Page 25 of Exposing Adonis

Leo couldshedhis skin. With a roll of his shoulders, and an adjustment of his pelvis, he went from being the erect assassin, into a tired, and undisciplined militant, kicking his feet lazily in front of him like an adolescent.

Shift change was occurring, and the groggy men were coming from their tents and assuming their daily duties.

He waltzed right in like he owned the place. No one gave him a second glance. He spoke to the man in the front of the tent, the one I suspected Chloe had been in, and flicked a thumb over his shoulder. The exhausted, and probably bored, guard walked off. Leo stepped into the tent.

It was agonizing, waiting for that damn flap to open again, unable to see through the Army green canvas of the tent.

After several agonizing minutes, the flap opened and Chloe, with her wild mane of black-brown curls popped out. I let out a relieved sigh, though I knew that our troubles had just begun.

She had a pronounced limp, and she clung to Leo’s arm like her life depended on it. Because it honestly did. He was her new lifeline.

The two of them rushed to the Toyota Hilux. He opened the back seat, shoving her inside. Then he plopped to the front, and I could see his knife out as he reached under to cut cables that ran to the ignition.

They were still free and clear, but I knew that was not going to be the case for long.

I pulled my eye from the scope and looked through the binoculars. A burly man in discount Gulf War era desert fatigues marched to the tent. Seeing that there was no one for him to relieve, he looked inside. I placed my finger into the trigger well and slowed my breath, putting the crosshairs right at the tent flaps.

I had to aim to kill. Aim to kill …

I had to recite it over and over again, despite every part of my body protesting that I was no longer a murderer.

I swore I’d never pre-meditatively take a life again. I had sworn it to the little Doctor that we were rescuing, when she looked me dead in the eyes and lamented that I’d changed.

I remembered the look on Dieter Müller’s face when I had pulled the trigger. The surprise as he snatched death from the jaws of victory as he hovered over Lea, ready to end her. I had enjoyed it. I liked ending him because he was trying to hurt what was mine.

I was remorseless when I sniped him to the ground, and made love to Lea afterward, not caring that I had gotten more blood on my hands. I would kill for her. I would kill for Chloe. Hell, I’d kill for fun.

And that was what frightened me. There was no end to my capacity for destruction. I wasn’t the Baron of charity, or galas. I didn’t build, and create. I was afraid of the singular truth that my woman was unashamed of - that I was, at my core, nothing but a breaker of people, and killer of men. That was my calling.

The tent flaps opened. The big guy emerged, hulking and angry as he looked side to side. His jaw dropped open, ready to yell.

I pulled the trigger between two beats of the pulse in my ear. The shot echoed through the mountains. The man’s head exploded in a gush of red. He crumpled to the ground. Another life gone. Another sin marked on my tombstone.

A man doesn’t get thrown off his feet when he’s shot. Not unless you get them in the body armor, or they’re slammed with something that diffuses the force. Most of the time, it will go right through the soft cloth, flesh, fat and muscle. The gaping hole in their body gushes before their brain feels it. Singed nerves slow the pain of burns and gunpowder.

If a man is knocked off his feet, he’s been hit in the body armor. He’ll probably live. He might have some bruising, and crush syndrome, and some broken bones. If a man falls where he stands? Then the bullet has gone right through, the poor victim probably dead.

The reactions of the KPLA militants were mixed, to say the least. Many fell to the ground at the sound of the gunshot. Smarter ones ran for cover. They were prey, jumping for the sign of a predator. For any sign ofme. Some pointed, correctly, in my direction, before looking at their dead colleague, and shouting some more.

Run, little boys, run…

Feral darkness spread from my chest into my fingertips.

I adjusted my body, tilting the rifle as I took aim of a guard that was close to Leo and Chloe.

With a small caress of the trigger, my victim fell to the ground, his body limp. Blood spread like crimson paint on the packed, over-trodden dirt. I was ready for more. I was an alcoholic, falling off the wagon, after tasting the sweet nectar of fine whiskey.

I exterminated three more before I realized I was smiling. Hovering over them like an angel of death, these paramilitary fiends were easy pickings. There was blood in the water, and I was ready to go into go into a frenzy.

The faint and distant sound of the Toyota Hilux pulled me from my frenzy.

Good job, Leo.I removed my finger from the trigger well, took a breath, and allowed sanity back into my body.

One more. I would kill just one more, then be done. Just one more taste. Just one more…

I downed another man to keep their attention to me - a more immediate threat. I downed him because I had to. Not because I enjoyed it.

There were shouts, points. From my vantage, I knew they couldn’t see me, though a clever man would be narrowing down on my location. But disorganized paramilitaries weren’t disciplined, and lacked the unity needed to band together against a person like me.

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