Saved by the Outlaw(70)

The guard meanders a while longer before turning, heading back in and shutting the door.

I lower my gun, slip it back into my pocket and carry on, sidling along until I can climb up over the railing onto the balcony. I can peer in through the glass doors, into the hallway there. The suite beyond is massive, I know: I looked into it ahead of time. But the hallway is guarded by that lone security man.

Slipping the knife from my belt I ever so carefully open the door, which I earlier jammed so it never quite locks, though it appears to. The sounds of laughter and music from the partiers immediately fill my senses.

With smooth, quick motions I simultaneously wrap my gloved hand around the guard’s mouth and slide the blade into his back. I pierce his flesh right between his ribs, the long blade puncturing his heart then slicing through it and his lung.

He’s dead, can barely even kick before it’s all over. I don’t take any time to revel in my victory. He’s just one on a long list of guys who I snuffed out.

I drag his body back out onto the balcony, wiping the blade off onto his blazer before I slip back inside. Time is of the essence now, the clock is ticking. But I can’t hurry this, can’t do anything more than carry on at my precise killing pace.

Another guard walks into the hallway, rounding the corner, and I’m on him quick and smooth. Hand over his mouth as my blade slices through his breast, ending his life. Ending lives is what I’m best at, and now I’m in my groove. It’s not really a rush so much as an energy, feeding off these bastards deaths.

Two guards down, four more to go.

I drag the body into the bathroom, stuffing him into the tub, pulling across the shower curtain. Before I can leave one of the party goers comes in. He’s tipsy, doesn’t notice me as I keep pressed to the wall behind a recess. He unzips, and I hear the sound of his pissing.

His life is ended in the blink of an eye. Never even had time to make peace with whatever God he prays to, poor sap. Not like a prayer would do guys like this any good.

Back into the hall I head towards the private bedrooms. A guard waits outside two of them, and there’s no way I can approach him without him seeing me, so it’s time for the gun.

One shot. A soft hiss of air. He’s down, a hole in his forehead and a splatter of blood over the wall. It’s messy. This is why I prefer the knife. I rush in to grasp his body before he can hit the ground. I jab the blade up into his skull from beneath his jaw anyhow, making sure it’s done as I lower him down to the floor gently.

Then I listen at the doors.

One room is empty, the other I hear two people inside. Sounds of moans, sex. They’ll be distracted, making the kills even easier.

I head inside casually, the door opening to show them at the bed. One with his pants around his ankles, the other man on his knees. No sign of the woman.

I fire a shot and that ends the man’s pleasure, but just as the other man realizes he’s now fellating a corpse I end him too. It worked well; neither got to cry out in the brief span it took me to kill them. Small favors.

I only have moments to get the rest of the job done. A bullet to the head is no absolute guarantee, people have lived through stranger things, and I make sure they’re dead with my dagger once again before heading back out.

Nothing short of absolute success is acceptable to my employer. Nobody survives. That was the terms of our contract. The stakes are too high for anything but.

But as I’m exiting the room a guard arrives just in time to see the mess of his comrade, splattered over the wall. That’s why I hate guns. So messy. I can generally control the spurt of blood from my dagger, until I’m done positioning the corpse.

Everything would go to hell here and now, if I wasn’t so well practiced at death. This is my life. I live it, breathe it. It’s what I’m good at. Before he can utter a word, my hand is at his mouth, grasping tightly. He’s reaching for the gun at his belt, but I stop him, grasping his hand.

The conundrum is that while I stopped him from sending warning to his fellow guards and getting his weapon, my two hands are now tied up as well.

He glares at me, a death stare. If looks could kill he’d be as good an assassin as I am.

I let him push me back though, and we’re backpedaling into the gory murder scene of the bedroom. This guy’s good. He’s not distracted by the scene at all as I hoped he would be. Maybe he’s born into death too. I have to up my game.

I head-butt him, and blood gushes from his nose. It’s enough to set him off balance, so I twist around, get behind him, and then force him to the floor. My two hands are still occupied, and I can’t risk letting him speak or get his gun, so I make use of other limbs.