Birth of Death CHAP 1
Viktor Marks deserved to die.
Today I was judge, jury, and executioner.
The Cartel had ordered his retirement and paid me well to send a message. Betray us, and we will erase you. Viktor had chosen to defy The Cartel and I had gotten the call. It was a poor career move. The Cartel was connected with a global network. Going against them meant you had grown tired of breathing.
I only knew of one operator who managed to be too deadly for The Cartel to tangle with. Her operator name was Scythe. No one had seen or heard from her in over a decade. She had taken out so many Cartel operatives that they cut their losses and declared her sagrada-sacred. It meant no one could move against her. She had proven too deadly, even for them. Then she disappeared.
Viktor Marks was no Scythe. He made the monumental error of diversification. He had started dabbling in drugs and trafficking-both verboten in The Cartel. We were ruthless agents of death, but we didn’t push poison, and we didn’t kidnap innocents to be sold. The Cartel had given Viktor a warning, which he disregarded, and I got the call.
Everyone dies.
Lucy, my handler had given me the address and the account number. Once the fee was deposited, the contract was set in motion. Once begun, only death could stop a contract. Either by completion or death of the operator.
I arrived at the address a few hours before dawn. Uptown, hi-rise, thirty floors slapped together in about two years with subpar materials. Saved on the construction and charged the tenants enough to feed a small family for a year anywhere else in the world. Viktor was in the upscale duplex penthouse on the top floor. Plenty of security, all of it worthless.
“Lucy, run the security camera loop,” I said into my SCAN device. “Top floor.”
The Subcutaneous Communicator And Navigation device implanted in my head allowed for seamless communication with my handler along with corneal HUD displays. Every operator in the Cartel used one.
Mine had been supplied by the Nurse. An affiliated medical professional who handled Cartel field emergencies. I didn’t like the idea of The Cartel implanting anything in my head. I worked for them, didn’t mean I trusted them. The Nurse and I had a long history. I knew she wouldn’t plant some kind of mini-explosive in my skull. At least, not without telling me first.
“Loop in place,” Lucy answered. “Make this fast, Huracan.”
“Some of the best things are enjoyed slowly, Lucy,” I said, getting on the elevator. I made sure to keep my head down and pulled my collar up.
“Ugh, spare me the suavespeak,” Lucy replied. “Fulfill and fly.”
“Got it,” I said as the elevator ascended. By the time I arrived at the top floor the cameras were compromised. “Three guards. One proximity, two range.”
“Noted,” Lucy said. “Cleaners en route. ETA Ninety minutes.”
I buried my blade in the neck of the first guard, closest to the elevator, and dropped the other two with my suppressed HK-45 Tactical.
The guards in the hallway never saw what ended their lives that morning. Four a.m.—circadian rhythms are off, reflexes are sluggish, vision is poor, and signals to the brain, slow.
I smelled the fear from down the hall. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let her come.
She stepped close to me, her body pressed close to mine as she brought her lips to my ear. I almost felt the heat coming off her body, but I knew better.
“Hola, mi amor,” she whispered. Her husky voice hitting all the right notes. “It’s time to kill. Are you ready?”
Of course, I was ready. Death was my mother, my friend, my lover, my everything. I worshipped her and in return, she gave me strength and power.
Only Lucy knew I saw Death.
She called it my affliction. An occupational hazard, the last vestiges of my long gone conscience.
Lucy probably thought I was losing my mind. I didn’t argue. It’s hard to lose something you don’t have. What I saw and felt, was as real as a blade or a bullet, and just as lethal.
I had stopped trying to describe her long ago. Sometimes she would appear as a young girl, energetic and vibrant, with long black hair and piercing dark eyes that shifted hues. Other times she came as an old woman using a cane to hobble around as she chastised me. Before every contract she appeared as a mature woman, all curves and sensuality. If I didn’t pay attention I’d get lost in those eyes. I made sure to pay attention. I holstered my weapon.
I wouldn’t use a gun this time…no. This was going to be close, intimate. I was going to gut this pendejo with my blade. He was going to feel pain before he died. I wanted him to feel his life slip away.
He thought he was safe.
Behind his doors, walls, and bars. He thought his men and their guns made him untouchable.
He forgot.
In the end. Death touches us all.
Today, my blade would penetrate his body like the countless women he violated. Today, Death would cut the life out of him.
I smiled.
Death looked at me, returning my smile with a feral intensity in her eyes. It was always this way before a contract.
She leaned closer, caressing my neck with her lips and tongue. “Kill him, Huracan,” she whispered. “Make him suffer. Send him to me.”
I broke the code on the basic lock, bypassing the security on the door, and entered the duplex. “I’m in, Lucy.”
“Target sleeps on the top floor.” A tapping of keys. “According to the intel, his bedroom is in a safe room. Paranoid much?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I whispered. “Today, nothing can keep him safe from me.”
Of course, I would kill him. I was Death’s Hand after all.
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