Run and Hide (Agent 47 x Reader)

Chapter 7: Counting

Counting away the money you still have left. As well as, remaining tense and worrisome. Unable to prevent the hands from shaking quivering from the emotion that drops into your stomach. The food, the transportation, to the bribing and being possibly robbed.

The fake account you made is still in use thankfully so orders like food or other things that can be picked up. It is still wrong to do it out in the open in your mind worrying over every little actions and misstep you made. But there always a risk to take. Your crimes of theft are all you can do to survive. Questioning when they will come hunting you down to apply judgment and punishment.

Walking off across the dirt roads viewing the beautiful scenery of France after a few days making the last minute choice to leave in the morning. Turning in your keys and left like the wind.

You are still exhausted wishing for the caffeine to kick in. Cars to large trucks pass by you walking to a randomly pick destination. That is miles away so you ride on a bike over to that place. Avoiding human interactions and it was a wish made a few hours.

A couple of nice French fellows stopped their truck offering a lift at the back to your destination with the best of their English. You knew a few words so thanking them for their kindness you just said this.

"Merci beaucoup." 

They laughed in glee and ending up having a nice chat with them. You simply stated that you are just a traveling hobo. Through and through despite how jokingly the tone is, you are dead serious. Even so, it was a good time with these men.

You told them you are going to a small town and you preferring the countryside more. They agreed with you as well as continuing the conversation on the ride with the back window slides open. Chatting ears off about the dumb things people have done while drunk to the small adventures one another has experience.

They drop you on a road that leads to Rue De La Babille. Walking down the road you begin to cross the fields again praying to not be spotted. It was tiring yet again walking on foot to the point feet became sore, but you finally reached it.

It was a lonely shack in the countryside rotting away in the radiating sun. Uninviting and for someone like you to be here is technical trespassing, but then again you went there and knocked on the door. The wood of the entrance creaks and squeaks in reaction to each knock that hangs onto the rusting hinges. No response after the passing minutes so you open the entrance stepping aside remain behind the door and pause. No sound or signs of life. 

Carefully you peer over the edge only eyes to be met with the barrel of a shotgun.

You stood there in fear until you blurted out one of the previous group's names. Blubbering out the list down like rapid fire. The gun cocks back to see a slightly filthy woman in her late thirties ready to hit forthy with a cigarette in her lips. Her force of violent nature has not been shaken nor faltered yet. She stares at you with a condescending look that flickers up and down to identify who the fuck you are.

She spoke in French rolling off with a mix of Russian and American accent. You responded with a gesture of hold on a minute to do the task of taking off a shoe. As you hopped around one-legged to reveal a tattoo. You sense familiarity glints her firey burn wood eyes. She backs further into the shack after she watches out for any spectators. But really hardly anyone messes around a shack where civilization is miles away. And who in the world would be on private property?

"Come on." She ordered. You did as she did since she is calling out the shots. Aging hair cannot be seen from a choppy buzzcut assuming she did it herself. Her shirt is more revealing on the back displaying the sigil of the old crew is painted around her shoulder blade above the heart. She puts the gun leading on the chair she drags out from under a table and asks you to take one as well.