Page 4 of A Past Too Broken (Bloodstained Love #1)
“I hate suburbia,” I bitch. “Do you know how fucking hard it is to set up a vantage point in the suburbs ?”
“Only every time your mark lives in one,” Hollis replies sardonically.
“I’d like to see you out here trying to kill someone where any little odd noise has everyone looking out their window or standing in their front yard while they pretend to water the already lush lawn.”
Hollis, the dickhead, laughs. “I’ll admit suburban life isn’t for me, but I never understood what your problem with it was? Besides the nosy neighbors and all. Get on the wrong side of an HOA at one point?”
“One day,” I say casually, “I am going to shoot you.”
He chuckles. “Get in line. I’m all set up, by the way. Cameras in all the houses on the block have been hacked and you’re good to go.”
“Thanks.”
“Yep. No need to pay extra. I’ll just help myself after the money hits your account.”
I curse as he laughs a bit evilly. If he wasn’t so damn good at his job, I really would try to track the fucker down and shoot him, just for the principle of it all.
Not that I have any hope of actually finding him. We all take precautions with our safehouses and how many people can put a face to our name, but aside from H—another hacker—and Cash, I don’t think anyone in our acquaintance has ever seen Hollis in person. To say he’s careful is an understatement. I can understand. His skills are highly sought after, so I’m sure he has his fair share of enemies.
I also wouldn’t put my money on myself if I did manage to track him down. No one in this life got here because their hands are clean, and just from talking to Hollis on the phone, I can sense the danger hiding beneath his quips and wit.
“The house next door should be empty,” Hollis says. “Your timetable for packing up and getting out of dodge is tight, but I believe in you.”
I snort. “I just hope the dude doesn’t sleep naked. I hate seeing naked cock right before I kill someone.”
Hollis laughs. “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem. I have things to do, so call me when you’re finished.”
“Yes, sir,” I tease.
He hangs up, and I settle into what’s going to be a long evening wait. Hollis and I have both done research on the mark—me on the ground, him virtually. We narrowed down the wait time to only a few hours, but having me in the house next door earlier than I need to be is important. It not only allows me the time to set up, but it isn’t so suspicious as a quick in and out type of kill.
Being a sniper means I need to have more patience than other assassins who kill up close and personal. I can fight, and I like watching my marks die as much as the next person—mainly because the people I kill aren’t “good” ones—but I prefer the distance and detachment of long range rather than any other method.
The distance between the room I’m set up in and my mark’s bedroom is far from a challenge. The only thing that would make this more interesting is if he bothered to close his curtains, but I guess he doesn’t have to worry about that since his neighbors are snowbirds and are in Hawaii for the winter. Must be nice.
The position I’m in, lying across both the dresser already pushed against the window—convenient—and a chair, isn’t the most comfortable, but I’ve been in worse situations. A few hours spent looking through the scope while I wait for my mark isn’t my idea of a good time, but aside from watching Say Yes to the Dress with Reggie, I don’t have anything else going on.
The lamp in the mark’s room turns on automatically when it gets dark, giving me the perfect sight into the bedroom as the world turns to night around me. My lower back begins to ache, but I pop my gum into my mouth and tune out every non-essential thought and discomfort.
As predicted, around nine o’clock, the mark makes his way upstairs for his shower and bedtime routine. As the bedroom door opens, I take a slow breath, tightening my finger on the trigger. As soon as my mark comes into view and steps over the threshold, I sight my target and take the shot.
I pull up at the last second, making the shot go wide. The asshole that just jumped out of the closet was this close to getting hit. Luckily I’m better than that, or maybe unlucky depending on if you’re asking me or him.
My heart pounds, and I don’t bother watching to see if the dickhead kills the mark— my fucking mark —because I’m too pissed to hang around.
I’m less careful with my gun than I should be, but right now I just need to get out of this house.
After putting the chair back where I found it and making sure I didn’t leave anything behind, I rush out the back door and close it less than quietly behind me. My boots crunch through dead brush as I make my way to the fenceline.
It’s easy to hop over into the other yard. The houses in this damned suburban neighborhood are so fucking identical, it’s no hardship to find the backdoor to the mark’s house and step into the warm kitchen.
I’m not quiet as I move through the house. I want this fucker to realize I’m here and I’m coming after him. Pulling a knife from my belt, I take the stairs two at a time and make my way to the mark’s bedroom.
Blood stinks up the hallway, the thick metallic scent making the back of my throat taste of pennies.
The mark is lying in a pool of his own blood, half in and half out of his room. Gripping my knife, I cautiously move forward. I’m unable to hear or see the bastard, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that just because I can’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not there.
Stilling for a moment, I hold my breath and strain my hearing, searching for any sign or hint of where the asshole could be. He doesn’t make a move to show himself. After several long moments, I take another step into the room, careful not to step on the dead mark.
As I go to take another step, a door slams shut downstairs. Cursing, I spin on my heels and almost lose my footing in the pool of blood.
Motherfucker.
Uncaring that I’m now tracking blood through the house, I race back downstairs and stare at the closed but unlocked front door. That ballsy motherfucker.
I don’t want to trust that he left, but the note pinned to the back of the door reads:
Better luck next time! :D x
Storming through the house so I can leave the way I came, I pull out my phone and make the call I was hoping I didn’t have to.
“I don’t care what it costs,” I tell Cash as soon as he answers. “You will give me everything on that fucker Min, and you will do it before I make it home. You have one hour.”