Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Target - Roberto Fallaci. Make him suffer.
I’m brought in when they want shit done in particularly brutal ways. Usually, I wouldn’t do a hit like this in a hotel of this magnitude, but this fucker traveled a lot and had protection with him most of the time. Didn’t help him in the end. Lucky for me, he only used his security when he left the hotel.
I was owed many favors. One, in particular, was from a coder who made me a key card that overrides the locking system on hotel doors, giving me access to any room on this property and any other hotels with the same system.
He thought himself untouchable. The look on his face when I stepped from the shadows once he was in his room and hit him in the temple with the butt of my gun is one, I’ve seen many times before. No one believes bad shit, the real, fuck-you-up-no-coming-back-from bad shit is going to happen to them. Most believe they’re special, different, superior in some way. God's favorite. We’re all just extras in this fucked up game of life.
When he woke up, his wide eyes took in the room I’d kitted out with plastic sheeting. His body started to tremble. He realized his time on this earth was up. It’s amazing what you’re willing to offer up when you’re desperate. I could have left this hotel room with more money than anyone had a right to. Could have left him breathing and walked. But I learned a long time ago money can’t buy you happiness. It only gives you a fake sense of importance. Being part of the royal bastards MC makes me feel needed. Worthy. Wanted. No amount of money can buy family.
Tearing down the sheeting, I stuff it in the suitcase I brought and leave the target where he lay on the clean bed to baffle the dumb ass cops. Giving them as little evidence as possible is always the goal.
Going into the bathroom, I slip off my overalls, leaving the gloves and hairnet on under my hoody. My green eyes hidden behind brown contacts stare back at me in the mirror. Blood speckles across my nose like freckles.
Turning on the faucet, I scrub the blood from my face, then pull out the glasses from my pocket and slip them on. I walk the border of the room, taking care not to leave any tread on the carpet. Keeping my head low and avoiding the security camera, I enter the elevator. A woman calls out for me to hold the door, spiking my irritation. When I don’t, she throws her skinny arm between the doors, and I nearly growl.
“Didn’t you hear me?” she heaves, the small sprint leaving her out of breath. She frowns when I don’t respond and tucks a strand of fake blonde hair behind her ear. She shifts her feet, her tight red dress clings to her body like a second skin. She’s used to being the main attraction in any room. Being ignored is making her unsettled.
“Checking out?” she queries, flitting her gaze to my suitcase.
“Oui,” I answer in French.
“Oh, I love an accent.” She places a hand on her chest and bites her lip, trying to get a better look at me. “Where are you from?”
“Ton cauchrmars.” Your nightmares.
The doors open with a ding, and I step out on the second floor, opting to take the stairs the rest of the way. They come out closer to the back exit, away from the main lobby.
Walking a couple blocks to where I left the car, I dump the suitcase in the trunk and double check no one is around before slipping into the car. Keeping my head tilted so my hat covers my face from any possible street cameras, I take off. I picked out a dump site for the evidence thirty-minutes east of the hotel. It’s an old, abandoned farmhouse half taken over by the land and completely secluded. My adrenaline spikes the entire drive. It’s risky transporting evidence tying me to a murder in the trunk of a car but as long as I don’t break any speeding laws, I should be fine.
Pulling up a half gravel, half brush road toward the house, I roll down my window and pull around to the small lake that sits at the back of the property. It’s why I chose this place. Easing the car into the water, I leave it in drive and climb out the window, wading through the murky water to dry land. The lake submerges the metal coffin, swallowing the evidence inside. I wait until the surface is once again calm, the car completely gone from view. Checking over my shoulder to see my bike’s where I left it yesterday, I begin shucking off the clothes to change.