killer, gbd (EDITING)

1

My feet pound against the macadam below them, my legs clearing ground quickly. I hear the chorus of gun shots fire from behind me, each of the bullets finding a home in the dumpster directly ahead. One after one them fire and with a pang put a new hole in the large metal container.

Upon reaching it, I jump up and tuck my legs to my chest, giving myself a boost with my hands. The metal digging into my palms, but the sensation doesn't last long. Another large jump surges me over the brick wall behind the dumpster. Unprepared, I land hard and tumble, the hard gravel biting into the skin that covers my arms and legs.

In pain, I roll to my back. Wincing with every move, I take in a sharp breath between my teeth. I aim for the top of the wall down the short barrel of my gun, waiting for my opponent's head to appear.

With years of training those jumps for me were easy, for someone without any practice, it's going to be a painful pull. Especially considering the fact that he had a hard time following after me in pursuit.

I see his head peek over the top of the wall, suck in my breath, and shoot. I listen as I hear the body drop to the lid of the dumpster, then smack to the ground in a lifeless heap. I curl my lip in distaste and look up at the fire escapes that shield a portion of my view from reaching the night sky.

I drop my hands to my side, letting the gravel bite at them again. Inhaling deeply through my nose, I allow my tired eyes to close. I exhale in a sigh, another mission completed, more enemies eliminated.

I sit up, examining the brush burn on my palm and forearms. Blowing gently on my palms, I slowly ease myself upward until I'm standing. Reaching down, I pick my gun up off the ground pop out the magazine. Peering down the top, I see that's it's empty.

Having no need for it, I wipe down the handle and throw the weapon back over the wall, giving the police a murder weapon to ponder over. My fingerprints are useless to them, they will never know I was here. Though I rarely honor it, a curtesy amping most agents is to let a dead man lay with his gun, and since it wasn't mine to take in the first place, it seems fitting that he should have it. Even in death.

Checking for cameras and eyes, I walk down the dark alley onto the sidewalk. The dim street lights guide me. So early in the AM, the city has an unsettling ease to it. Like most places in the world, horrible things are happening everywhere, but the unbroken silence gives the illusion of peace. The city is a quiet lake, the still surface conceals the commotion beneath.

Not sure yet of where I should crash, I keep my eyes up and read the store signs. Surprisingly, I don't pass any people, my only company on my walk is a small stray cat. Her tail flicks as she watches me, green eyes glowing through the darkness. Stricken with curiosity, she follows me until finding a mouse to chase.

A burning pain grows in my arm as the adrenaline of the chase begins to wear off. I brush my hand off on my pants before placing it over the hurt, the site is abnormally warm under my palm and wet with blood. As expected, my hand comes back into view streaked with red. Taking a step under a nearby street light, I examine the wound. It looks to be a bullet skim, deeper and wider then my brush burn, but still only meeting the surface of my arm. I consider myself lucky.

The silence in the air breaks with the sound of an engine, a ripple in the peaceful lake. Not expecting the disturbance, I shift back into the shadows of the buildings, eyeing the street carefully. Assuming nothing troubling can come from a local, I walk slower and wait for the car to pass.

The car drives past me, but comes to a stop not far from my place on the sidewalk. The car is a convertible, and the roof has been folded down, exposing the man sitting behind the wheel. A glare stiffens my brow and narrows my eyes. I continue to walk, checking for an alley or street way to turn down to avoid any confrontation he could wish to have.

But ahead is nothing, so to comfort myself, I gently tap my thigh, feeling for my sly knife. It's absence irritates me, not out of fear, but out of inconvenience. My memory reminds me that my knife is still back in the apartment building my targets were staying at, it rests in someone's chest instead of on my leg.

As I near the car, I size up the man at the wheel, as a precaution. Broad shoulders, which means he is strong, tall, or both. The blue lights coming from the controls on his dashboard highlight the strongest features of his face. I catch his eyes staring back at me. I glare at him until I can no longer look him in the eye.

"Get in," The man says, a demand, not an offer. I keep walking, not giving the satisfaction of an eye roll or scoff. He revs my engine as if doing so would make him more intimidating, I nearly laugh. "They're following you." He warns, sparking my attention now. Slowing my pace, I think to myself for a moment, he could be a threat. Intrigued by what he thinks he knows, I turn to him with tight brows.

His has the features of a high school pretty boy, not a threat, not a person who should be feared. Not one scar damaged his smooth complexion. But when I get a closer look into his eyes, I see the illusion of danger. They are dark, not in color, but with intention.

"I don't see anyone," I shrug and mock him by looking down the street dramatically. "Do you?" I raise my brows and wait for his response. His eyes roll in his head, his finger knead into his temple.

"They'll be here, give it about 3 minutes. You eliminated your targets but not their back up," He shrugs, a smug smile pulling at his lips. His eyes stare into me, holding a challenge.

I open my mouth to speak, but think better of it. So I turn away from him and continue walking. "De Luca is dead, she was killed and the safe house liquidated. You can't go back." My breathing hitches, my jaw falling open. De Luca is the head director at the safe house that I had been based out of.

"Who are you?" I ask, overwhelmed with the news of my boss's death, and the fact that a strange had found out before me, one of her most beloved agents.

Instead of telling me, he leans across the car and opens the passenger door. Feeling the threat of tears, I take a deep breath and walk to the passenger side, lowering myself into the car. The young man looks over to me, studying me for a moment before driving off.

"The ones that killed her work for the same man your targets follow. They're dead, but the safe house completely fell apart. Everyone is scattering." With one hand on the wheel, the other props his head up, holding his hair back in the wind.

"Is that where you were based?" Another glance confirms what I have been thinking, we have never met. I would have easily recognized him.

"No," His jaw clenches.

"Then why did they send you to get me?" None of it makes sense. The safe house is one of very few. They are the impossible to break into without having extensive knowledge of the security protocols. If he isn't one of De Luca's agents then why would they send him?

"She trusted me, I was in with her for a meeting when it happened. A group of them stormed the room." He shakes his head. "I shot each of them, but not fast enough." He bites down on his bottom lip and grows silent for a moment. "It was her dying request that I come to get you." He glances over to me, holding my gaze for a moment.

A tear slips down my cheek as I look at him. "Was she in pain?" I dread the answer, but would hate myself if I didn't know.

"She bled out quickly," Swallowing, he takes a breath. "It was less then a minute. With all of the adrenaline, I'm sure she didn't feel the pain of her wounds."

The car stays silent for a while, he speeds over empty back roads with one hand on the wheel. Though I don't know it, he seems to have a final destination in mind.

"Are you hurt?" He asks, breaking the silence. The acceleration of the car presses me back into my seat. If De Luca favored him, then he has just as much, if not more, training then me, so the speeding doesn't scare me like it would with anyone else.

"I got clipped by a bullet," I tell him, pulling my arm to the side to examine the wound again.

His head turns to face me, the car still plummeting down the road. I watch as his eyes skim over my arm. "I'm taking you back to a cabin that was prepared for us. You can clean up there." I nod, watching as the density of buildings fades out. Our speed only increases as we drives out of the city and into back roads lined with a thick tree line.

"Why the hurry?" I question.

"They're looking for me too."