Page 12 of Claimed By the Hitman: Codename Cupid

I walk through the long-term parking garage and feel their eyes on me. I know what's about to happen, and they make their move just as I reach my Lexus.

Tires screech.

Men dressed in plain clothes grab me.

The black bag is fitted over my head.

"Don't fight, Hera." The voice is familiar, though, I've never seen this person's face. Is this his only job?

"I know the drill."

They load me into their van, and we get rolling.

“Did you at least get my suitcase?” I ask. “Olympia gave me some fine clothes, this time.”

“We have it.”

The agents will say nothing more to me. No point in asking any questions.

Just like me, they are told only what they need to know. They are tools completing their task.

They'll take me to Zeus, and then I'll know what this is all about.

As far as I know, Olympia has no headquarters. There is no address or phone number, no email chains or Monday memos. Our safe houses change constantly. I never know where I'm being taken.

The room, however, is always the same.

I’m sitting on a metal foldout chair. The box of a room is four white walls, a white marble floor, and a white ceiling. The white blends so perfectly together that I can’t identify the corners of the room. It’s a void. I could be underground, in the ocean, or in fucking space for all I know.

Always, the bag is pulled off of my head from behind. I'm instructed to face forward and to look behind me under no circumstance. When the meeting is over, the door behind me (whatever it looks like) will open, and an agent will put the bag back over my head and escort me out.

The only other thing in the room is a small white speaker on a white column pedestal. Wherever the light comes from, the pedestal casts no shadow. It feels godly, which I imagine is the desired effect.

As always, I wait.

They took my phone and my watch.

Time blends to nothing, like the tiny, endless room. Even here, all I can think about is him.

Hera,the distorted, booming voice erupts from the speaker. I swear, they put that thing on full blast. The voice shakes me; it bounces a thousand times in the claustrophobic void.Welcome back. Report.

It's not unheard of to be brought in so soon after a job. But I wasn't expecting it. For a handler as experienced as I am, Olympia usually waits until they have another target for me. They know when an assassin succeeds or fails, all I can give them are the details.

I hope they’re just eager to know if Cupid is still viable.

"Target eliminated," my voice sounds so tiny in comparison. I speak as if I'm reading off quarterly financial reports. "Clean. No collateral... Field asset unharmed."

Assessment of field asset,Zeus demands.

A daydream of Cupid's body swims through the white room. My moans bounce off the walls—wherever they are—a million times. I squirm in the chair. Christ, I never thought I’d feel horny in this weird space.

"Erratic. Playful," I sigh. "Arrogant. But highly precise and capable. Field asset is fit for further assignment."

Silence before Zeus echoes,Under your supervision?

Olympia has always given me a choice. If I feel that I'm not the right fit for an assassin, I can make it known. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve extricated myself from handling an asset.

All I have to do is say so, and I'll never see Cupid again.

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