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CHAPTER ONE
Michael was an underground rookie criminal. Some would call it an—‘wet behind the ears’ mobster. He was young, sure, but still had the same abilities just like anyone else running his line of work. He could aim just the same, shoot just the same, and kill just the same.
And with this new opportunity gig he was offered, he’d be able to prove that to everyone. All the crooked-nosed, gangly men who boasted about their skills would surely be amazed that a better-looking, way younger guy did more than they ever could.
The job? An assassination. Easy if you know what you’re doing but if you’re only relying on aim rather than observation then you’d only have half the chance. Because assassination was more than just a one-hit job. Your surroundings mattered, the weather mattered, the place mattered. One mistake could get you locked up.
Michael himself was surprised he even got the job to begin with. Putting this much trust on an apprentice was rather controversial. Either they began to trust him or they just wanted him wiped off their market without the decency to retire him.
But the thing about Michael? He was ambitious, diligent, and intelligent when working. His greatest trick was his charm. It was easy to be a sheep dog to lure heart-throbbed females to their inevitable fate. But what could he say?
It was evening, and at midnight he would strike. He re-read the documents he was given on this target—Ray Morgan; a slick-haired plutocrat male around his forties, supposedly going to a opulent soirée for a business-impact partnership that would ample his industry and take over half the companies capital with his name stamped over it. Meaning all the underground’s funds sync to his business. Why? Because all the underground’s money was all under-the-table. So Michael’s big boss, Maverick Lenny, would have to sign a contract to Ray or give up his underground rights and be imprisoned.
Ray never ratted out Maverick, simply because Maverick never ratted out Ray’s scandalous contracts that overshadowed the Government.
But now that Ray was rising in the business, tension was also rising, which meant their underground operations would be at risk.
Michael knew this tedious task of his was overwhelming. In fact, it was horrid. It meant the money he was making would be shut down. The whole team could be shut down if he didn’t do this right.
“Be cool.” He reminded himself, staring out the shattered window where he sat stationary. Michael was in an abandoned building a street-across from the party. He could see the bright, neon lights lighting every blade of grass on the yard. The grand scheme was taking place in a penthouse owned by Ray himself. The music hung in the air, distant laughter and the sounds of cars strolling down the road following with it.
Starlight began to bedazzle the sky, the silver dots an awful reminder of what was to come.
Michael sat there for what seemed like forever until he saw Ray, looking as charming as his picture. Looking through the scope of Michael’s sniper, he could see the businessman shaking the hand of, what he guessed, was the person who would be endorsing the contract. Ray’s outdoor party was literally in the front yard. This whole party was in mock celebration of taking over the underground’s funds. It still confused Michael why Ray was throwing such a big, open party. Like a welcome for the underground criminals to steal the contract right out of his hands. But Maverick was determined to believe it was just Ray’s ego. Yeah right.
Shaking off the suspicion, Michael propped his gun a little higher, aiming for Ray’s forehead.
He had a clear view, but he knew the timing wasn’t right yet. In fact, no where close.
For now, Michael just had to swallow the suspension of waiting and focus.
He could see Ray’s mouth moving as he spoke to his guest, speaking from the side of his mouth, teeth glinting in the light. He moved off to the other side of the party, strolling with confidence, a noticeable bounce in his step.
The night stretched on, and Michael dragged his scope wherever Ray went as he circled around people, never seeming to stay still. But now, as the moon was high in the sky, was just what Michael was waiting for.
The red drape of ribbon stretching from one pillar to another. Scissors in hand, Ray spoke to a crisp, old man. Maybe even richer than Ray. The old man held papers, reading it off out loud.
Ready..
Michael aimed, fingers lightly grazing the trigger, other hand squeezing the under-belly of the muzzle to keep it in steady.
Almost..
Ray grinned, scissors reaching for the ribbon.
Now..
“Drop it.” A voice spoke behind him, metallic meeting the back of his head, forcefully, and stinging.
His heart sank.
Ray had already cut the ribbon.
“Drop. It.” Came the voice again, growling.
Michael hesitantly lowered the sniper.
“Get up.”
