CHAPTER 3: TRY ME
1570 Words
I wasn’t expecting anyone else.
But there she stood.
Pregnant, pale and shaking.
A woman with trembling hands and a gun clutched tightly, pointing it directly at my chest.
“Drop your weapon,” she said, her voice cracking more from fear than command.
I didn’t flinch. I raised my hands slowly, eyes locked on hers. Not out of surrender, but to show her she had my attention.
“What’s your name?” I asked, calm as still water.
She swallowed, her lower lip quivering. “Agnes,” she replied after a beat. “I’m… Kelvin’s wife.”
Of course. The wedding band, the silk robe that clung to her like she’d just woken from a nightmare. The curve of her belly. Innocent, and yet pulled into a blood-soaked world she never chose.
Her grip tightened around the pistol, knuckles white.
“Agnes,” I said softly, “you’re not a killer.”
“You don’t know what I am,” she snapped, but her voice was hollow.
I took a step closer. She didn't move.
“I was trained to kill,” I said. "If you pull that trigger, you won’t get a second chance. You’ll be dead before your finger finishes the squeeze.”
Her lips trembled. And then… the metal clattered onto the floor.
She broke.
Tears welled in her eyes as she wrapped one arm around her stomach, the other falling limp at her side. “I didn’t know what he was doing,” she whispered. “I thought I did… but I didn’t. I swear, I didn’t.”
I nodded once, then stepped past her, unloading the chamber of her pistol and tossing it aside.
“You don’t have to explain anything to me. But you do have to leave.”
She blinked, confused. “Why?”
“I’ll make sure the accounts tied to Kelvin’s name, everything, goes to you and your child.”
I handed her a torn sheet of paper with a number scrawled in black ink. “Call this. They’ll know what to do.”
She took it with shaking fingers, glancing from me to the bodies in the hallway, to the burning estate beyond the windows. And just then, the sharp wail of sirens tore through the night.
Her eyes widened. “They’re coming.”
I gave a grim nod. “Then you better go.”
She turned to leave, but then paused at the threshold.
“Why?” she asked, her voice a breath of disbelief. “Are you Mafia?”
I held her gaze for a long moment.
“They raised me,” I said, the words like ash in my mouth. “But I’m going to be their downfall.”
For the first time, a small smile touched her lips, tired, sad, but fierce.
“Then, kill them all,” she said.
And with that, Agnes disappeared down the corridor, her silhouette swallowed by smoke and flashing red lights.
I turned away, loaded my weapon, and vanished into the fire.
The mafia has done more harm than good, but when one of the beneficiaries wants them torn down, then they have gone too far.
I rushed home, passing through the heavy barricades of police officers trying to secure the perimeter of the house I just destroyed.
By the time I returned home, the place was unusually quiet. Too quiet.
Then I saw the note. I knew it was Merci.
Her handwriting, sharp, hurried, was scrawled across a torn piece of paper left on the kitchen counter:
"Couldn’t wait. I’m at the club. Be safe."
I exhaled, relieved for a moment. But something was off. The chairs were out of position even when they looked arranged.
I hadn’t left it like that. My instincts flared. I reached behind the bookshelf, retrieved the small knife tucked there, and moved slowly, silently through the apartment.
Then I heard a faint sound as if someone was walking behind. My mind raced to Kelivn’s place. I thought I killed them all. Who followed me?
I spun.
He was fast, but not fast enough.
One of Kelvin’s men lunged from the shadows, a glint of steel in his hand. I sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the blade as it sliced through the air.
He was big, probably over six feet, with the kind of build that suggested he wasn’t sent here to talk. His fist connected with my shoulder, sending me stumbling back to the wall. Pain exploded down my arm, but I tightened my teeth, planted my foot, and surged forward.
We crashed into the coffee table, splintering it into shards. He grabbed for my throat, but I jammed my elbow into his rib, hard. He grunted, staggered, but didn’t fall. The man was trained, no doubt. But so was I.
