despite having no children of her own. She's responsible for the deaths of many innocent people, mainly due to her despicable hospital fundraisers that funneled the unsuspecting public's money elsewhere. Margaret Abbott has repeatedly taken advantage of other people's goodwill and eagerness to help, spreading lies and awakening false hopes among those who already suffer the most.

And for that, she will pay tonight. As will her husband.

Clyde may have been quiet and less active in recent years, but I know what this man is guilty of. And I couldn't be happier to put a bullet in this asshole's head tonight.

Twenty-six minutes.

I can't fucking wait.

Chapter 2

Libby

I've never felt this uncomfortable and out of place in my entire life. Surrounded by fancy dresses, eloquent gentlemen, overpriced drinks, superficial chatter, and passive-aggressive behavior by show-offs who want to impress without coming across as pretentious.

If you ask me, every single one of them has failed in that mission. I've had the questionable pleasure of talking to just a handful of them, acquaintances mostly, faces I've never seen before but could always place with a name.

Not one of them could place me. That's not surprising and probably for the better.

I bring the champagne up to my lips for the umpteenth time, emptying it with one greedy swig before I place the empty glass on one of the silver trays carried around by the numerous handsome waiters. The waitstaff tonight is particularly young and dapper, providing a much-needed redeeming feature to this otherwise boring and excruciating night.

One guy, in particular, caught my eye right from the beginning. Tall and broad-shouldered, his muscles are so defined that the white shirt of his uniform stretches to the limit when he bends his arm to balance the silver tray and mosey through the room. In combination with his very short buzz cut and the tattoo peeking over the top of his collar, he looks more like a military guy than an ordinary server. He's out of this world handsome with a chiseled jaw shaved to perfection and sinister eyes that are constantly narrowed in strain.

I wonder why he's so tense? Is it his first day on the job? That can't be. He doesn't look young enough to be doing this for the first time.

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