This is a continuation and if you missed part one, you can read it here.


After leaving Alice’s house, I walked a few miles across town to a bus stop. This was the part of a hit that required the most attention and caution. It only took one seemingly miniscule slip up to ruin a clean job.

I had my own code, so to speak, rules I created and committed to. They weren’t incredibly challenging, common sense more than anything. Never bring my personal vehicle into the same town as the target, there was virtually no chance of police connecting it to the victim that way. Never interact with anyone outside of the job, focus on the targets and keep the knowledge of my presence limited. And, of course, never reveal the truth. No matter how much I want to, no matter how trustworthy the person seems. After all, as a hitman would know, there is nobody who is truly honest.

There was so much more to it, countless details, but by now it was all in my nature. I no longer had the hesitation before each new hit, mentally playing through it beforehand. In a way, I had become more machine than man.

The moment with Alice, however, had shaken my sense of stability. Yes, she was different and likely innocent of whatever had resulted in my involvement. But, all the same, I had thought myself beyond being affected so easily.

I sighed heavily and dragged my hand through my hair. Sitting in the middle of the bus that smelled of sweat and poverty as most do, I began to regain my mentality. I could feel the transition back to my typical high after a kill, deleting the doubts from my memory.

The high. Adrenaline coursing through every vein. One might expect that it would fade over time, as all other feelings had, but it never did. Each time was as pleasing as it was the first. The intoxication itself was enough to keep me killing, money was simply a bonus.

There was nothing else that could give it, no drug or drink or any other addiction. Of course not. All of those things could alter your mind, they could kill the pain and enhance the good, but they could not give you what killing did. Power. A life in your hands, a chance to change someone’s story. A moment of being God.

I was forced to lower myself back down all too soon, however, my instincts turning up a notch as I felt someone’s eyes fixed on me. Out of the corner of my vision, I pinpointed the source and immediately my mind shut off the aggressive parts of my nature.

She was certainly nothing threatening; with her hair sprayed curls, precisely over done makeup, shirt cut too low and skirt cut too high. This was the type I was used to. Her eyes were grazing over me, acting as if she didn’t notice I had seen her and then dramatically turning away when she met my eyes, only to come back moments later.

I gave her a half smirk. I was no fool, I knew how to play the game. My blond hair and blue eyes had always gained me attention, and one after the other they threw themselves at my feet. It was nothing more than another pass time to me, a source of entertainment as I manipulated and twisted them in whatever way I wanted on that particular day.

This one didn’t hold much fascination to me, but I would still give her the attention she was clearly desperate for. A few glances, watching from under lowered eyelids, and an occasional smile. Then, I would be off and she would be left, wondering what she could have done to get more and assuming higher heels and more skin to be the answer.

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