Now, Michael was slowly standing, raising his hand as the other dropped the sniper gently against the wall.
“Step back—slowly.”
Michael backpedaled slowly, just how he was told. There was a sniff behind him and suddenly, he was falling on the floor, head stinging.
The fucker had whacked the end of their gun to his head. Now his vision was spinning. Who even was this? He cleared the whole fucking building before he came up here.
Michael twisted, just enough to see the others face, but not enough to startle. It was a guy, hair greasy and long, shoulder-length, brown eyes piercing. He had a cut over his eyebrow and his clothes were pure-black, almost invisible in the shadows if not for the light coming from the window. He still held his gun to Michael’s face, a warning.
His attacker raised a small walkie talkie to his mouth. “Just one. He’s down.” He confirmed, clicking a button on the device before pushing it back in his belt-strap.
“What the fuck do you want?” Michael dared, eyebrow knitted together as he stared up at the guy with suspicion.
The other’s eyebrows raised before he broke out into laughter. “Making small talk with me? How romantic considering what’s about to happen to you. But I’ll play along, sugar.” He moved forward, sitting in the dusty chair Michael sat on previously before he was being held gun-point on the floor. “I’m just doin’ my job, you know? Chasing off bad-guys.”
Michael’s eyes glinted as they slowly slipping down to the feet of the chair, where his foot grazed the wood. He was in reach to do something. He was trained for this after all. “I see.” He replied cooly. “I’m assuming you work for Ray then?” He looks back up.
“That would be disclosed information.” His attacker hummed, lifting his elbows to his knees, palms cupping his cheeks as he gazed back down at Michael through narrowed eyes. “But I know you’re Maverick’s men. Sad how they only sent you up here without any backup, right? You could’ve gotten out of this easy.”
Michael’s teeth grit. “Yeah. Boo-fucking-hoo for me.” He gently pressed the sole of his boot against the left leg of the chair, thankful that his attacker wasn’t taking notice, and in great force, kicked the chair backward.
When Michael saw the chair dip, he quickly got to his feet, lunging a hand for his gun and aimed it.
His attacker, now his prey, wiggled in the fallen chair, growing still when the sniper’s crown was aimed for his head. He didn’t look particularly frightened as Michael thought he would be, still had that smug expression on his face, but his hands were still at his sides. “Woah. That was a surprise. Care to teach me that move?”
“There’s nothing to learn.” Michael responded bluntly, taking a quick glance out the window towards the party. Men dressed in black were whispering to Ray, nodding up to the building, right through the broken window.
Shit.
“Get up, come on.” Michael grabbed the guy by the collar of his shirt, yanking him up on his feet.
“Yes sir.” The guy chuckled, moving in Michael’s grasp as he maneuvered out the door.
Michael could already hear footsteps stampeding up the stairs. “Fuck.” He murmured, moving to the opposite direction and up another flight of stairs that led to the mangled roof. Surprisingly, Michael’s capture wasn’t making no means of escape as he tugged them up the stairs and to the very top floor, kicking down the single door with his boot.
Michael squinted when the sharp night air hit his face. They were at the very top of the roof, but he knew what he was doing. The roof bent underneath him, so he moved cautiously as he made his way to the very edge of the building.
The building that resided against the abandoned one was close enough to leap across.
“Jump.” Michael ordered, shoving his captive forward.
The guy turned his head to glance at Michael then snorted, taking a step back before jumping across. Michael watched him land, stumbling on his feet, but landed nonetheless, and he followed after, inhaling sharply before leaping across.
His feet tripped when he landed, but he balanced quickly, gun still in his grip. He lifted it, motioning for his capture to follow. There was a large ventilation box nearby. They could hide there until he figured out a different escape route.
Michael took lead with the guy at his heels, moving behind the box. When they were clear and out-of-view, Michael shoved the guy to the ground, gun still pointed at him.
“Easy there, cowboy.” His capture chuckled, cheek pressed against the ground as Michael placed a knee over his back. “All this action is making me get a hard-y.”
Michael’s eyes flashed, clenching his teeth before lowering beside the guy, removing the walkie talkie from his belt and tossing it off the building.
