Page 2 of Hitman's Prize

Sending it off, I take one more look at Hector. Outside of the gush of crimson running down his temple and cheek, he lookslike he’s still enjoying that slumber of his. He’s definitely one of the few hits I’ve taken with mercy.

When my phone vibrates, I look away and remind myself why I’m here. All I care about is the notification I get about a successful wire transfer. I’m done. Moving closer to grab the man’s hand, there’s a surprise change in smell. Not even the dead body can hide an aroma so sweet.

Suddenly, there’s a creak. My body registers the sound before my brain can. My finger’s already on the trigger of the gun, ready to shoot again as I spin in the direction of the noise.

I don’t leave any evidence that can be traced back to me. Witnesses follow the same rule. Even though this house is supposed to be empty, I fully intend to make that the new reality. My mind is already creating a new story that has played out here. No longer a suicide, this will now be a homicide.

In all of two seconds, I’m facing my next target. A woman?

The vase in her hand, a possible weapon if I have to guess, drops to the floor and shatters into multiple pieces. I don’t look down to see what directions they fly, not when I’m too busy staring at the face of my intruder.

If it weren’t for Hector’s nature, I’d think she’s an angel here to take him to his next destination. I’ve never been a believer of the afterlife but suddenly, I’m questioning my beliefs.

I don’t pull the trigger. Instead, my aim lowers. Normally, I’m not one to be at a loss for words. After looking at those wide brown eyes, I’m speechless.

If I could manage a sentence, I’d demand she tell me who she is. I need to know the name of the face that’s going to haunt my thoughts for the rest of my life. Once I hear her voice, I’ll know she’s real. Not just a tired man’s hallucination.

The woman stares back at me like a deer caught in headlights. When her eyes drift to the side and her skin pales, I don’t need to follow her eyes to know she’s spotted Hector.

I expect her to scream in horror, maybe even make a run for it. She’d cut up those bare soles of hers if she tried.

Rather than following the normal reactions, she returns those startled eyes back in my direction. Her breathing is slowly growing more erratic. She’s got a talent for keeping her panicking on the inside. It’s impressive really.

“Why?” Like her angelic appearance, the one word comes out like a luring whisper, tempting me to step closer to get a better listen.

Registering her question, I don’t answer it. How can I? The answer feels wrong when I consider saying it out loud.

Money is the explanation for all of my decisions. It’s what makes the world go around. Why else would I go out of my way to kill random hits?

“Please leave.” When she finds her voice, it still trembles.

The grip on my gun tightens and I actually hesitate. Maybe I’ve grown soft over the last few months without noticing. I’m so close to retiring that my sharp edges have dulled out.

What happened to no witnesses? Am I suddenly starting to think I should waver one of my personal rules just because this beauty is giving me an order?

The television might cover some of her fear but it doesn’t hold back in revealing the wetness of her eyes.

I’m making this angel cry. It’s a view that makes my stomach clench and bile rise to the back of my throat far more than the stench of this place.

Not watching where I walk, I hear each beer can I kick and crush beneath my feet. Passing by her, my body inhales instinctively. One whiff of her and I know she’s the best-smelling thing in this shithole of a house.

I crunch across the broken vase as I leave through the same way I snuck in.

The winter air numbs my body much faster than I’m used to and I shiver as I don’t stop walking. One foot after the other, I try not to think about the woman. Not letting her plague my mind is easier said than done.

Hector’s lover or a hired lay possibly? She looked young, fresh adult young. I don’t like the thought of the drunk targeting the woman. If she is his kid, the file said nothing about guardianship. Maybe my client didn’t know what in the hell he was talking about. That, or I didn’t get all the information I should’ve.

I make it to the same tree I leaned against earlier before regaining some of my senses. Pausing, I look back toward the brick home.

If my client realizes there is a witness, someone who could link him to the murder, he’d hire some other hitman to take her out of the equation as quickly as tomorrow morning.

Something inside me screams at the idea of that angel dying at another person’s hands.

I can’t let that happen.

Turning around, I trudge back toward the house with a firm determination to keep my rules standing.

No witnesses are to be left at the scene of a hit.

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