His Target, page 2
Cason grimaces and puts his phone back in his pocket. "Fine, I won't say anything, yet. But he's going to want to know what's up when he doesn't hear from you soon with an update, and the client isn't going to wait around long for a confirmation."
Dimitri hums. "Well, seeing as there was another hitman at your scene today, I would say that ship has already sailed. Or more than one person wants her dead."
The doorbell rings and I have to resist jumping out of my skin. Cason and I both move to get it. It's probably the doctor. I just hope he can patch her up without getting a hospital involved.
Chapter Two
Gwen
Voices surround me, but I don't recognize any of them. I was in my apartment. What the hell happened? I try to open my eyes but they flutter. A white ceiling above and someone stands over me. "This looks like a surface wound. You did a good job stopping the bleeding. We just need to give her something to keep her asleep while I do the stitches. I don't want her to jolt awake in the middle of it."
I try to move some fingers, anything to get my body to wake up more. The last thing I remember was laying on my couch watching a Spongebob marathon and being bored out of my mind, but I couldn't find anything better to watch. It wasn't like I could go do anything fun or make some friends. I have to lay as low as possible. I need to wake up more. I need to find out where I am. I can't be captured again. I worked too hard to get out.
A tear trails from my eye and down my cheek. I need to get up and get out of wherever I am. I'm not going back; I refuse to go back. Something pricks my arm.
"This should give her some relief from the pain and also have her sleeping for a few hours. It will give her body a chance to start healing, she's going to have to be careful with her movements for a few days. It's unfortunate that this is on her side. But she's lucky it didn't go deeper; it was super close to her kidney."
All at once, the voice grows fuzzy as I sink back into the comforting embrace of darkness where I can't feel anything.
Harold stands over me, his potbelly blocking out half his face from my place on the floor. Hot tears stream down my face, but I don't have the energy to fight any longer. My abdomen burns like a fire has scorched it. I can hardly get up the strength to feel it and see if my organs have come out of my body.
"You stupid, stupid girl. I've told you so many times, not to come out during my meetings and look where it has gotten you. Now you have to deal with that. Go clean yourself up and then clean up this mess."
"I'm sorry," I gasp as my vocal cords strain to work.
He kicks me in the thigh with his steel-toed boot. "You should be. Now get moving!"
My body protests every little movement as I flip myself over and use my hands to push myself to my feet. I stare down at my shirt in tatters as blood flows from a gash in my stomach. My organs aren't coming out, doesn't look deep enough for that, but it feels like it is.
Of course, the bastard would never cut deep enough to kill me, just leave a scar as a reminder of my punishment and to make sure no one will ever want me after they see how disgusting I look.
"Get moving! Clean this floor up before yourself. This will teach you to listen!"
Will it? I was trying to provoke him so he would kill me. I guess I'll have to keep trying.
My eyes open to the yellow light of a lamp. This is not my room. I try to sit up, but a sharp pain in my side cuts through me. I gasp and reach for it. Flashbacks to my dream spring up in my mind. No. It can't be because of him. The bastard is in a maximum-security prison. If he'd gotten out, my handler would've had me moved to a new location and given me another name change.
"Don't move too much. You'll rip your stitches, they're still fresh." A blonde woman comes over to me with a soft smile. I don't know what to think. She reaches out to touch me and I shy away from her the best I can.
"Don't worry, you're safe. My name is Ensley. I'm working to become an RN. You were just seen by a doctor and he's given you an antibiotic shot and stitched you up. Do you remember what happened to you?"
Shit, does she know I can't talk? I sign with my hands, "I don't remember."
She signs back quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you're deaf. Is this easier?"
I shake my head and keep signing. "I'm not deaf, I'm mute. You can talk."
"You were grazed with a bullet in your side. It looks like a through and through. We couldn't find any bullet. None of your organs were damaged. You got super lucky. All those layers of clothing helped save your life, I think. Slowed the bullet down or something.
I peer down at my body. It's covered by a sheet, but it's now I realize I don't have much on under it. I can feel it touching the parts of my stomach that still have feeling. I then look around again. "Where am I? This isn't a hospital."
She frowns. "That's a bit more complicated than I can answer. You're at a good house. I trust the people here with my life, but I don't know why they brought you here over a hospital. I've been left out of the loop. I can go get the man who brought you here. He'll have more answers than me, but I don't know if he knows ASL. The Bancrofts tend to surprise me though, so he might."
My heart thunders. A man? Could it be one of his men having finally found me? Wouldn't they want me to die though? Why bring me to a nice house and patch me up when they could've just put a bullet in my head and been done with it?
"I can use pen and paper if you have it? And can I have something to cover up more?" I feel so exposed. My layers give me security, and I don't have that right now.
She pulls out her phone. "You can use this and type on the notepad, I'll need it back before I leave though. I noticed you didn't have a phone on you." Her thumb moves over the screen before she hands it to me.
I stare at it. It's been so long since I had a phone like this. My handler kept my cellphone to a basic flip one, mostly so I could take calls from them and tap yes or no replies. They didn't want to give any of the men I'm hiding from a means of finding me through social media or anywhere else.
