Hitman (on hold)

Chapter 6

So much work...Sorry it took so long... I'm losing faith in this story.

Dedication to a person who writes awesome stories and is HILARIOUS! Fan her! Fan her now ;)

This is how I became a hitman...

I went to check on Emily.  In other words, I broke into her house.

I did a quick recon, saw if I could find anything suspicious.  I don't know, maybe body bags...A body...Even a gun could be of my suspicion.  I knew that all I had to do was kill her, and get the money, but I really wanted to know why she was on my target list.  She seemed innocent, sweetly, deceivingly innocent.  

A wolf in sheep's clothing.

I could go through how I scanned everything in that house, leaving no rock unturned, but that would bore you to death.  Hm...Maybe I could use that as a new tactic.  

I was looking through her drawers when I heard a voice behind me.

"Um...John? Why are you looking in my underwear drawer?!"

I whirled around like a...whirlwind...um...And saw lovely Emily standing in front of me, gun in hand.

"Why, hello.  Fancy meeting you here." I replied coolly.

"Well I do live here, and you broke into my house, so yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Yeah...funny story..." I sprinted for the doors.  But something blocked me at the last second.

"Going somewhere?" Emily had me in a tight grip, hands behind my back.  My gun (I have no idea how she found it in my jacket so fast), was now on the floor, far from my reach.  

"Someone's been watching Bond lately!" I manage.

"That's for me to know." She yanked my arms criss-crossed over my back.  I choked back a string of colorful words.  

"Oh dear Johnnie! Why are you in my house?"

Emily's POV

So imagine me, waltzing into my house, walking up the stairs, and casually walking into my room when I see the hottie from the library rifling through my "feminine attire" drawer! Of course he was able to fire some witty responses, but I stopped him before he could fire anything else.

Now he was in my arms, with his arms crossed across his back in a position that could floor most men with pain.  But he didn't even utter a word, much less a grunt.

"Oh dear Johnnie! Why are you in my house?" 

He grinned.  The nerve.  "Oh you know, just passing through."

"Oh, now tell me Johnnie, do you want my knife to pass through your head?"

Now he gulped.  "Maybe another day.  Oh, and it's not like I'm the one with all the explaining to do.  You're the dainty little maiden who has stopped a grown man, is as strong as Chuck Norris, and has been taking lessons from James Bond himself!"

"Let's just say I grew up with a lot of brothers.  Now speak up, Seinfeld."

"Would you believe me if I said I was just creeping on you?"

"Yes.  But that's not all.  Why do you have a gun."

"Because I bought it."

"WHY DO YOU NEED A GUN!" I almost screamed.

"TO SHOOT PEOPLE WITH! Ok? Happy now?"

I let him go.  With a voice of quiet intensity, like the one your mom uses when she gets on to you at church, I said, "Who do you need to shoot?"

"You."