Nessa Fleming is a photographer.
Dexter Smith is an assassin.
Everyone wants them dead.
But neither Dexter nor Nessa are what they appear to be and they are both keeping dangerous secrets.
Cover by meha-k
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I had always been a light sleeper. I heard everything that went on at night. Every time someone went to the bathroom or went to the kitchen for a midnight snack, I knew.
It didn't help that this house was always making noise. There was no such thing as a quiet floorboard, or none-rickety steps, or a door that didn't creek.
As a kid, I loved it because I felt like a spy. Now, living alone in the same old house, with squeaky floorboards, croaking steps, and creaky doors, it scared the living hell out of me.
Because now, I lived alone.
My first thought was maybe it was a dream. My imagination playing tricks on me in the late night. Then I distinctly heard the bottom step croak.
I had to force down the rising panic in my chest.
There was only one reason someone would come into my house. Murder.
It was obvious I didn't have anything worth stealing.
I quickly sat up in bed, using my covers as a shield. I listened harder.
My suspicions were confirmed as the person took another step.
I flipped over the side of my bed as quietly as possible. The sound of rustling bed sheets was deafening to me as I kicked them away revealing my favourite pyjamas.
I reached under my bed, pulling out my trusty pink bat from my softball days. After all, a girl needs some sort of protection.
There was no way I was going to let someone just break into my house.
This was my house. I was going to protect it all cost.
Slowly I staggered to my bedroom door, bat already in position. My bare arms holding the bat over my head just the way my coaches taught me. My head held high. Confidence radiated from me.
I wasn't just some helpless little girl. I was Nessa Fleming.
Whoever was out there, guarantee I had faced worse. One little murderer, was nothing.
I moved my hand to twist the doorknob for a sneak attack. Get them before they could get me.
Just as I was about to touch it, the knob started turning from the other side.
Now, I had full intentions of defending my house heroically. I really did.
But something about the idea of being brutally murdered changed all that as my heart jumped into my throat. My courage ran from me like a stray dog, as fear and desperation replaced it.
