Page 17 of Mine to Keep
I stroke my cock, imagining the three of us in all kinds of positions, me plowing into them as they moan my name, and I blow my load after only a handful of strokes.
I lean against the shower wall, breathing heavily as I watch my spunk float down the drain. Fuck, that was intense.
It almost makes me want to see them again, just to see if my fantasy lives up to the real thing, but I immediately discount that idea. There’s no need, I have nothing to offer them.
After I catch my breath, I wash up one more time and turn off the shower.
I don’t get dressed when I get out of the shower; I just pad back into the room, taking out the Sig and setting it beside me as I lower myself onto the bed. I pull my tablet from my open bag and flip the cover open, pulling up the email The Void sent me. I want to look over it one more time before I try to sleep.
My target, Uria, lives in an apartment that’s mostly occupied by older couples and they tend to mind their business. Every morning, she goes for a walk for about a mile to reach a lake where she does some calisthenics, then heads back home. I plan to look like any other jogger as I follow her on her workout route, but not directly. Whoever gathered this intel knows her most common route and has it highlighted for me. I can follow her stealthily and still get to her apartment before she showers.
Uria is guilty of sleeping with the husband of the family she babysits for; typical jealous wife hit that will be easy to execute. Guns aren’t legal here, so one of the knives Peggy packed will be put to good use.
Uria is a voluptuous woman, a classic beauty with long brown hair, rounded cheeks, and a disarming smile. I can see how the husband slipped up. She’s gorgeous. Too bad for her, tonight’s sunset will be her last.
I toss my tablet to the end of the bed and stretch out, staring at the ceiling.
The Void’s threat doesn’t sit right with me. It sounded too sure, almost a foregone conclusion that I would be retired rather than retiring myself. It’s common for The Void to get rid of hitmen that don’t adhere to the rules. The company doesn’t have a revolving door, but it’s pretty fucking close.
I might be staring my last job in the face. This could be the end of Viper.
Can’t say I’m too upset. I almost have my retirement strategy mapped out. It’s not like I’ll miss having nightmares about the lives I’ve taken.
My debt is paid. I owe The Void nothing. There’s no reason to stay now other than greed. I don’t enjoy killing enough to keep doing it, and I have enough money that I can travel the world for many decades without having to return to this bloody work.
I wish I had brought some of that expensive-ass wine with me. It was surprisingly good, and helped calm my thoughts. Didn’t help with my dreams, but it mellowed me out. I haven’t been mellow in years. Not since Olivia died.
Or was murdered by The Void.
Olivia was on my team, the woman that showed me the ropes in more ways than one. If I were a normal person without a scarred soul, Olivia would have been my perfect woman; an inch or so shorter than me, cut like she lived in the gym, and with a take-no-shit attitude. It didn’t hurt that her brown skin glowed in the sun and her naturally coily hair framed her face like a halo. She was beautiful and deadly, the perfect woman.
She also introduced me to my more dominant side, the perfect girl for her Daddy.
But we were who we were and a relationship was impossible. Besides, she was on her way out the door and didn’t want to be attached to anyone from The Void. She said when she got out, she was cutting ties with everyone and everything, reinventing herself into the image she wanted.
I wish she had seen that day.
I’m not sure what triggered The Void to retire her. One day Peggy had her jacket, the next, her file was redacted, even from Pegs. All she knew was Olivia was gone, dead from an unfortunate accident.
Snarling, I push away the thought of my friend and stalk over to the mini bar, my orgasm-high long faded.
I grab a mini bottle of vodka and chug it. It might not be three-thousand-dollar wine, but it’ll keep me from spiraling. After this job, I can drink myself into a stupor and finally get some sleep.
The woman walks briskly with dumbbells in her hands, sweat dripping down her forehead. Her face is set in a mask of concentration, the fifteen-pound weights moving quickly with her fast pace and rapid arm swings.
I jog behind her at a safe distance, ensuring I don’t look suspicious. The weather is shit, a mist in the air, speaking of incoming rain. I wish I had worn longer sleeves, but it is what it is.
Even though we’re in a residential area, the streets are already alive with people heading to the work or working out, or whatever the fuck. It’s a good thing I decided to wear a disguise today; too many people around that could identify me. The most they could say is they saw a Black guy running, but that’s not an anomaly. Plenty of people are out early this morning, running or walking, living their lives.
I have a ball cap on today that hides my light brown eyes so I didn’t have to put contacts in my already-itchy eyes. I applied two artificial tattoos to my neck and the backs of my hands, as well as popped in removable veneers that mold to my teeth. The veneers protrude slightly from my mouth, giving me a distinct overbite. If anyone notices me, they’d see the tattoos first, then the overbite.
When Uria gets to her apartment, she stays outside to stretch, placing her leg on top of a small brick wall. I jog past her,not wanting to do the kill out in the open. Besides, I have to set it up as a home invasion gone wrong.
Ten minutes later, I circle the block and see that Uria is no longer there. I slow from my jog and walk leisurely to her building as if I belong there. The door opens without anyone having to buzz me in, making this kill easier.
I take the stairs to her second floor apartment, making sure not to move too quickly.
When I’m standing outside her door, I jimmy the lock with a credit card and it pops open. On light feet, I head to her bedroom, pulling my hunting knife from the holster that’s strapped to my hip.
