Alex pauses, and I already have my answer. “Yep, that’s him. “
“Why does he keep doing this to me?” I ask, exasperated. I fucking hate the Toronto guy. I hate everything that he resembles, and I’m starting to think he’s just performing a socialexperiment on me, to see how long I can go without turning on the client and killing him instead of the target.
“The guy’s either purely paranoid or mentally deranged. Maybe both.” Alex shrugs.
I rub my temple. “More like a genetic fuckup. He’s going to make me cut the throats of half of Canada’s population just because. Is it still clean at least?”
The sound of the exhale of relief vibrates through the phone. “You really want it?”
I want to say no, but the guy is paying well, and I like money almost as much as I like my wine. Not to mention I’m kind of banned from going to Poland, and considering my brain has been extra fucked lately, I wouldn’t trust myself to follow the rules of what an official job would require. I push the blanket aside and answer before I can change my mind. “Send me his fucking file.”
“You’re in a good mood.”
If only he knew. I look down at the cuts on my ribs that will probably leave some nasty scars.
“Just got a lot of stamina to burn.”
I’m almost ready to hang up when I hear Alex shouting.
“Vic—one more thing.” How many times have I ordered him not to call me that? “The mystery client sent another message last night. Still refuses to provide details, but said, ‘the target is a very special person.’ Are you rejecting it?”
What the fuck…a very special person? Why would they want to kill someone ‘special’?
“Are you sure that’s all they sent?” I ask, surprised. Another client, another social experiment.
“That’s all,” he confirms. “This looks bad, Vic. Bad in a ‘you’d like it’ kind of way.”
I usually say no contracts that sound shitty. No, Ialwayssay no to the contracts that sound shitty. I don’t do stupid things for stupid people. But instead of doing just that, I deflect.
“Don’t say anything yet, I’ll let you know once I decide. Gather as much intel as you can until then.”
My team runs like a machine; Alex handles the contracts and deals with every aspect of the digital form—no socials, no credit history, not even a loyalty card at a sex shop is left unturned. His tech skills are the best you can get on the market, and he has connections for any sort of contractors, from a housekeeper who doesn’t question the occasional extra blood-stained clothes, to people who dispose of bodies seconds after I’m done with them. He’s a little bit of a psycho himself, but that works in my favor.
Gabriella, the second member, basically rewrites reality. She makes it look like the target never even contaminated the planet. Target’s ex-partner might blink confused when half their belongings go missing, but that’s about it. She is usually off the grid, and the connection is always made through Alex, but I can’t complain. Even he is too much to talk to, so I’m pleased I don’t have another chit-chatter.
And of course, there’s me. I kill the targets and leave, all in under ten minutes. Apart from the rare situations where torture is allowed. In which case, I take my time. And I mean really, really take my time. One time in Poland, I overstayed my visa because I got too distracted by the fun I was having, and Imighthave invented a couple of new mutilation techniques.
But in the end, it all comes back to killing. That’s all I do, all I’ve ever done. I was born for this.
I tried the legal path once. Filed the forms, sat through the training, and followed the rules. Did the time. It was a joke. The system was designed for people who need permission to breathe. It wasn’t for me. But my time there did, at least, allow me to formnecessary connections with the officials so they’d pass me a task that was too extensive in resources and not worth the outcome.
By seven thirty, Alex had already sent the files. Now that Azrael’s little experiment is on hold until further notice—or until I feel he’s been punished enough—I need something to sharpen my teeth on.
I skim through the information.
Government contracts are easier. They want it done. They need it done. Clean, fast, with no extra repercussions to avoid on my end.
Private clients? That’s a little trickier. There’s always a reason in the form of a grudge. They want someone deleted from the face of the planet because they cannot deal with their shit. And for that, I always need to understand that reason. Not for ethical reasons—I’m not about to start pretending I have those—but because I never do dumb shit for dumb people. If the motives are sloppy, the planning is worse, and I hate taking the risk for useless reasons.
I open the Toronto file first. The client, per usual, had crossed out an entire list of “approved actions,” with annotations that scream paranoia. “Too slow,” “Too soft,” “Too strange.” Cute. I bookmark a few notes, run a background check on the target, and start drafting a plan.
But right as I should be deeply focused on the task at hand, my thoughts flow to what happened last night.Refocus, Victoria. I start again, but nope, my focus is completely gone.
My hand hovers over the next document, the weird one—the Poland job. Just encrypted origin, high payout, precision requested.
But my eyes aren’t capable of reading anymore, apparently. I’m just staring at a blank spot on my floor, dissociating from reality.
Azrael, you holy fucking motherfucker.