Next thing I know a large white comforter flies over me and floats down to the bed. I feel like I'm under a cloud. It's not as good as the clothes I'm used to wearing, but it will do for now.
"Thank you," I sign to her.
She smiles. "Of course. I'll send Porter in now if you want to speak to him?"
My heart hammers. Being around any man sets me on edge. I need to know what the hell is going on, I have no choice but to face my fears. I nod.
She smiles at me and I can't help but feel a bit of comfort that I won't get tortured wherever I am. Leaving the room, a moment later a man enters, followed by an older one.
I pull the comforter up more. I'd been expecting one strange man, not two.
The dark-haired one steps over to the bed, his brown hair swept back in a lazy pompadour. His strong jaw covered by scruff. His blue eyes stare at me, and for a second I almost want to believe that he has concern in them for me. The older one has gray streaks through his dark hair and brown eyes. His grey beard has more white in it. They stand at the same height as each other, and I can't help but feel they might be brothers. Other than the eye color and hair, their facial similarities are too similar to be cousins or friends.
He steps up to the bed and I bury myself more under the blanket. I don't like how close they are.
The one with blue eyes takes a step back and then pulls the older one over with him. "Easy. We're not going to hurt you. My name is Porter and this is my brother Cason. You're in his house right now."
I pull my hands out to sign and then remember the phone. I highlight the text and use the speech function on the phone for it to read it aloud. I'd missed being able to do this. Flip phones don't allow for it and I don't want to walk around with a dry erase board around my neck to communicate with people that don't know ASL.
"Why am I here? What happened? Shouldn't I be in a hospital?" The phone speaks for me.
They look at each other and Cason leans over to him and whispers something in his ear. Porter frowns and whispers something back to him. This goes on for a minute or so before they look at me. Porter runs a hand through his hair. He's attractive, but I've already learned just because they look nice doesn't mean they are.
He clears his throat. "We're going to be honest with you."
That's never a good thing. It could mean they're going to lie and want me to believe them.
"I was hired to kill you, but I'm not the one who hurt you. Another hitman was tailing you at the same time. I don't know what he was doing with his aiming, but it hit you in the side. I planned to hit you with a tranquilizer and take you off the map while I figured out why someone would want you dead. Because I also tailed you and I saw nothing that makes you someone of interest to be killed. You're not a mistress, drug dealer, the girl turned against her pimp, a person to lure children into something. You don't fit the mold for any of our typical kills. So why, Darcy Clemens, do so many people want you dead?"
I grimace. I hate that name. It's not my name. I haven't heard my name said in so long. If I didn't remind myself of it daily I would've forgotten it at this point. I'm Gwen Hastings, but no one has said that name in over ten years and I'm sure as hell not going to tell them who I really am.
Honestly, I feel inclined to believe them. Who would they make up that they're a hitman or that they were there when another one tried to kill me. If they wanted me dead then they had every chance before this to kill me. They could've just let me bleed out on my sofa bed. Oh lord, that means he was in my apartment and saw the state it was in.
I blink at him and then type into the phone so it will speak for me. "So, you're keeping me alive because you want to know what I'm wanted for?"
No one should know why they want me dead. The WPP said they made me disappear after testifying at Harold's trial that got him three consecutive life sentences with no possibility of ever being paroled. I thought after that monster was behind bars my life could begin for real. I could experience everything I'd missed out on for the last ten years of my life but little did I know he still had a myriad of friends in the same circles that knew what I had done and wanted me dead for it.
The WPP quickly found out that I would have to go into deep hiding. I've been living on the outskirts of New York, not in the city, not in the rich suburbs. Just in some crappy studio apartment I still have to pay for with my job at a grocery store. I can't make friends because anyone could be spying for the sex trafficking ring that wants me dead. They have people of all ages forced to work for them. I'd been one of them once I was too old for their typical clientele.
All I've known is pain and it seems like that's all I'll ever continue to know.
Porter rubs at the back of his neck. "Well, if you don't tell me, then I have to kill you. At this point, you’re a hit on a list and a liability because you know my secret."
A raspy laugh leaves me. I hate my laugh, I hate my voice, but he's gotten a chuckle out of me. I hurry my response. "Who am I going to tell? The ghosts in my apartment? If you've been watching me then you already know that I'm alone. I have no one. I talk to no one. But if you have a job to do then by all means take me out back and shoot me. There's no point in trying to convince you to let me live. There will be more like you, I'm sure. This isn't the first time. And hearing my story isn't going to change that. I'll just have to move states and change my name all over again."
They stiffen at my words. What? Have they never met someone on their list, or whatever it is that's willing to die? What do I have to live for at this point? I don't even have a fish at home waiting for me.
Cason pulls his brother from the room even though his blue-eyed gaze never leaves mine until the door is shut.
I sigh and put the phone on the bedside table for if that woman comes back. I look around. Dusk is setting in outside. I have no idea where I am, but I have to assume New York somewhere. I doubt he would take me across state lines or on a plane to get medical attention. Sure. I could try to get away. Jump through that window and run. But there are two issues with that.