I ducked under a wide swing and plunged my knife into his thigh. He howled, dropping his weapon as blood soaked through his jeans. I grabbed a lamp and smashed it over his head. He dropped, stunned but conscious.
I dragged him to the chair, tied his wrists with a phone cord, then yanked the phone from his pocket. His screen was still lit. A message opens.
"Target confirmed. Black jacket. Scar on left hand. She’s at her apartment."
The text had already been sent. I scrolled up.
There, a number. Unfamiliar, unsaved. I memorised it.
He looked up, breathing hard, eyes full of defiance. “You’re dead already,” he spat.
“No,” I said coldly, raising my gun. “You are.”
I pulled the trigger. One shot, clean, straight through the head.
He slumped forward. Silent.
I wrapped his body in a shower curtain, cleaned the blood trail, and disposed of him the way I was trained to, without a trace. As I returned inside, I stared at the number I'd copied down.
Whoever was on the other end... they knew I was coming.
But now I know where to aim next.
The hunt wasn’t over. It had just evolved.
The bathroom mirror was still fogged when I stepped out of the shower, steam trailing behind me like ghosts I couldn’t shake.
Water clung to my skin in glistening streams, tracing the hard lines of muscle and old scars like memories refusing to fade. My breath was steady, too steady. I looked lethal, because I had to be, but I was still sexy. Firm boobs and sexy shape.
That’s when I heard the front door click open.
“Damn…” Merci’s voice floated in like silk, thick with desire. “I swear, you were carved by the gods.”
I didn’t smile. Not fully. Just a crooked pull at the corner of my lips.
“You’re not touching me with that filthy body, reeking of cheap perfume and spilt liquor.”
She laughed. “Jealousy’s not a good look on you.” She sauntered across the room, peeling off her dress in one fluid motion before disappearing into the shower. “Give me ten minutes. Then I’m all yours.”
I watched her vanish behind the glass door, the hiss of hot water starting up again. But something was off. My instincts had a quiet but brutal way of speaking.
I walked across the room, still bare, water dripping quietly onto the floor. I moved like a shadow, opened the drawer, and pulled out the tracker. Slid it into the port of my laptop. The screen came alive.
I dialled the number I had gotten from Kelvin’s man. The one who had sent out my description. Who had almost gotten me killed.
The room buzzed.
Once, twice. I was shocked.
I paused. The sound was close. Too close.
I dialled again.
Buzz.
The sound came from the couch. I turned.
Merci’s purse.
I felt my stomach twist. My jaw clenched as I walked over and unzipped it. The burner phone inside was buzzing in sync with my call, matching number. Same ID.
It couldn’t be.
What was happening? Was Kelvin working for Merci?
The pieces slammed into place with sickening force: her disappearances, her interest in my whereabouts, how she always showed up just after the blood dried. She hadn’t been caught in the crossfire, she’d been controlling it.
I shut the purse gently, picked up my gun, and waited. Naked. Silent.
The shower shut off.
Seconds later, she emerged, a towel wrapped loosely around her, wet hair sticking to her collarbone, humming softly as she walked into the room. Merci's nakedness has a way of turning me on.
Looking down, trying to dry her face with the towel, revealing her boobs and neatly shaved low area,
"Jane, you had better be ready. I am gonna smash you hard."
And then she looked up and ... She froze.
I was standing there, motionless, gun by my side, eyes locked on hers. My voice was a whisper made of razors.
“How long have you been running him?”
Her smile faltered. “Running who?”
I stepped forward. “Don’t insult me.”
She glanced at her purse. Just a flicker.
That was all I needed.
“Kelvin worked for you,” I said. “Your little pet. Was that the plan? Feed the Mafia intel? Or were you feeding them me?”
She didn’t move. Her towel slipped a little as she took a shaky breath. “Jane! You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” I said
- Writer
