Who are you? Why are you doing this? Let me go.
A bunch of boring, uninspired bullshit that is a waste of my time. I don’t care to hang out with him for too long, so what he says means nothing.
“I don’t like you,” I say conversationally, as disinterested as a person asking for the butter to be passed at the dinner table.
“And the fact that I’m out here in the middle of the fucking night after a long ass flight across the Atlantic makes me dislike you even more.”
He mumbles again, something along the lines of a demand I let him go. But that would be a problem. I’m not the type to leave witnesses. They’re too messy and need to be watched constantly. And since my schedule is already full with Adeline, I’m not inclined to add him to it.
“You know,” I say, pushing up to my feet, “usually I’m much less hands on. But I have an issue.”
Stepping up to his hands, I peer over my shoulder to see his head roll back to keep me in sight. If I were a nice person, I would tell him not to watch this part.
The toe of my boot presses down on his left pinky finger.
“I don’t like assholes who hit women.”
The fine bones of his finger crunch as I grind my boot against them, my ankle twisting left and right as a scream crawls up his throat.
Methodically, I move to each finger, explaining to him why his insignificant life is about to be cut short.
“I don’t like when people touch what’s mine.”
Another finger.
“I’ve always hated your skinny jeans.”
Another.
“Your hair has annoyed me since the minute I first saw you.”
The thumb of his left hand is last.
“And I really hate men who rely on women to buy their drinks for them.”
He screams the loudest on that one.
Crouching by his head, I catch the sparkle of cubic zirconia in his ear, and reach out to rip it from the lobe. Twirling it between my fingers, I add, “And I especially hate fake diamonds. Did you actually believe someone would think this was real?”
Jason is a sobbing mess at this point, but I’m sure he’s answering my question in his head. It would be rude not to.
“I’ll take that as a no. I’d be a sobbing, pathetic mess, too, if I was ever caught with this crap on me.”
I would have flicked the cheap jewelry away in disgust, but leaving evidence behind isn’t the best plan. I tuck it in my pocket instead.
Back to my feet, I work over his right hand, slowly, meticulously, crushing every finger before paying attention to the knuckles and the rest. If I don’t kill him when all is said and done, he’ll never use his hands again. Even the best orthopedist wouldn’t be able to create working bones from dust.
I circle around, stepping over him so one foot is planted on each side of his chest and stare down at a set of swollen eyes. He’s whimpering, his face a mess of snot and slobber, his body shaking from pain.
My hands are tucked casually in my pockets, the hood of my jacket no longer covering my face.
“Do you know why I broke your hands?”
Surprisingly, he shakes his head to answer.
I grin, happy to explain the reason he will die tonight. Everybody deserves to know why they will no longer occupy the same world as me.
“You hit Adeline Kane for the last time.”
I pull my gun from the holster at my back, allowing it to hang in my hand by my leg. His eyes go to it, widening just before he starts screaming again, his body jerking left and right.
There’s really no point in dragging this out. It’s late, and I have a body to bury, a car to strip and wipe down, and I want to check in on Adeline to ensure she’s all right.
“Remember to keep your hands to yourself in the next life.”
Silence when the bullet catches him between the eyes.
The job is done.
Another professional hit.
Except, Jason is the first man I’ve killed without the promise of money.
Of course, it would be Adeline that forces my hand.
Of course, it would be the woman I can’t let go.
Adeline
June 23, 2018
There is no way I’m this stupid. No fucking way in hell I would screw up like this, today of all days.
I’d been doing so good lately. I’d stayed out of trouble. I’d kept straight A’s in school. I’d managed to stay in a relationship almost