Assassin [H.S.]

Thirty Two

But in a short time, I shake my head again and look behind to see the oncoming cars. There 's only a short window with at least 2 seconds to get in. One car passes me and now there's a blank space in the middle.

Fuck this shit.

Putting my right foot up on the bike and my left on the ground, I push off, turn my right handle forward and speed into the short space between the cars. As another car angrily uses their horn multiple times, I rev the engine more as I drive faster and get into the left turn lane.

I make my way into the neighborhood, running past extra turns that I have to take my original route. The anxiety and stress is now forming inside my helmet; the sweat building on my forehead and the wind breezing on my stockings. I'm a few streets away from getting to my house, until I see bright headlights shine in my way. Shit! I pull the brakes, my tires letting a loud screech in, and stop to let them turn, covering my eyes with my hand.

When the headlights no longer blind me, I peer through the windshield of my helmet and see the dashboard in a shiny clear spot. It's a black Mercedes convertible still in good condition. But my attention has turned to the driver wearing a dark shirt and brown curls that shape the face. The one face that I know isn't going the same route as I am. No fucking way.

Harry passes me to turn left into my original way home as I was, but I can't go there or else he'll know I've been gone somewhere and with my outfit being a dead giveaway.

"Shit!"

With the panic and worry rising, I take the alternative and go back to the way I went. I rev my engine furiously, gripping the handle bars so tight to my gloves will start tearing. I speed past into the community playground, where there are zero children in my way and only a couple of basketball players shooting some free throws on the court while the street lights are up.

My speedometer has hit 60mph as I push my motorcycle up as it rides in a one wheel move. Luckly, Uncle James is remodeling the backyard and garage as I pass my neighbors fences to spot one without its territory.

When I finally reach the large oak tree growing with an open site, I impulsively drive myself onto the green lawn, slowing myself into the garage where it's open. Uncle James is still working on his old car that was once my father's but apparently he didn't use it when I was little. It was never meant for him when he started focusing on me more.

The screech on my tires turn the cement into a black skid mark as I park the motorcycle in a sloppy way next to Uncle James' car. Ripping my helmet off my tight head, I throw it behind me and exit the garage. Pacing myself in a fast walk and taking my purse from the compartment, I make my way to the trash bins left beside my small balcony. There's no other way I can enter through as I hear the front door close, my fear rising higher as I suspect that's my uncle letting Harry enter into the house.

I curse to myself again, wishing that I had taken out Mr. Laurier by snapping his neck when he got out of the bathroom. However, I don't have time to reflect on my regrets; I did what I did and I survived, that's all that matters.

I hop myself onto the lid of black plastic trash can and pull out my carabiner hooks. I attach myself to the hook of my waistcoat, fishing out my silver grappling hook pulling the switch so that the claws open. I strap on my purse to the side, avoiding it getting caught or falling to the cement.

I swing with my right hand attached to the rope and give it a good whip. The hook flies over the railing and I drag the rope closer to me so that hook drags on the wooden platform. The sharp ends get stuck into the thick wood, giving support to let me dangle onto my carabiner hook. Taking the leap of faith, I let myself fall and grab onto the rope to climb up.