Counter Attacks and Kisses
1117 Words
Vargas’ aide accompanied by three men approached an inner room where was hidden a phone used for special assignments. The aide picked up the phone to pass the message after putting seven men on a conference call.
“Boss demands I send the best. Seven of you will have to go. Separate flights and separate hotels. The payment is huge. You all have one job: take down David Wick. Bring me proof and I will communicate it to the boss. Proof only or don’t come back.”
The aide dropped the phone call and left.
The hitmen arrived in Miami over the next forty-eight hours.
First was Tomas Reyes who is an ex-military sniper, he checked into a cheap motel near the airport, eyes scanning every face.
Then Diego Silva, a knife specialist. He holed up in a downtown high-rise, blending with tourists.
Luis Moreno, an explosives expert. He took a room in South Beach, pretending to be on vacation.
Rafael Ortiz a poison master. He settled in a quiet Airbnb in Little Havana.
Juan Escobar is a strangler, he settled low-key in a hostel in the suburbs.
Miguel Hernandez: gun for hire, flashy suite in Brickell.
Last was Andres Vega who is a good tracker, he houses himself in an anonymous motel off the highway.
They all had the same file: David Wick’s photo, last known address, orders to kill without making any mistakes.
.
Night fell heavy in Coconut Grove.
David sat on the couch in the safe house living room, Micah curled against his side. A bad action movie done by silvester Stallion a.k.a John Rambo played low on the TV: explosions flickering light across their faces. Her head rested on his shoulder, one hand on his knee. The air felt warm, almost normal.
For the first time in days, David let himself relax.
Micah laughed softly at a cheesy line on screen. “This is terrible.”
David’s arm tightened around her. “Yeah. But it’s quiet.”
She tilted her head up, eyes soft. “I like it quiet with you.”
He looked down. Their faces drew close and their breath mixing. Then suddenly something shifted.
A faint creak outside that was caused maybe by the wind, maybe not. It made David froze. His hand moved slowly and reached for the remote, then he killed the TV.
His eyes went for the power switch by the wall. He eased off the couch, and went for it in silence, he flipped it.
The house plunged into dark.
Micah’s voice whispered. “David? What’s wrong?”
“Stay quiet,” he said low. “Someone’s here.”
Her breath caught.
He pulled her up, guided her to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe.
“Get in.”
She climbed inside, her knees to chest now as she tries to fit inside.
David handed her a loaded shotgun from under the bed. “If anyone opens this but me, shoot. Don’t stop pulling the trigger.”
She nodded, hands shaking on the grip. Then he closed the door softly.
And then moved out silently as smoke. The living room felt thicker in the dark. Shadows played tricks.
David’s eyes adjusted fast because years in Iran had taught him that. A floorboard creaked near the window.
He froze.
Glass shattered softly and muffled. Then a man figure slipped in wearing black clothes, and having his pistol up.
David waited.
The assassin swept the room slowly in a professional way. David lunged from the side and grabbed the gun arm he held and then he twisted hard. The pistol fired once, sounding wild into the ceiling. They crashed together.
The assassin elbowed back and caught David’s ribs. Pain flared but David slammed him against the wall quickly. The gun clattered away. Then their fists flew.
The assassin hooked a punch on David’s jaw. David countered with an uppercut to the gut. The man doubled over.
They grappled, rolling across the floor, knocking over a lamp that shattered the moment they hit a furniture. David’s back hit the coffee table, the edge of his back digging in.
The assassin mounted him, hands around his throat, he squeezed hard. Air cut off making David’s vision to tunnel.
He bucked and threw the man off. They scrambled up. The assassin charged again using his knee to the side. David blocked and spun, having his elbow to the temple.
The man staggered into the kitchen now, moonlight through the window glinting on counters.
David’s hand shot out and grabbed a drawer handle, he yanked the handle and saw knives inside the drawer. He drew one that looks like a chef’s blade, long and sharp.
The assassin saw it and quickly pulled his own from a boot. They circled, their breaths were heavy, feet shuffling on tile. The assassin slashed first and his motion was quick, aiming for David’s neck. David parried, then their metal clanged. David counter-slashed and nicked the man’s arm. Blood sprayed.
The assassin grunted and swung low to make David get away from him. David jumped back but barely gave much distance. Then he pressed forward and stab high.
The assassin blocked it and twisted, kicked David’s knee. David buckled but used the fall and rolled quickly then came up behind. He drove the knife forward into the collarbone of the assassin, very deep piercing. The assassin gasped, his mouth now wet and gurgling. He twisted once but dropped dead before he hit the floor.
David stood over him, chest heaving. He wiped the blade on the man’s shirt and tossed it in the sink.
He went back to the bedroom immediately.
“Micah,” he called softly. “It’s me. Come out.”
The wardrobe door creaked open.
She stepped out with the shotgun still gripped tight, eyes wide.
He took it from her gently.
Then Micah crashed into his arms, her hands around his neck, hugging him so tight he felt her heartbeat against his chest.
“You’re okay,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I was so scared…”
He held her back in a strong affectionate way and then reassuring, he touched her hair. She pulled away just enough to make their eyes met. Fear turned to something else. She leaned in first. Their lips met, soft at first, then hungry and desperate for each other. David’s hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer.
She melted into him. Her fingers in his hair, body pressed tight. The kiss deepened, so very raw, and desperate, like the world outside didn’t exist.
When they broke apart, breaths ragged, she whispered, “Don’t leave me again.”
He kissed her forehead. “I won’t.”
- Writer
