The Playboy's Assassin

Next Target: Vanessa.

I walked out through the back door of the theatre into an alley leading into a dark and lonely street. I could already see the black Jeep waiting for me at the end of the street. I got into the car and it drove off.

“Nice work you did there tonight,” commented Dimitri and I grunted.

I didn’t feel like saying anything after what I just did in there. That was by far the worst thing I’ve ever done in all my nineteen years of life.

“Which she wouldn’t have gotten done properly if not for our help,” Kira said, pointing to her and Andrew.

Kira was Asian with dark hair cut in a bob and dark eyes that sent shivers down the spine of her victims. Her code name was Black Widow, she was an assassin like me though much older and with more experience but she lacked the ruthlessness and the drive to kill mercilessly.

“You did a good job too Kira, even though all you did was spill a drink,” I smirked and she glared at me. I loved riling her up and when she gives me that dark-eyed stare, it gives me a kick of joy.

“Kira, what happened to the drinks tonight? There were supposed to be two glasses on the tray, you came out with just one.” Dimitri eyed her with his cold gaze and she squirmed in her seat.

“There was a complication in the kitchen,” she replied quietly.

“There shouldn’t be such complications again,” he warned and she looked down at her lap.

“Yes boss,” she replied.

I glanced at Andrew and he was playing a game of TicTac on his phone. He caught me staring and gave me a small smile, I looked away.

Andrew was blond and had a beefy stature. He didn’t talk much, he was in charge of research and information and worked together with Dimitri, the team leader but this time he tagged along as additional help to destabilize the security room.

Dimitri handed me a file and I opened it. The first thing in it was the picture of a woman. Her profile was that of a judge.

“Your next target,” he said simply and looked out the window.

“No,” I said and his gaze snapped back to mine.

“No?” He frowned, his left brow lifting and Kira snickered into her palm. Dimitri was Russian and had the accent to go with it. He was a natural platinum blond with hair almost white in color. He was ruthless and his face was always set in a scowl. He had a scar on his left brow that further added to his menacing look.

“No. I don’t kill women, you know that.” I placed the file in the space between us on the seat.

“You had no problem killing that model in there tonight.” He pointed out.

“She saw my face, I couldn’t just let her go tattle to the cops when they come sniffing around.”

He narrowed his eyes at me for a moment and I stared right back, unflinchingly. He looked away and pulled out another file from his briefcase.

“Here, another mission. One you can’t definitely say no to.”

I opened the file and this one had a picture of a man with dark and brown eyes, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, his cheeks dimpled. He had full eyebrows that gave him a bad boy edge but he looked like your typical heartthrob. I checked his profile.

His name was Enrique Capone, his occupation wasn’t listed. All that was in his profile were the clubs he frequented.

Enrique Capone. He sounded like a mob boss yet he didn’t look like one. I stared at his eyes and the spark of joy he had in them. It made me curious to know what he had been staring at in the picture.

“What could he possibly have done that someone would want him dead?” I asked out loud.

“It’s none of your business. Your mission is to terminate him, no questions asked,” replied Dimitri in a gruff voice.

He picked up the file I dropped on the leather seat and handed it to Kira. “That’s your target now.”

I closed the file and stared out the tinted window at the busy streets. The siren of police cars could be heard in the distance and my lips curved into a smirk. They were probably on their way to the theatre to witness my work of art.

“Scar?” Dimitri called and I glanced at him to find him staring at me with a weird look. “I want it done within the week. No questions asked,” he reiterated like he was talking to a dumb kid.

“Got it.”

There was once a time when I used to ask my victims what they did to earn a death sentence, back when I was a naïve kid who still saw some good in the world. Now they were all just another strike I cleared, another name wiped off someone’s list.

I thought about Arabella and her shiny brown eyes filled with tears. How she had begged me not to kill her but I had anyway.

Was she another strike too?

My conscience asked and I was pricked with remorse. Killing women was not something I loved but men I killed without compassion. I didn’t have to kill her, I could’ve just hit her in the head with the gun and knocked her unconscious but sooner or later she’d wake up and tell the police what she’d seen.

And then I would have to kill her but she’d have complicated things for me and a complication in the agency meant a death sentence. I certainly didn’t want to be the one on the receiving end of the bullet.

I was sloppy. I hadn’t factored in the possibility that she’d show up in the equation. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.