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The same bullet that was meant for me gave me my scar after passing through Jase’s skull. So when it itches and I get this feeling, when I’ve been re-living the same ambush over and over every night for days on end like this, I know to be more than just careful.
Every mission’s my last because I know deep down that all this, this life I’ve made for myself, it could all just be another setup to finish the job, using me as a sweeper in the meantime, cleaning up their other shit before they take me out properly this time.
And to be honest, since Jase went, well, I don’t much care when or even how I die now. He was all the family I had left, as well as the only soldier I knew I could count on every time.
Jase isn’t here though, is he, chief?
Maybe he would still be if I went first. But that tape’s already playing twenty-four-seven.
Mechanically, I disassemble the envelope, tossing the contents. Folding it inside out and flicking on the black light I have set up in front of the mirror inside a kitchen cabinet, I slide it under.
My morning mug of joe can wait. If this is my last mission, I want to open my present early.
At the right angle, even my aging eyes can make out the neon blue-white of my assignment details. It’s 1950s, film noir stuff, but old tech is good tech. Sometimes.
Scanning the short brief, I memorize the relevant names and addresses, fishing in the trash for the original contents.
Stephanie Foster. Daughter of Ret Foster, millionaire state senator.
There’s a photo of my mark amongst the sheets of junk mail from the envelope according to the brief.
A girl.
A glossy, color photo. Like a portrait off her mantlepiece.
I recoil at first, but only because my soldier-trained brain refuses to accept that this girl and my active kill mission could be the same thing.
No. No, I won’t. It must be a mistake, they must mean her father.
Forcing calm, I pinch my eyes a moment before returning to the brief. It’s her alright and a GK assignment.
Ghost kill. No noise, no trace of anything.
Whoever wants her dead wants it done quietly and at a specific time.
Tonight.
Fuck.
No! No, I won’t.
She’s too… She’s too… too perfect.
I know I won’t.
My lip curls into a rare smile as I return to the photo, already feeling a pulse of need from the sight of her sweet smile.
The unwelcome thrill of a final mission swiftly replaced with the kind of urge I haven’t felt in a very long time.
I’ve never refused a mission, there isn’t exactly an option to do that with this kind of work. But what good is a loose-cannon mercenary who won’t follow orders if he follows every set of orders he gets, huh?
Golden curls and blue eyes. A dimple on one cheek from her brilliant smile is the only distortion in her porcelain skin. My hammering pulse floods my groin as I stifle an involuntary groan.
The palm of my hand is already gripping myself through my camo boxers, already feeling the warm wetness of what she’s drawing from me without even knowing I exist.
But she will. I’m gonna make certain of it.
She must be half my age, but she’s the kind of pretty that makes me give in to the fantasy that little bit quicker, giving me the courage to believe that maybe there is something worth living for.
