The Assassin and Her Alpha Mates

Chapter 2

I jerked awake and sat up quickly from the nightmare as my is heart pounding in my chest, and I’m breathing like I ran a marathon.

Since that fatal day, I have been reliving that same nightmare. I used to have it almost every night, but over the years it has been less frequent. I lost my family a little over 5 years ago, but sometimes, it feels like it was just yesterday.

What I wouldn’t give to be held in my husband’s arms again. To get snuggles from my kids and tickle them just to hear their laughter and giggles. Precious moments that I took for granted but will never experience again.

For the longest time, I felt numb and empty. I am an orphan, so they were my everything. When I lost them, I lost my reason for living and found myself angry a lot. Why didn’t I die with them? What did I do to deserve God’s wrath?

After losing my family, I sold our house because every room brought back painful memories. It was just too much, and I had to get away. I ended up moving across the country not even 6 months after their deaths.

I stopped in a small town on the shores of South Carolina. It was the only place I could find a few, rare, small, peaceful moments, but it never felt like home. Nowhere felt like home anymore.

I just work and travel. I haven’t tried to be in a relationship or move on. It’s not that I haven’t been asked, I just can’t risk something happening. I wouldn’t survive a second time.

There were many times I contemplated ending it all, but I knew that if I did, Kelly and Asher would never forgive me. So, I keep on with this miserable existence.

There was no way I was going back to sleep now, so I might as well get a start on the day. Shaking the feelings and thoughts away, I decided to take a shower.

After the water was almost hot enough to burn flesh, I got in. Connor could never understand why I liked it so hot and, honestly, neither did I. I just like it, it feels good.

I have nothing on my agenda today, so I take my time in the shower and wash my very long hair. Once my fingers and toes were all wrinkly, I decided to get out. I dried off and wrapped myself in a towel, then went to the sink to brush my teeth.

While I was brushing my teeth, I looked at the bruise on my cheek.

Last night, I went to a rundown bar to get something to drink and start a fight. I have had that nightmare the last couple of nights, so I needed to let off some steam, or I would hurt the next idiotic person I came across. Hey, some people f**k, I fight.

When I was done in the bathroom, I combed my hair. I really need to get a haircut. It’s been a while, I thought.

My hair is almost to my knees, which means braided it’s about mid-butt. I like to keep it about waist length to cover up the scars on my back. I didn’t realize how long it had been because I kept it braided all the time.

After I was done brushing my teeth and washing my face, I put everything away and braided my hair into the usual French braid.

When I was done, I went to my backpack and put everything in its proper place in the front pocket.

Then I opened the larger pocket and pulled out a matching bra and underwear set, black jeans, a black tank top and socks to wear. I walked over to the bed and sat down to put my black biker boots on.

“Wait, where the hell are my boots,” I said to know one.

I must have drunk too much last night because they are not where I put them. Or they grew feet and walked away. I started to laugh because I pictured boots growing legs and feet under them and starting doing the macarena dance.

After a couple of minutes, I found my boots that were somehow tucked under the bed. So, I pulled them out and put them on. I went to look in the mirror and I gave myself a nod.

All black, just like my soul, I thought.

My phone dinged signaling that I had a new notification. Checking my phone, it was an email from my employer, John.

Fucking finally, I’ve been waiting for this for two days.

Upon opening it, there is a picture and information about my next contract, which we call a mark. I studied the photo committing it to memory.

My mark is a fairly pretty man. I never thought I would describe a man as pretty, but he has some features that most women would imitate with makeup and kill for.

He has a thin oval face with rich thick brown hair and eyes to match. He has a small thin nose and full lips. He has a scar that runs the length of his face, starting above his eye and ending below some nice, defined cheekbones.

Once I memorized every feature, I continued to read though the file.

Assignment: Urk Mensolv

Dead or Alive: dead only

Description: 6-foot-2, brown hair, brown eyes and a scar starting above his left eye and running down his cheek.

Price: $500 million paid upon proof of death. Triple the rate for elimination of the upper leadership listed under “Known Accomplices”.

Type of Contract: Exclusive until 1 week, then open.

Last known location: Türkiye

Organization Information: The Kixovl Mafia deals in human and s*x trafficking and has dabbled in selling weapons. They are suspected in having 7 human/s*x trafficking rings around the world for all genders, races, and ages. Caution, anyone that has tried to infiltrate the operations has ended up dead or as a sellable body.

Special Skills: Former Special Operations Marine, sniper, expert in weapons, mixed martial artist. Dishonorably discharged for unlawful engagement on a mission, killing women and children.

Known Accomplices: Jimare Solva, Titusic Moran, Valentine Sastaneda, Micahol Maranga, Edwin Francisterica, Clayon Recovna, Rex Fatima, Raul Burkest, Ezra Cantu

Background/Other: Member of Kixovl Mafia for 34 years. Urk started off at the bottom and worked his way up from nothing to becoming the old Don, Kolk Yoseuff’s, inner circle. Urk brutally murdered Kolk so he could take over the business 20 years ago. Since then, Urk has expanded its business to four more countries. Their members all have a tattoo of a serpent crawling through a skull with three heads, a mamba, cobra, and viper.

