Stalker - Clarissa Wild Page 0,101
this. The guy shot my attackers, my supposed friends, and now I have nothing left except a couple of dead people surrounding me, while I’m the only one alive. This is bound to raise some questions.
However, I’m more interested in that guy with the scar.
“Did you kill them all?”
“Yeah, except you, obviously,” he muses.
“Thanks, I guess. Why, actually?”
“They were beating you up, weren’t they?”
“Yeah …”
“And now they’re not.” There’s a slight smile on his face. Fuck, I already like this guy.
I walk closer and hold out my hand as he peers out the window. “Miles.”
“Name’s X.”
“What X?” I laugh. “As in just X?”
“Just X, but sometimes people call me Mr. X. Whatever you want.”
“Cool.” I nod, almost unable to believe what I’m witnessing. Some guy in a tux just shot down all my friends, and I’m not even mad. This is amazing.
“You were fighting them alone, weren’t you?” he says.
“Yeah, they tried to hurt …” I shut myself up before I say too much.
“I don’t need to know why; I just want to know if you were alone.”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm …” He moves his head, and even with his shades, I can tell he’s checking me out. But for what purpose?
“You seem fit. Great strength. Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asks.
“Uh … I don’t know. Self-taught, I guess.”
“Interesting …” He nods as if I’m some sort of science project. I wonder what the fuck he wants from me.
“So, uh, now that you shot my friends, I really don’t know what the fuck to do with this. They’re dead. I don’t want to get pinned down for murder. Any advice?”
He smiles and rubs his hand over his bald head. “You’re a smart kid. I like your attitude. Well, for starters, they were a bunch of druggies anyway. Not worth the space they used on this earth.”
“Okay …” I frown, not sure where he’s going with this.
“Second, were they your only friends?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Do you have any family? Relatives?”
“Only my foster parents. Why do you ask?”
“Perfect.”
He turns and presses a button. The door of his car unlocks. “Get in.”
“What?” I say, muffling a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I don’t do jokes. Get in the car.”
“Why? I don’t know you, dude.”
“Doesn’t matter. Do you want to live a good life or die in jail?”
“Like the answer to that isn’t obvious.”
“Then get in the fucking car,” he says, tapping his fingers on the side of his car.
“No, not until you tell me why.”
“Listen up, dude,” he says, leaning out of his car to grab my shirt. “I don’t have time for bullshit. I just killed the only people you’re involved with, which means the cops will either go after you, or no one, if you come with me. You wanna stay a druggie? Fine, but do it in jail.”
“I’m not a druggie, and I don’t want to be,” I say.
He sighs. “You wanna make money?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna do whatever the fuck you want?”
“Of course!”
“Then get in the fucking car.” He cocks his head. “Make yourself useful.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you telling me that I can go with you, as in, become part of whatever it is that you’re doing?”
“That depends … on whether you can fucking listen or not.”
I smile, nodding. “Cool.”
“It’s not cool. It’s called killing for a living, or in other words, being a fucking assassin without a name. There’s nothing cool about this job, dude, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt because you’re eager.” He releases my shirt. “If you come with me, I’ll show you how to beat any motherfucker with your bare hands.”
I take a deep breath. I don’t trust this dude, but what else do I have to lose? Nothing, I’ve already lost everything. Might as well give up my life and join the dark side, whatever the fuck that means.
I’d rather be something than nothing at all.
“Sign me up,” I say, and I walk to the other door and get in.
His car smells of alcohol and burned skin, but I’d rather be in here than out there with all those dead bodies. I wouldn’t know what to tell the cops if they came looking, and they wouldn’t believe me, even if I did tell them everything.
Mr. X puts the car in drive, and then he turns his head toward me and lowers his shades. He reveals one fake, metallic eye embedded in his socket, right underneath the scar. Wicked.
“Buckle up,” he says, with a huge grin on his face.
I guess