Page 6 of Kill, Sleep, Repeat: Vol II

“Seems like a lot of trouble for something you speak of in past tense.”

“Everyone answers to someone, even if they think they don’t. You need to figure out who’s pulling the strings before they yank yours.”

She calls my bluff. “So, this is about revenge?”

“No. It’s about Rule number four: always finish what you start. Half measures are dangerous, Sophie. Leave loose ends, and they’ll strangle you later."

I don’t think she buys it. “You remember the plan?”

Sophie nods. “I shadow you. Watch and learn. No mistakes.”

I let the words settle between us. “And no hesitation.”

She flips her menu over and pushes it to the edge of the table. “You act like I didn’t hear youthe first time.”

An hour later, Celeste leaves the bar. Her two security details follow her, but they’re blending in—calm, professional, as though they’re just part of the night. We trail at a distance, weaving through the crowd, making sure we don’t draw attention. I can see Sophie staying in lockstep with me, her movements more confident, but there’s still a touch of hesitation in her.

Celeste rounds the corner into a narrow alleyway behind the restaurant, the kind of place where someone could disappear. The perfect choke point.

My hand brushes Sophie’s arm. The signal.

She moves ahead, steps steady. I follow close behind, my hand brushing the cool metal of my gun. Celeste is distracted, fiddling with a cigarette. One of her men is handing her a lighter. As if a gift from God himself, the other heads toward the street, scanning from one direction to the other before moving back toward the lounge.

Sophie steps closer, then she freezes.

It’s subtle—a hesitation so brief that most people wouldn’t notice. But I do. Her hand falters, hovering near her pocket, the place where I know her weapon waits.

But she’s too slow.

Celeste looks up. The man with the lighter straightens, his hand dropping to his side, reaching for something. I understand what I have to do.

I move fast. No hesitation. No second chances.

I step between Celeste and her security. My gun is already drawn, aimed at his chest. The shots ring out in the narrow space, quiet but clean. He stumbles, then drops.

Celeste doesn’t react fast enough. Her eyes widen in surprise, and I’m on her instantly, hand gripping her throat, my knee in her back, pinning her to the alley wall.

I take a breath, my grip tightening. A quick, clean movement, just as I was taught. No drama, no struggle.

Her body goes limp in my arms and I drop her, just like that.

I don’t stop to savor the moment. Instead, I grab Sophie by the arm, dragging her out of the alley in the opposite direction from which we came.

We don’t speak until we’re back at the hotel. Sophie sits on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands. There's a crisp, sterile scent that hangs in the air—clean, almost clinical, but with an undertone of something soft, like fresh linens or newly pressed sheets. It's the smell of a place that’s been recently prepared for someone but not lived in yet.

“You froze,” I say, standing over her. My voice leaves no room for excuses.

“I—I didn’t mean to.”

“Intentions don’t matter. Actions do.” I pace the room, the adrenaline still burning through me. “Hesitation gets you killed, Sophie. It getsmekilled.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, but the words do nothing to soften me.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this. Hesitation —emotion—fear— it has no place in our work. I thought you understood that.”

She doesn’t respond.

I sigh, forcing myself to sit across from her. “This isn’t just about you anymore. We’re cleaning up your father’s mess, and that means no mistakes. We don’t get second chances in this line of work.”

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