“Great throw.” The guy chipped.
“Shut the fuck up.” Michael grunted. Why was he even taking this maniac with him? “What’s your name and do you work for Ray?” He lifted his action bolt sniper to the others cheek, finger lightly pressed against the trigger—tender but serious.
“Trevor, sugar, and before I answer that, it would be fair if I could get your name and number, too.” Trevor’s canines perked from his lips.
Number? Who the fuck said anything about a number? Michael’s patience was wearing thin, and he heard exclaims coming from the roof of the other building. He crouched lower, jabbing the muzzle of the gun deeper into Trevor’s face. “I’m not playing with you, smartass.”
“Yeah, you’re real fucking intimidating, porkchop. I think I just peed myself.” Trevor’s mock tone pierced Michael’s ears.
He had about enough of this. Michael grabbed a fist-full of Trevor’s hair, yanking his head upward until his neck was exposed, then he wrapped his bicep around his gullet and squeezed.
Now, Trevor actually struggled, grabbing at Michael’s limb as he thrashed like a wild animal in his arm. Michael listened to the gurgled noises that escaped his lips, the feel of his adam’s apple glide up and down before, after an agonizingly long time, Trevor grew limp.
He still had a pulse and everything, but Michael was sick and fucking tired of hearing his slick remarks in a life-or-death situation. Fucking hippy.
Michael let his gun rest of the ground, heaving Trevor upward until his body was elevated off the floor, and tossed him over his shoulder. With great balance, he leaned down with one arm extended and grabbed his sniper, tediously pulling towards the edges of the roof.
With unmatched luck, Michael found a ladder that lead down the side of the building and to the city floor. It would be easier if he left Trevor on the roof to rot, but he decided to keep him. What if he ratted out his face to Ray’s goons? Then Maverick would kill him if he wasn’t already in for it back at camp. What a fucking clown show. True, he could just murder Trevor here, but he was sure he would get some useful information out of him when they got to a discreet location.
Michael lowered his lower extremities down first, one leg balancing on a bar one step at a time before he carefully maneuvered down, a hand holding Trevor steady on the shoulder while his other hand, apart from a thumb hooked into the oval-shaped trigger hole, held each bar to keep his body from falling backwards.
Below, there were no signs of any movement. Just the steady flow of cars and one or two people walking the sidewalk.
It wasn’t long before he made his way down. Michael was already planning out a way he could get Trevor back to the underground spot before anyone noticed. Thankfully, he parked his car nearby.
Pulling the key from his pocket, Michael carried Trevor to his car, tugging the door open when he unlocked it and tossed him inside the passenger seat. The gun his captive had was long lost in the abandoned building, but Michael ran his hands over his body just to be sure there wasn’t some tiny pistol.
Michael’s fingers glided down the side of his pants. It was wiry but sturdy, like he only did blow for a source of food and worked out three times a week. His hands moved down to his pockets, feeling the insides. Nothing there.
Everything seemed good.
Michael reached over Trevor’s body to buckle him, closing the door after and made his way to the passenger seat. Michael stuffed the key inside the ignition lock, twisting and pressing the brake until it purred to life. He kept his gun close to his leg, but pressed the cross-bolt safety button near the trigger to keep it from accidentally pulling and possibly shooting himself in the head. Who knew if Trevor woke up out of random and decided it was his turn to get strangled? Hah! Michael wasn’t taking any chances.
He began to take off when in the middle console, his phone rang. He let his right hand leave the wheel, pushing the button from the console and pulling it up, grabbing his phone to answer.
It was Maverick. Shit.
He answered. “Hey Maver—“
“Michael. What did I specifically tell you about this job? Huh? I gave it to you because you were so intent on proving your worth, but now, it seems to me like all you’ll ever be is a worthless piece of space in my business.” Maverick’s angry voice spoke from the other line, his American accent jutting.
“Yeah, well, I checked the building before I came up it and a fucking guy snuck me before I could make a shot. It wasn’t my fault.” Michael pressed.
