Page 5 of Mine to Keep
two
shadows
One month later…
I sip my coffee,hoping it’ll wake me up before I reach the airport. My eyes feel scratchy, sleep hard to come by, even during my month of vacation. I’ve mainlined coffee for weeks, barely getting twenty-four hours of sleep the entire thirty days I’ve isolated myself.
Shadows.
The shadows have been creeping up on me, hiding secrets in their black depths. My soul, scarred with death and gore, won’t let me rest, won’t allow me to purge myself of my past transgressions. Every morning I woke up from my half an hour of sleep, I’d see ghosts of my past lurking in the shadows. Faces swam in the darkness, eyeing me with judgment and accusation.
Faces of those close to me.
Faces of those I’ve killed. Faces I’ve seen right before I end their lives, sending them to meet their maker.
Namely the face of Judge Bowers. I never question why I kill someone or why there’s a contract on their lives. Their number comes up and I punch their card. But that particular fuck-up weighs heavily on me. Something needles at me about that job, but I don’t know what it is or why a completed hit is still getting under my skin.
Fuck me, I need to get out of the business.
My debt has been paid for years, but old habits die hard. I’m good at my job and the money is good. My soul can stand the scars and abuse I put it through. For now, I can be unclean.
But for how much longer?
“We’re here,” my driver says, breaking me from my thoughts
I look over at the entrance of the airport, noticing how many people are crowded around at the outside check-in desk. Sure, it would be easier to check in before stepping inside, but I’m not in the mood to wait under the awning, people bustling about and bumping into others without apology. After running on fumes for the past month, I’m on too short a fuse to deal with anyone with terrible manners. I might not have my gun, but I can make anything a weapon.
The driver turns around and looks at me as if he’s annoyed I haven’t gotten out yet. “Hey man, do you not want to be here? Your request said?—”
“This is where I need to be.”
“Need help with your luggage?”
“Nope.” I hop out of the car and drag my carry-on with me. People rush past me, their heads down while texting or shouting angrily into their phones. Several people almost run into me, but I glare at them, making them scurry away mumbling apologies.
When I step inside the airport, I approach the empty counter after tossing my empty coffee cup and the attendant smiles at me. “Can I help you, sir?”
Rubbing my tired eyes, I nod as I pull my wallet from my pocket. I make sure to use the ID that corresponds to the ticket The Void purchased for me.
The contract I have is sending me out of the US to Upria, Luxembourg, a small vineyard owned by a billionaire that crossed the wrong person. As a working-class man, taking out abillionaire is my good deed for the world. I’d do it for free if The Void ordered it.
My smile is more of a grimace when I slide my ID over to the attendant. “I have a flight for 10:00am going to France.” From Paris, I’ll be driving to Upria, where there is a safe house waiting for me. Guns, drugs to incapacitate the man, zip ties, and anything else I would need are available for the hit.
With most of my jobs, I don’t have specific instructions on how to dispatch my target unless they want them to look like an accident. For this hit, the client wants it to look the opposite. They want to make an example of him. So I plan to make it look as terrible as I can.
I abhor billionaires and their shitty practices of hoarding money.
The attendant looks at me through her lashes, blinking at me slowly. “Yes, Paris to be exact. The City of Lovers. Are you going for business or pleasure?”
Meaning: do you have a lover there?
I grin at her, enjoying her subtle flirting. “Both,” I say with a wink. Her brown cheeks flush a deeper rosy shade.
She bends to get my ticket printout, and circles where my gate is located. When she hands me my ticket, I see her number written on a small piece of paper. I have no intention of calling her, but it’s flattering.
“Enjoy your flight, sir.” Her voice takes on a sultry note, making my grin widen.
I know I’m handsome. Women swoon over my light brown eyes, sepia skin and freckles that dot my nose. Braces as soon as I could afford them helped with the smile women love so much, and the goatee I’m growing seems to have added to the appeal.
