"When we promised to love each other till death do us part, I never thought death would come so soon."
They call her Justice and it's probably because she takes the law into her own hands, dishing out whatever she wants to whoever she wants. At just...
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I should kill her— right here and now.
I should lodge a silver bullet right in between her ghostly granite eyes and evaporate them of the life that's hidden behind her cloudy gaze. Her stare is as cold as frozen metal in the dead of winter and I should put an end to it.
I should kill her— but I won't— not right now.
There's a time and place for everything. And exterminating someone in an abandon warehouse is not my cup of tea. I prefer to carry out my hits in a more public manner. They call me the exhibitionist for a reason, but most know me as the executioner.
Her concrete colored eyes meet mine from across the room, causing a small smirk to tug at the corner of my lips. It's fitting that her eyes are gray, considering her gaze is as hard as stone. She's not afraid of me, which is a rare quality in itself. I respect her fearlessness, no matter how ignorant it might be. At least she'll die with some integrity. She won't give me the satisfaction of begging for her life.
Patch Jackson stands in the corner of the room, three steps away from the young woman who's shackled to the wall. The chains are futile and fragile. She could break them if she wanted to, but still she sits there like a good little puppy dog. She wants to be here and I know why.
She can't leave unless she executes me.
She can't go back to her organization unless she has good news or she'll be offed by her superior. You can't go back unless you finish the job— or you'll be fired— and fired in this instance means tortured and left for dead.
I know how this game works, because I've been playing it since I was a little boy living in Naples. I'm twenty-eight now. I've had decades of experience. There is no one better at this game than I am and I always win.
Check-motherfucking-mate.
Someone should've told this young woman what a real threat I am, but they never do. They don't care if she dies and neither do I.
"Justice Archer, one third of the deadly trio known as Nudiustertian." I stare at her with my own fixed gaze, not allowing myself to get bewitched by her emotive looks. Women like her often use their bodies as sex symbols to get attention, but it won't work on me. She is just another woman amongst a million others. There is nothing special about her, other than her kill record. Before me, she's never missed a target. "Where are your other partners, Trinity and Liberty?"
"Who?" Her dismissive glance is almost convincing, confirming my belief that she's a highly trained manipulator. A real life black widow stands in my presence and I have to squash her like the bug she is... but not right now.