Included was a picture of the member’s tattoo. There have been some ugly or dumb organization tattoos, but this one is pretty cool.

It now makes sense why John sent me to Türkiye ahead of time. He must have been waiting for confirmation that this was where Urk was before sending me the file.

Picking up my bag and putting my phone in my back pocket. I made one last sweep of the room before grabbing my keys and leaving the hotel. I know just the person to ask for information.

It was a warm sunny summer's day with a slight breeze, so instead of riding my motorcycle, I decided to walk the remaining 4 blocks to an informant’s house. Usually, we talk on the phone, but since I am in his hometown, I think I will pay him a visit. Since I need to get this job done quickly, Thomas can tell me which areas to look at without needing to do research first. There is a large, wooded area to the north, so having a resident who knows the area is going to be a big help.

I met Thomas about two years ago. I heard that he had a habit of being in the right place at the right time, which made him the keeper of valuable illegal information.

From what I understand, he didn’t even try, he just happened to be at places where vital information was being shared.

It’s like his superpower. He is the fly on the wall.

When I finally found him, he was getting the crap beat out of him. I saved his life that night and paid off his debts, that one time only. Since then, I have saved his life not once but twice and not for the same reasons.

It goes without saying, he owes me a debt he can never repay, which is why I get free information whenever I need it.

He could be rich, living a grand life with his skill set. He could sell information to the highest bidder and be the most protected informant alive.

Instead, he is a drug addict who is looked down upon. His information is always true and current, but it doesn’t matter because he is viewed as scum by everyone, which means people don’t want to be associated with him. Honestly, it is fine by me, that means I don’t have to fight or bid for information.

Thomas lives in a one-bedroom house with a rickety porch in a rundown neighborhood. It’s painted white, but the paints mostly chipped off. It has a torn screen door in front of a rotting door. The mailbox is hanging on the wall by one screw. I'm fairly sure the mailbox will fall off at any moment. The grass is completely overgrown as it almost reaches my knees. The sidewalk is crumbling away.

“You won’t find him there,” said a small frail voice. I looked to my right and on his neighbor’s front porch sat a little old lady with short white curly hair wearing a floral nightgown. She was sitting in a rocking chair and knitting a blanket.

“Then where can I find him,” I asked.

“Over off of 3rd and Holmes Street, in the city graveyard, plot 7.” That is all she said before getting up and going inside.

Well s**t, I thought. I turned and walked down the steps heading to the cemetery. I really hope he’s just visiting, but I know he’s not. As I walk down the street, the hair on the back of my neck is standing as if someone is watching me.

I look around, and it is not hard to imagine why. Everyone is watching me like a hawk as I walk down the sidewalk. The majority of the houses are in rough shape, like Thomas' house.

There is a group of children playing basketball in the middle of the street. They made their own basketball hoop made of a 4x4 wooden post in the ground, a 5-gallon bucket with the bottom half cut off that is screwed to a plywood backboard.

A kid missed his shot and the basketball rolled in my direction. I picked it up. The kids wanted to run to me and ask for it back but kept their distance.

I smiled and took a shot from 25-feet away. It bounced off the backboard and hit the rim three times before going in. The kids were jumping up and down, cheering. They all ran to me for high-fives, already forgetting I was a stranger they feared before.

"Can you be on my team," asked a little boy.

"Sorry guys, I have to get to work. Maybe some other time," I say just as sad that I can't join them either. Being around kids is the only time I feel a semblance of feelings. Normally, I’m just as dead on the outside as I am on the inside.

We said our goodbyes and I continued walking to the cemetery. As I arrive, I head to plot 7 and yep, supposedly, there he is.

First thing about being an assassin. Don’t believe someone is dead unless you see the dead body with your own two eyes.

As I read his headstone, I giggled.

Here lies

Thomas Quinn Morgolf II

He died happily while smoking weed and getting high.

Chucking some more, I decided to head back to the hotel to pick up my motorcycle.

Looks like I am going to have to get that information some other way, I thought.

Just as I reached my motorcycle, my phone started to ring. “Yeah,” I answered, not looking at the caller ID.

“Did you get the file?” asked John.

“Yes,” I replied, answering John’s question.

“Good, let me know when the jobs done. The client has put a hefty price on Urk and will triple it if you take down his top goons,” John said before he hung up. He doesn’t talk much. John was the one who recruited me years ago and trained me to be an assassin.

When I lost everything, the only emotion I latched onto was anger. Through a series of events, I ended up in the underground fighting ring to vent my anger and guilt.

Growing up as an orphan, I didn’t really have anyone who stood up for me. I lived with a family that didn’t make much money. So, I wore hand-me-downs and got bullied a lot.

I took on odd jobs as a kid to buy nice things for myself, hoping the bullying would stop, but it never did.

Eventually, when I was old enough to work, I got my first job and paid to take fighting lessons. The bullying slowed down after I started fighting back. When I knocked out my worst bully, it stopped all together.

It was that same dirty fighting technique that I used in the underground ring. Apparently, John saw what he was looking for and the rest is history.

After a I stuffed my phone in my backpack, I decided to visit an old acquaintance in Russia. Hopefully, Corey may have some information that can help me out.

Ready to get this job over with, I started my bike and hit the open road.