“That’s what they all say, M. Consider yourself dead unless you can make this right. You’ll have a week until I make my mind to Ray so either finish the job or be hunted down.” Then the line cut.
There was silence.
“How fucking rude of him, am I right?” Michael jumped at Trevor’s lazy voice.
Turning, he saw his captive starting right at him. He quickly looked back at the road, leg grazing his gun in—what? Comfort? “Mind your fucking business before I knock you out again.”
“I don’t know, ‘Michael’. I think I want you to.” Came the rough reply.
The fuck? Michael didn’t know what was more alarming. The fact that this guy had heard his entire conversation or the fact that the guy was pawing his dick through his jeans.
Michael tried not to glance over to express his disgust, keeping his eye on the road. “You need help.”
“Not-so! In fact,” Trevor leaned forward, the seatbelt holding his chest tightly as if protecting Michael from his absurdness, “I think I’m perfectly fine for someone who just got kidnapped. Clearly you want something out of me. But don’t worry.. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Can you stop being horny in my car before I shoot your dick off?” Michael’s brows furrow. He was completely rethinking his decision on keeping this guy here.
“When you give me those pretty little threats? Nuh-uh, sorry, I can’t help myself.” Trevor replied.
Michael’s nose scrunched, earning a teasing chuckle from the other. What was up with this guy? Really? Did he have some sort of illness?
The sooner he’d get to the motel, the better.
Pressing the gas harder, Michael propelled his car faster on the road. Thankfully, there was barely any traffic this time of night. In fact, it was mostly clear.
The city building grew distant as they reached closer to the outskirts, the more dirtier, drugged part of the whole city. Broken, flickering lights that no one cared to fix, dogs running loose off their jabot and coked-up addicts lowered to the waistline. It was filthy.
In every city, there was at least one part of it all that wasn’t perfect like the rest. Like a dead rose among bright, blossomed florals.
It was always nauseating, but it had its moments.
“Where you taking me?” Trevor broke Michael out of his observations. “To your lovely home?”
“No.” Michael voiced. He wasn’t about to explain anything to this muck.
Silence; they were growing near the motel.
“So you’re taking me to dinner?” Trevor prompted.
“No.”
“A bar?”
“No.”
“The strip club?”
“God damn it, shut up!” Came Michael’s alarmingly agitated voice.
Trevor shuffled in the corner of his eye, sitting upright. “Might as well talk before you shoot me, right?”
Michael wanted to press his forehead into the steering wheel. Maybe to drain the thoughts out of his mind and into his car so they could fly off the road to take him to the motel faster. Or to hear the rumbling off his car overtake the other’s voice. But, he kept his eyes on the road, eyes straining. The motel was now in view. The neon logo was disfigured. One letter wasn’t glowing—so it was just “Joe’s mo-el”.
Joe needed to fix his raggedy ass sign. Whoever the fuck Joe was.
Michael drove into the empty parking lot, switching gears before he turned his car off. “Get out. But make any moves and you’ll be shot down quick.” He grabbed the muzzle of his gun as if proving his point, using his other hand to push down the handle-button of the car door, pushing it open and climbing out.
“Yes-sir.” Trevor retorted, followed suite close behind, just from the other side, and tailed Michael as they approached the dirty doubled doors and inside the lobby.
The motel breathed out a sour, stagnant odor, as if the walls themselves had been steeping in neglect for decades. Beneath the sharp sting of cheap disinfectant lingered something older—damp carpet, mildew, and the faint, sickly sweetness of rot. The air clung to the throat, heavy and unwelcoming, like it didn’t want to be disturbed. Cigarettes lingered, as if trying to substitute for cleansing spray.
It would never get old, though. This was the only place you could do drug deals outside on the curb or kill nobody’s in the parking lot. The only place you could carry a dirty gun without having asked questions.
The receptionist was an older, disingenuous-looking man with an unkept beard and a patchy head. Probably in his fifties. Probably killed before.
“Hey. Room for two. Michael.” Michael inquired as he stood a foot away from the desk.
The clerk nodded, fiddling with the computer before stooping to grab—what Michael assumed—keys for the room.
