Vicious

II

I move around a lot, but I have a home here in Minnesota. It is a wooden cabin near Roosevelt Lake. Not too small, but small enough to not be registered as a residence. It is isolated, away from most of civilization for the most part. But it is only a half hour drive from town.

Technically, it is not on the map.

That is why I chose it.

I get into my car and start the engine. In the cold weather, I have to let it run for a moment to warm up. If I don't, there is a chance it may stall on me.

As I'm waiting, I reach over and pull open the passenger seat glove box, taking out the clean, white envelope sitting underneath the car's registration. The registration isn't in my name, it is signed under Michael Brask. As far as the government knows, I am Michael Brask. But I am also Justin Andora, Lorenzo Wilson, and Stiles Stilinski. I have many names, the one I use will depend on who I am with.

I have a collection of passports and ID, along with different license plates - registered under different names - to use when I am on different missions.

It's all like an adult game of role-play.

After I complete an assignment, I will find a white envelope in the glove box. I open ti and begin to count the money sitting inside. They are all hundred dollar bills, this time, there is nearly 250 grand. A quarter million. It is a larger sum of money than I had gotten last week, after killing Mark Falkner.

I wonder where she gets all this money?

It's almost like she robbed a bank or something.

I tuck the money away inside my coat and put the car into drive. The road is less busy at this time of night, but there are still some cars passing by. I wait a few seconds until I have an opening, and then I pull out of the parallel parking spot.

After 30 minutes on the road, I spot the silhouette of my cabin in the woods.

Instantly, the hairs on my back stand on end.

I catch sight of a brief flash of light through one of the windows. A flashlight. I flick off my headlights, pulling silently off to the side of the road.

There is someone inside my cabin.

I open the glove box and pull out a Glock 19, fully loaded and cleaned. I have it up, aimed at the cabin as soon as I step out of the car. I see the flashlight once more, this time through the kitchen window. I flick off the safety and make my way towards the back door.

The woods are silent, not a single sound can be heard besides the rustling of leaves. It is as if the wildlife is waiting. Waiting to see what I do about the intruder rummaging through my kitchen drawers.

I will have no problem putting them down.

I make my way cautiously towards the nearest window, peering inside. The intruder has his back to me, the shine of the flashlight is pointed at the books on the shelf in my living room. He is taking the books off, flipping through the pages, then putting them back in the same spot he got them from.

He is not a burglar.

He is not looking for things to take and make a profit off of.

He is searching for something in particular.

Which means he knows something about me that he shouldn't.

I take myself away from the window just as he finishes with the bookshelf. His flashlight shines briefly across the window before his focus is turned to something else in my home. I make my way to the back door, assuming that the intruder used it to get in.