Prologue
The war in Kosovo lasted a little over a year and was finally starting to wind its way to a grisly end. War was never pretty, usually bloody. He had been hand-picked as part of a team by the UN to act as ‘peacekeepers’, despite the fact he was still young and had barely served a year as a Marine. His team was in the middle of wrapping up all the loose ends to put a stop to the bloodshed and get the country back to rights once again.
They were at the house of one of the wealthiest families, the Borjans, who stood to gain the most in the civil war if things went their way. Each soldier had an exit and window covered, waiting for the all’s clear from the watcher in the air.
A signal whispered in his headset and he went in. The lock was easily busted, and he cleared the dining room window then the room itself. Echoes of breaking glass surrounded him as the others followed the order. His M16 led the way, taking out anyone who wasn’t a part of the team. He heard the suppressed gunfire of his brothers in arms in other parts of the house. So far, the detail had been easy. If there was resistance, the quieted rattle of their M16s ended it quickly. This was easier than he first thought it would be.
He found the kitchen. At first glance, it appeared empty. He wouldn’t be the Marine that he was if he didn’t check it thoroughly. He had checked each corner and the small alcove that held a wood burning stove until a noise got his attention. He wasn’t alone, he felt it in his gut, and he turned toward the sound, clicking on the little flashlight to catch his prey in his crosshairs.
Big blue eyes caught his, round cheeks were reddened, and it was clear that fear had caused tears to stain those cheeks. The girl couldn’t have been very old, maybe twelve at most, and she stood frozen as she waited for him to hand her her fate. She waited to die.
He hadn’t killed a child before, much less a little girl. The idea was a sickening feeling, like lead in his gut, and he hesitated. It was his duty, but here he was second-guessing himself. The girl must have sensed it, his hesitation and indecision. She held up one little hand and brought the other to her little bow of a mouth, holding a single finger to her lips.
There was a cry from upstairs, a call to arms to the others in the house to attack, and an angry voice interrupted his line of thought as it bled through his headset. Gunfire erupted in retaliation.
He looked away for a hot second, but when he turned back to do his duty, do what he was trained to do, she was gone. The girl ran. He should go after her. He had a job that said everyone in the house was supposed to die. But that lead feeling in his gut made him resist his better judgement. He turned to clear the rest of the kitchen and go back to clearing the house. He couldn’t chase down a kid to kill her. Where were the morals in that?
After it was all said and done, mission completed, he found himself wondering if he should report the girl who got away, the only one who had been in the house that wasn’t dead on the floor. As the sergeant made his rounds for reports and debriefing, he found the words dying in his throat. He would keep the girl to himself. She would stay his secret. The sight of her big round eyes would be something that he would take with him. They would haunt him.
“Good job, Summers,” was gruffly given as they began to pack up and board the helicopter that would take them back to base. He was young, not fresh from boot camp, but still young enough to have the ordeal make an impression on him through the remainder of his career. War wasn’t something a man could easily forget.
He hoped he would never have to face a child at the end of his rifle again.
Chapter 1
Kosovo had led to a long string of jobs and missions with the military that led to a long list of lives ended by either his rifle or his knife. He’d gotten over the hesitation and trepidation he felt at nineteen. The government had trained him to be a deadly killing machine and used him for just that.
He thought for the longest time that he would die as a jarhead, like the majority of Marines did, until he found that the bureaucracy of it all seemed too much. He couldn’t take the belittlement, the cut budgets, and the shrugged shoulders when they were short on shit and would have to do without. You should never question whether you could pay the man who fought your battles for you.
It was after a tour in Iraq, the big sandbox, that he decided to finish his military career. So much for twenty years and retirement pay. He didn’t need the pomp and circumstance that went with getting out either, but you don’t serve for nearly fifteen years and not get some attention. He was just ready to end his career and try to figure out just what to do as a civilian. Where would he go from here?
Only he didn’t get the opportunity to consider civilian life. He had been approached just as he had walked out the door of his retirement ceremony by a man he would soon call boss and even friend. “Corporal Scott Summers.” He was dark-haired and sported a beard that would make any enlisted man envious. He looked forward to not having to shave unless he wanted to maintain a clean-cut look.
