He should have known the night would end up going wrong. The process had gone far too smoothly—the target had agreed to meet in that clearing with no questions asked. The guy hadn’t even bothered to ask his name. And the men who’d rushed him, tearing out of their cover in the dark woods, should not have surprised him like that. 

Of course, it hadn’t stopped him from making quick work of them. 

He laughed to himself, imagining the cops struggling to make sense of the scene. The wannabe brawlers and bodyguards lying beaten in pools of their own teeth and blood, the old bastard paying them slumped in his own corner of the clearing with a star-tipped round lodged deep in his brain. That had always been his favorite part, getting to glare into terrified eyes as he pulled the trigger, ending another self-obsessed life with a hot inch of lead.

He risked a glance off the dark road ahead as the moon cleared the puffy shards of cloud, a silver-white sliver in a starless black sky. He groaned faintly in pain, the throb of cracked ribs pushing past the fading buzz of adrenaline. He revved the bike’s engine, the growls of the tricked out machine echoing behind him as he sped down the wet, empty road. The burn of the knife slash across his bruised knuckles didn’t do a thing to ease his mood.

They better not fucking short me this time.

He pressed on the break as the meeting place came into view—a squat, derelict building that had been abandoned for decades, if not a century. He came to a careful stop in the overgrown ruins of the parking lot, the old bandana he’d tied around his hand damp with sweat and blood. The small flashlight he tugged from his pocket as he climbed off couldn’t be tracked like a phone; he flicked it on and took a cursory look around, his open jacket fluttering like bat wings in the late night breeze.

The red paint was faded, cracked and flaking, patches worn to the rotted siding underneath, shards of window glass glinting in a narrow beam of cold blue light. The door had long since broken off the rust-eaten hinges, lying in pieces at his feet, gnawed and scratched by the animals that had made this place home. He ducked past the broken cobwebs hanging in the frame, tugging up his hood when he saw they were worse inside. The striped wallpaper was rotted and peeling, shredded to pieces, the walls layered with dirty rainbows of graffiti. Chunks of crumbling plaster laid scattered across the cracked and pocked floors. Dust filtered through the stale air with every step, disturbing the tracks that streaked and dotted it, making him grateful for the half mask they made him wear to hide his face. He dodged a busted bulb clinging to a stripped wire, the crunch of glass beneath his boots abnormally loud in this silent, dismal place.

It’s actually starting to creep me out, he admitted silently, swiping at his tearing eyes with his sleeve. The visor on his helmet had broken off, so he’d been stuck with the wind and dirt from the road blowing into them.

“You took your sweet time,” a deep, harsh voice said behind him. He knew the heavy accent well, though the words were still hard to understand. He turned toward the chilling tone, thankful that, at least, no longer got to him. He glared at the man dressed in black in the shadowed corner, hating the smug, mocking smile in the near colorless eyes that were all he could see.

“He brought friends,” he answered flatly, then shrugged carelessly. “I took care of them, though.”

The other man chuckled.

“As you always do, don’t you?”

He reached in the fuzzy outline of the bag at his side and took out one of several large yellow envelopes.

“Your money’s in there,” he tossed it, dust clouding as it hit the floor. “And some info about your new job, I think you’ll like this one.”

He chuckled again, then turned to slip through another doorway, the door itself hanging crookedly by one broken hinge. The agent waited until he was sure the ‘messenger’ had gone before snatching his prize; he didn’t let his guard down as he headed out, even as he pushed off his hood to tug on his helmet.

Freak.

The wind had continued to pick up, rustling through the branches overhead. He climbed on his bike, woke the engine and sped away, not wanting to linger out there any longer than he had to. He’d barely gotten away in one piece last time. 

The moon was setting when he made it home, stowing his bike in the garage and cutting straight to his room. He dropped gracelessly on his bed, sighing at the familiar comfort before turning his head toward the packet he’d tossed on the nightstand. He groaned softly in annoyance as he sat back up to grab it, knowing he’d never get to sleep if he didn’t open it now. He snatched the knife from his belt and sliced it open, making sure the stacks of bills matched his price before switching his focus to the folded packet at the bottom. His eyes narrowed when he saw the note scrawled across the top of the first page.

‘This job is going to be different. You’ve been assigned to protect this girl, not to kill her.’

He groaned again; he was a field agent, not a bodyguard. He scanned the information quickly, noting her red belt in karate, thinking this might not be as boring as he had thought. Several photographs were paper-clipped to the last page—a dark-haired girl about seven, standing with her big brother or a cousin in front of a coffee shop. She was older in the second shot, maybe twelve, slightly crouched as she got ready to shoot a basket, the hoop attached to a pale blue house above a white garage door. He rolled his eyes and skipped to the last one, his mouth going dry as he sucked in a breath.

The picture showed her from the waist up, not much younger than him; her beaded teal bikini was the perfect contrast for her soft copper skin. She lounged on her side with one arm in front of her, her other hand gliding through long, luscious waves of thick brown hair. He ached to lose himself in those deep green eyes, amplified by thick black lashes and warm gray eyeshadow. Her full, glossed red lips were poised in a seductive smile. He swallowed thickly, turning back to the first page.

‘Name: Sione, Lena A

Date of Birth: 13 July 1997

Current Location: Blackwood Cove, California’

At least he knew where to find her, but her file made it sound like she’d lived a perfectly normal life, so why would she need protection, and why him? Had one, or both of her parents done something shady, or gotten themselves into some kind of trouble? He let out a breath, set everything on his nightstand and laid back, hands behind his head, echoes of her face flashing before his eyes as he felt himself nodding off.

Guess I’ll just have to find out.