Blaise Taylor
I peered from around the large black hood that covered my whole head.
I waited in the shadows, twirling my knife around and around my fingers, waiting.
The air was crisp and cold but it didn't bother me. Not since I became numb.
"я собираюсь выпить, увидимся позже."
{I'm going to get a drink; I'll see you later.}
The deep Russian voice poured into the silent streets of Iceland.
I had been waiting for him. Sergey Ivanov.
He boldly stepped down the dark alleyway, unbeknownst to him that I was awaiting his arrival.
His smug face made my veins run cold with fury as all I could do was grasp my knife tighter.
I soundlessly jumped from the dark, my one hand clenching his hand while the other held a sharp knife to his throat.
He mumbled a few sounds, in an attempt to