One, I'm certain I'm not wearing more than my bra and sweats. I'm sure as hell not going to run around naked. That's just going to get me the wrong attention, and what I said to him is true. There will be more after him, so what's the point of running anymore? I'm tired. I'm not living as it is. I'm barely surviving. I haven't gotten to experience love or true friendship since I was a child. I had hopes that one day I could find someone who could look past my scars and baggage and love me, but I'm too afraid to let anyone in because any of them could be spies wanting to pull me back in. I rather die now than have to go through any more of what I've had to do.
I just hope they don't take forever.
Chapter Three
Porter
I've been doing this job for nearly half my life. Since I was eighteen, twenty years of this, and never have I had someone look me right in the eye and tell me that they want to die. To go ahead and shoot them. Granted, a lot of my hits don't know they're going to die, but those that have gotten a chance to speak to me beforehand have always begged for their lives. Those were the scumbags of the Earth.
That woman in there doesn't seem like a single one of them. I've met a lot of psychopaths good at faking innocent, but I don't think she's a psychopath. I've seen raw, deep emotions play over her face when she didn't think anyone was watching. I watched her cry herself to sleep every night while the TV never ceased playing. She always had some kind of noise going on.
"Well, what are you going to do? This is your hit, your call, Porter."
Cason’s voice reaches my ears as he whispers at me so Ensley and Josie in the other room won't hear him. Dimitri went to pass out in their second guest room after drinking himself to sloshed. I guess he does have a problem. At least he'd been sober enough to help us out with her.
I look at the door. I shake my head. "For once in my fucking life, I can't do it. I can't look her in the eyes and shoot her and I can't poison her either. I know in my gut she's innocent. She's a victim. Maybe one that even spoke up, and now people want her dead. I'm sure of it. She's done nothing wrong that I've seen. She just seems tired of life. Which is sad because I'm pretty sure she's only twenty-one."
Cason runs his fingers through his hair and licks his lips. "I think I have to agree with you for once. That look that she gave us wasn't a look I've ever seen on any of the faces of the hits I've done. That’s the face of a tired, beaten woman who's reached the end of her rope and doesn't want to run anymore.”
He sighs. “I'm sure we're right about her being in the WPP. That's the only reason why she wouldn't show up with any history before four years ago. If you cut her loose and tell Dad why there will just be more hitmen after her from different circuits. Taking her to the WPP seems like your only option. She's not going to talk about us. Who's going to believe her? She's mute, and no hitman would leave her alive. They can at least place her somewhere else and that will throw them off her trail for a little while."
Until it happens again. But what else can I do for her other than kill her? I don't know if I can. Not with knowing what I know. I know she's not a monster and after seeing those scars on her body, I know she's been through some shit. It doesn't seem fair.
I nod, even though the thought twists my gut. "I'll escort her to the FBI, and they can get her to the WPP."
"Take her with you, tonight. I don't want her in the house longer than needed. Not with Josie here and pregnant. If someone else has tracked you and her here, I'll never forgive you for putting my family at risk. I've already arranged for a van with our cleaners to come by to take the body out of your trunk. You can't be driving around with that."
I arch a brow. We normally only call in our clean-up crew if a massive hit has taken place. More than three bodies kind of job. They're paid well to dispose of our bodies that we never want to be found as well. Having the equipment to dissolve a body completely within a day. "You sure?"
"Yeah, I've already contacted our friends at the power company. This neighborhood will lose power for ten minutes and knock out the streetlights. That should give you more than enough time to make the switch and no one will see it happen. The light pollution here isn't bad like it is in the city."
"When?" I look at the door she's behind.
"Half an hour. So have her be ready by then. Do you have a bag so that she can borrow a shirt from you or something?"
I shake my head. "It's currently under his body. I wasn't thinking that far ahead. As it is, I'm probably going to have to burn it."
Cason sighs. "I think she's too small for Josie's clothes, and I wouldn't even ask her if she could fit. She can have one of my shirts. Go tell her what's happening. The FBI will take you almost two hours to get to from here. That should give her enough time to get used to the idea. Maybe you can stop and get some of her stuff if it's on the way."
He heads up the stairs as Josie and Ensley laugh over something from the dining room. I don't know if they're just doing it to break the tension in the house or if Josie has honestly gotten used to the craziness that is our family. I guess it's for the best if she's used to it.
Sighing, I open the door. Her head is turned toward the window and she stares out of it. She looks so sad. My ASL is super rusty, I haven't used it for almost fifteen years, but I know enough. Having a deaf girlfriend from my freshman to junior year of college had me near fluent for a while. But we broke up when she graduated and I still had a year left.
"Hey."
Her head turns in my direction and I sign to her, showing that I know ASL.
Her eyes widen, she sits up a bit more and grimaces before signing, "You know ASL?"
I nod. "I'm rusty so don't go on a rant, but I should be able to make out what you're saying. I'm going to drop you off in front of the FBI. They can get you in touch with your handler at the WPP and work something else out from there."