“Here you go.” The desk-man nodded, handing the keys to Michael who grabbed them appreciably before nudging Trevor along by a firm tap on his shoulder.
Trevor was surprising Michael with how well-behaved of a captive he was being. If it was anyone else, they’d try to beg for help to the receptionist.
Their room was “13”. Assuming on the first floor. Michael sheeted his fingers around his gun, keys in his other hand while he herded Trevor to the assigned room.
When they made it to the door, he could feel Trevor’s eyes on him as he turned the key into the hole of the doorknob, twisting it until he heard a click and walked inside.
The room was—obviously dingy. A few gnats buzzed around the half-cleaned trash bins, stains seeped into the carpet from God only knows what fluids, and water-lines drooling from the celling onto the stripped, off-white wallpaper that made it peel off.
But, it’d have to do.
Michael motioned his head towards Trevor to come in, watching the other do as he was told, ambling towards the edge of one of the full-sized beds and lazily sat.
“So. What will you do to me?” Trevor hummed, watching Michael toss the key on a TV stand.
Michael rolled his shoulders to relieve an ache, turning to face his kidnapped enemy. “You’ll find out.” He said curtly. Best get this done now so he could sleep and figure out how he was going to kill Ray. He put his gun in the strap along his belt.
Running his hands over Michael’s face, he began, “Here’s how this is going to go..” He lowered his hands to his sides, moving forward until he was a person-length away from Trevor. “You’re going to tell me everything you know, and maybe—just maybe—I won’t shoot you.”
Silence met his words.
“First, you’re going to tell me Ray’s whereabouts, his schedule, his hidden motives—anything I can use to kill them. Second, you’re going to listen to anything I say, wherever I say. And Third,” A lift of his finger, “You’re going to shut the fuck up with the quips. Got it?”
Trevor irked a brow, giving Michael a once-over before clicking his tongue. “Wow. Well, I’ll try to comply—“
“You will.. comply.” Michael interrupted.
Trevor’s eyes glittered. It made Michael’s spine shiver.
“What if I don’t?” Trevor’s hands tighten into fists around his sides. His voice was low, threatening. Or was it? Maybe anticipating. Like a primal question. Michael didn’t know.
Michael took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He lowered himself until they were face-to-face. “Try, and find out. You’ll know exactly why they sent just me to kill Ray.”
Trevor’s eyes narrow, brows furrowing slightly. “You uplift yourself too much, amigo. You have no idea who I am..” He sat up from the bed, closing the little distance him and Michael had, like two cats about to fight. “..or who I killed.”
“That makes the two of us then..” Michael ventured, hand lowering to the gun on his hip.
Trevor’s nostrils flare, and in a matter of seconds, Michael found himself wrestling with him. Trevor’s hands reached to his gun, grabbing hold of it, and twisting it from the band.
Michael retaliated, grabbing Trevor’s head and pushing him to the side until he was stumbling, but, his gun was pulled from his belt.
Gun in hand, Trevor angled it towards Michael, but Michael was quick, lunging towards him. His hands departed from each other, one grabbing hold of Trevor’s throat while the other held down the hand that had his gun.
“Stay—argh!” Michael bellowed when Trevor sank his nails into his nape, fingers sliding to grab hold around his throat.
Now, they both had each other by the throat. It was whoever squeezed tight enough. But as Michael looked down through squinted eyes, he saw Trevor grinning. Manic. Crazed. Deranged.
Too focused on Trevor’s face, Michael had no idea that the other man had lifted his knee to his private and slammed hard into his.. balls.
This guys knee was bony. Bony. Sharp and well-defined enough for Michael to feel the pain shoot all the way up the squeezing hold of Trevor’s hand.
“Fuck!” Hissing through gritted teeth, Michael rolled onto his side, legs squeezing together to try to protect his private from anymore malice.
While he was down, Trevor got up, rushing to Michael and pressing his body against his.
Michael raised his hands to fight off Trevor, but it seemed like the man had fucking supernatural powers, as he was easily overpowered by him.
“Night.. sugar.” Trevor’s voice met his ears before the gun was raised to his head.
Then darkness.