Page 3 of The Plunge

She looks like a little punk whose mother forced a dress on her, only that she should be old enough to make her own decisions. She's young but most likely not much younger than I am.

And she looks like she was fucking made for me.

She tilts her head to the side, pointing at the last remaining glass on my tray. "May I?"

Fuck. I need to get my shit together.

"Sure."

The word comes out as nonchalant as it should, but my pose is stiff, betraying all the training I've had over the past years. Something about her gets to me. That look. That attire. She stands out as if she doesn't belong here, yet she does.

It almost appears as if she's playing a role.

Just like I am.

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 there’s a hint of disappointment on her face 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 not this night.

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, because it’s not needed. 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.

---