Beautiful But Deadly

THIRTY-FOUR

Genesis's POV

There was something in my house.

No there was someone in my house, I thought as the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed downstairs. I pressed my back against the wall where I stood at the top of my stairs.

My Glock 19 was pressed against my thigh as I leaned forward to try and figure out just who was in my house.

From what I could gather the person breaking into my house wasn't a professional. Their steps were uncoordinated and loud as they bumped carelessly into my furniture. They didn't seem to know what they were doing as I could hear no pattern in their footsteps.

Making the decision that the burglar was probably some low life looking for an easy score I walked slowly down my stairs glad that the new house I had bought didn't have creaky steps.

I descended them quickly but quietly and paused for just a moment, listening for where the intruder was. Predicting that he was still in my living room I stepped out and held my gun up. "Excuse me I think you've got the wrong hou-" My words were cut off rather abruptly as I met molten brown eyes that once made me weak at the knees. Now though all I felt was a cruel and cold betrayal. "Hunter." I spat.

The older assassin tried and failed to smile as he covered his side with his hand, I could just make out the crimson blood leaking through his tight shirt. "Hey sweetheart, been a while."

He then collapsed on my floor.

"Well then," I muttered staring down at the unconscious body of my ex-boyfriend. Laying on his stomach I noticed that his once white shirt was now stained with crimson, only small patches of white hinted at the color his shirt once was.

Stretching my leg out, I used my foot to flip his body over so he was lying on his back. He groaned with pain slightly as the hardwood floors of my new house irritated the wounds that were undoubtedly carved into the flesh on his back.

Hunter looked more like a corpse than anything with his right hand stretched out as though he was reaching for something and his other was pressed against his stomach where the was a nice patch of red blood blooming through his white t-shirt growing bigger and bigger by the second. His skin was deathly pale not even a trace of his once beautifully tanned skin, even his pink lips had started to turn a bluish color. His brown hair was clumped together with a substance I didn't even want to begin to think about. Various dark bruises lined his once strong cheekbones leaving him looking nothing like the strong assassin he was supposed to be.

I scoffed as I looked down at Hunter's pathetic form and I took a moment to revel in the pure undiluted joy the sight of his not-so-dead body gave me.

For years I had wanted his body lying at my feet. Although my imagination was nothing quite like this. Sure my fantasy had him bleeding and crying out for mercy on his knees before I tore his heart out but that was at my own hands, no one else's.

Crouching I peeled back his shirt and took a second (And only a second, please let that be known) to appreciate Hunter's delectable form. Even while he was dying he could still look so damn attractive. The smooth planes of his stomach had been cut open though in various places. There were slashes and other wounds from weapons even I couldn't identify, his flesh was practically peeling open in a way that made my lip curl back in distaste.

Whoever had done this to Hunter lacked serious finesse. There was no strategy to where the person had cut him, no thought in how to cause the most pain. The person had clearly just hacked into him perhaps just for the sake of seeing him bleed. I mean that I could understand Hunter was handsome and a good assassin (usually) but he was pompous prick half the time. He was always in a competitive stare of mind and talked more than he thought. Most of the people who knew Hunter wanted to do nothing more than shut him up with words or weapons.