“Charlie Austin.” He offered a hand with his introduction. “I have been waiting for you to call it quits with the Marines for a good long while. I’ve been keeping an eye on you and all that you’ve done. It’s impressive. Have you considered what you intend to do now that you’re out?”
He shrugged, fidgeting with his cover as he considered the other man. They had a similar build, two men who worked hard to be strong and be able to overpower an enemy, to be deadly.
“The thought hadn’t really occurred to me, to be honest. I figured I had the time under my belt with retirement that I should be able to figure that out. Maybe go to school and get a job.”
“That’s an idea.” He gave Scott a friendly smile, though there was something decidedly dangerous about it. “Or you could put the skills you learned from the Marines and in combat zones to good use.” He pulled out a card and offered it to him. “I can’t offer you a fancy rank or medals or recognition to write home about, but I can promise to keep your skills sharp and your knife sharper.”
“Do I get to keep my M16?” It had been something that had stayed in his bed with him for so long that he wasn’t ready to give up the rifle. It wasn’t like a lover, but it was close. His rifle was more like a reassurance that he would be waking up in the morning. Anyone dumb enough to try to off him in his sleep would regret it.
“No.” Austin didn’t turn away or offer any sort of crap explanation. If anything, his dangerous smile turned into a deadly grin. “I can offer you better guns, though.”
“You have my attention, sir.”
* * *
That meeting with Charlie Austin had led him into a career with the CIA, working for a department that didn’t exist. The job was similar to that he led as a Marine, though it was simplified to a point that he hadn’t regretted the decision of blindly taking Austin up on the job offer. If anything, the job was freeing. His duties were to keep himself the deadly killing machine the Marines had created. He traveled without hindrance of the bureaucracy, no orders and no staff sergeant breathing down his neck.
He was given a card with a fake name, a phone, as well as a throwaway email address where he would receive all of his orders through. He would receive the name, location, and picture of his target and he would take care of said target. He was essentially a hired killer, a government hit man. Something that paid handsomely and gave him the opportunity to live a lifestyle he wanted, though he chose the safest route of being in the background versus flaunting the money he made with extravagance.
Living as a Marine for so long taught him to live with just the necessities. It was something he hadn’t let go of. You didn’t work for the government for so long and not pick up on some things. He considered his less than extravagant lifestyle a means that kept him alive this long.
He threw down a few hundreds onto the bedside table. There were a few things that he splurged on, and this was one in particular. The woman in the cheap bed snoozed quietly, making it clear that he wasn’t the only one who got enjoyment from their encounter. He had either worn her out or she was just taking advantage of a semi safe place to sleep.
Honestly, he didn’t care. He would let her sleep, even though he had laid down enough money to pay for the entire night. He went to the small table where his laptop sat and kept a careful eye on her. She didn’t stir. It had been a few weeks since his last job, and so far, he was on a mini-vacation in a little city outside Reno, where there was no shortage of easy prostitutes and it was a legal thing he could take advantage of.
He was living in a cheap motel, saving a buck so he could spend it on having a different woman in his bed each night. After a few weeks, he was starting to get antsy with being in one place for so long. It was time to get back to work. He needed something to do, something to distract him and keep him from getting bored.
As if Austin knew his predicament, there was an email sitting in his inbox. Feral excitement rushed through his veins, and he opened it without concern that it meant he was going to snuff out another life. This was work. Denver. It was a drive and it would be quicker if he took a flight, but he found himself wanting a little time on the road. He paused though. There was no attachment for a photo and a simple list for a description. The mark was female.
A sour taste developed in his mouth as he read over the limited details. He didn’t like killing women, though he would do it. Women weren’t often targets, but there was the occasional mark who would come up female for one reason or another. He didn’t question the distaste. He would do the job regardless of whether he liked it or not. It had been assigned to him.
He packed up his meager belongings into his duffle bag, making a mental note to hit a laundromat after he finished this mission. All packed up, he gave the sleeping girl a last fleeting look. She wasn’t attractive. She had full lips and curves in all the right places without any track marks that he could see. That was what appealed to him. While he wouldn’t be picky if it had been a while, he didn’t enjoy the look or feel of junkies and preferred not to fuck them.
Would he kill the girl after he had been with her? The sour taste didn’t leave him as he turned and walked out the door. Could he snuff her out after having fucked her?
Who was he kidding? If the job required it, she wouldn’t wake up.
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