Page 60 of Choices

“Argh, yeah, I think it is Michael.”

“Can we all agree Cutter looks like Michael Myers and get this done?” Callan growls.

“Trick or treat, motherfuckers.” I wink to Monster.

Adrenaline zips through my veins as I descend the hill, shifting through the trees and creeping along a chain-link fence at the bottom. Checking that no one is around, I reach up and grip the top, heaving my body over in a quick flip movement. My boots hit the concrete on the other side with a soft thud, and I take off running the thirty feet to the warehouse, flattening against the wall to gather myself.

Unsheathing my blade and wrapping the handle in my grip, I sneak along the building and wait at the corner. As soon as I hear footfalls coming my way, I compose myself. A shadow turns the corner before a man appears, and I shoot out, plunging the steel blade into his neck. One—two—three—stab—stab—stab. His body falls limp into my arms, and I quietly drag him against the building before moving around the structure to the other side.

Sidling up against the building, I listen for the two guards stationed at the shutter door just beyond the next corner.

“Yates said he hasn’t heard from Jennings today,” one says, a twang in his accent.

“So?”

“It’s unusual.”

“Jennings is a fucking asshole. We don’t get paid enough to put up with his bullshit.”

Tapping my blade against a gutter pipe, I prick my ears, grinning when one of them says, “What was that?”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

Tap—tap.

“There—that.”

“It’s probably Jimmy. Why are you so on edge tonight?”

“I don’t know. I’mma check it out.”

“Knock yourself out.”

As he turns the corner, I wait for him to get far enough away from the other guard then emerge from the shadows, my arm coiled tight as I thrust my blade up into his jaw with all my strength. His terrified gaze locks onto mine before his body succumbs to gravity. I grab his weight, aiding his descent to the concrete.

“Yo, tell Jimmy to stop fucking around. I need to take a piss. What the fuck…?”

Stab—stab—stab.

Too easy.

Jogging to the gates, I hit the button. Twenty seconds later, Monster is pulling in with a truck, followed by Dodger and Callan in the van.

Monster loads the bodies while Dodger breaks into the warehouse.

“You good?” Callan asks me, wiping sweat off his brow.

“Yeah.” I run the blade across my forearm, cleaning the blood before sheathing it at my ankle. “They were shit security,” I say, stripping out of the overalls. I check my clothes. Clean as a whistle.

A horn beeps in the distance. Laughter carries from the next building over. Scanning our surroundings, Callan says, “I’m worried about Kitty,” changing the subject abruptly. “She’s been different lately, reclusive—and that shit this morning? I don’t even know what to make of it.”

“Did she say anything?”Like I’m a massive cunt who broke her.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. She doesn’t tell me shit.” He scoffs. “Has she said anything to you?”

“I’m in,” Dodger interrupts, and I’m grateful for it.

“Let’s go.” Callan jogs to the entrance.

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