Page 2 of Pray for the Damned

Jeremy Fitzgerald is not a good man by any means.

He’s a lowlife.

But that doesn’t make ending his existence any easier.

I swallow heavily as I move closer to the edge of the bed, his sleeping form still fully dressed in ratty clothes and a worn pair of sneakers that have the sole falling off them, and the offensive snore he lets out tells me the recon we did was spot-on.

He’s drunk.

I could have walked through this house with a beatbox and an airhorn, and he probably wouldn’t have woken.

But his daughter would have, and although her fate is sealed, her waking up before I could get the job done would have been unfortunate. A complication I couldn’t allow.

I lift my shaking hands and aim the gun at Jeremy’s sleeping body, but I’m shaking too much to get a good shot.

I sigh and drop my arms, taking a few deep breaths to get a handle on myself. I learned to shoot a gun when I was seven years old. I know I can do this, but now that I’m standing here, with another man’s life solely in my hands, I’m not sure I can pull the trigger.

You don’t have a choice,I remind myself.

I’ve never had a choice.

I was born into this life, and at seventeen, I’ve never had a chance to be anything else. To beanyoneelse.

With one final breath, I lift the gun and set my sights on his forehead. My finger presses against the trigger, and I only hesitate for another second before I pull it.

The silencer mutes the sound of the gun going off, but it still seems too loud to me. I can’t help but look over my shoulder to make sure the daughter didn’t hear.

Long moments tick by as I wait for footsteps, but they never come, and I allow my shoulders to relax.

All I have to do now is get out.

Retrace my steps to the front door, walk up the street, and Kade and my dad will be waiting for me.

I shove my gun into the back of my cargo pants and move back the way I came, my sights set on the front door.

I’m only a few steps away when the sound of a door opening makes me stop in place, my breath stuttering in my chest as I press my back to the closest wall.

But when I turn around, I realize I’m too late.

I’ve been spotted.

Staring back at me is the girl that will soon meet her own fate, one that’s perhaps worse than the one her father just met.

Her shock of dark curls are messy, and her startling green eyes are still hazy with sleep as she stares back at me.

There’s something about the girl that makes my chest ache for her, but perhaps that’s just what’s left of my conscience screaming at me to do the right thing.

She’s pretty. Even with her body covered with a baggy T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that should have been thrown out years ago, it’s not her looks that captivates me. It’s the broken soul staring back at me that mirrors my own. It’s the evidence of arough childhood that’s clear without her ever having to open her mouth.

“Did you kill him?” The words are so soft I wonder if I’ve imagined them, but her pale lips definitely moved, so they must have come from her.

I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t find the words to tell the girl I just killed the only person she has in the world.

Her eyes dart to the back of the house before she sighs. “I’m probably not that lucky.”

My brows tug together in confusion. “You want him dead?” The words fall from between my lips of their own accord, my voice coming out raspy and uncertain. If Kade and my dad heard me right now, I’m sure I’d never hear the end of it.

Her head jerks in a nod. “More than anything.” The sadness in her voice does something to me, something foreign that I can’t quite identify. I suppose this is what happens when you grow up in an emotionally stunted family of assassins, you can’t always figure out exactly what it is that you’re feeling.

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