The Mercenary
Being hunted is probably my least favorite part of this job.
Bark scrapes against the back of my exposed arms as I nestle myself against the tree as tightly as possible. I quietly damn the cold Oregon air for exposing my shallow breaths. Twigs snap in every direction.
Crap.
“Come on out now.” His voice is just as disgusting as the mouth it’s attached to, and I don’t even need to see his face to shudder. “We both know you’ve got nowhere left to run.”
Asshole. He probably thinks he’s finally going to be the one to best me, claim me as some kind of trophy. He's too much of a coward to even come for me himself, sending his men in first while he hides in the thickets. He’d probably mount my head on his wall, thinking my auburn hair the perfect accent to the gaudy gold trinkets that litter his office. A combination of rage and bile rise in my stomach at the thought, and I reach down to curl my fingers around the hilt of my blade, always safely secured on my thigh. It's an extenstion of myself, and I rarely feel complete without the cold steel pressing into my skin.
The sound of snapping twigs is getting closer, and I know his men are close to closing in on my location. It may not sound ideal, but it was exactly what I wanted. Without drawing them out, I'd never get to my target. Those big lugs are the only thing left standing between my blade and this jerk's throat. I grip the blade in my teeth and turn to face the tree. I jump to reach the lowest hanging branch and use my momentum to swing my feet forward, the traction of my boots gripping to another nearby tree limb. In a few silent moments I’m perched in the perfect position above, just in time to watch as a slight fog rolls in. I fucking love the weather here.
The bodyguards heads bob and weave through the branches as the circle around my tree, presuming to find me at the base. I almost feel bad for them. Some rich guy says he’ll pay them more money they could ever dream of to protect him, and they just blindly follow those dollar signs. Unfortunately for them, this time it leads to me. I’m being paid too, but at least I follow a set of morals when it comes to who I’m hired to take down. The entire Society holds on to morals about who they’re willing to take out, they don’t just see the monetary value on somebody’s head. I seize my moment as they lower their guns ever so slightly while the leader leans into the radio on his shoulder.
My bullet pierces through his throat before he can mutter a word. The others wave their pistols wildly in every direction as he drops to his knees, gurgling. His eyes meet mine and widen just before he falls completely, but he doesn’t even have a moment to gesture in my direction. Maybe it’s twisted, but I can’t help but give him a wink. The rest go down just as easy. One bullet for each of them and I count one still left in the chamber, though it won’t be used today.
Mr. boss man comes charging in, his eyes wide as he tries desperately to reach his chief of security over the talkie. The fear coursing through his veins combined with the settling fog completely blinds him to the fact that he’s about to trip over the body. His chubby ass hits the damp ground with a thud, and that’s my cue to reveal myself.
Slipping out of my hiding spot, I land perfectly in front of where he’s now laying in the mud. He digs his elbows into the soft earth trying to scramble away, but there’s no escaping me now. I bring my boot down on the ball of his foot, effectively twisting it in such a sour direction that the crunch of his bones whisper through the air with his screams. Definitely broken.
Keeping my pistol aimed at his head with one hand, I walk forward and hover over his torso, leaning down and using my other hand to brush my blade across his lips. A hiss whistles through his teeth as I come closer and closer to his face.
“Shhhhh. No need to be so dramatic, Arthur. Can I call you Arthur?” I smile as his lip quivers beneath my blade.
“Y-You?” His face pales as looks at me. He’s taken in my petite frame, the curves of my body, the long hair that’s fallen from the loose bun to frame my face. A part of me wants to hate seeing the surprise that always flashes across their faces at the person bringing their demise being a woman, but a bigger part of me lavishes in it. I slip my blade beneath his chin, forcing him to meet my violet eyes. It’s a rare genetic mutation I was born with, my eyes are truly brown but in just the right lighting there’s a perfect shade of violet. Tonight the moon’s light is bringing out the best of it, and I hope he can see the venom in my eyes as well, though the coloring is what gives away my identity.
“Go on,” I lean in closer, “What about me, Arthur?” My voice is raspy as I challenge him, the tip of my blade pushing just deep enough into the nape of his neck to draw a single drop of blood.
His voice is barely above a whisper as he trembles beneath me. “You’re the Mercenary.” My eyes roll at the nickname, so dramatic, though I do enjoy the fear it brings when it crosses my victims tongues, so I endure it.
“How observant.” I drawl sarcastically and smirk as the realization of his fate washes over his face, “And you, Arthur, are a very bad man who deserves to pay for the pain you caused that poor girl and her family.”
A rich man who drunkenly barreled his car into the side of a young seventeen-year-old girls Honda. A rich man who had just enough connections to escape any real charges while those girls parents had to watch as life support was pulled on their only daughter. A rich man who is going to die at the hands of The Mercenary.
His name was given to the Society, one that works without question to bring down those who’ve escaped justice. People like my parents, who were killed when I was only a drooling buddle of innocence the Society didn’t know what to do with. I was old enough to babble, so I was old enough to be a witness. They didn’t have much choice but to take me with them, naming me after the unique color of my eyes. Super original. Not the warmest environment to grow up in, but it’s given me quite the set of skills considering I was raised with the most lethal assassins in the world. Those skills have also given me quite the reputation. A reputation that is currently causing poor Arthur to lose any sense of hope he may have had of getting out of this situation.
Arthur’s head falls back against the earth in defeat, and he squeezes his eyes tight as he mumbles some sort of prayer. It’s enough to make me audibly laugh, “Oh please, don’t act pathetic enough to believe you’re going anywhere but straight to hell.”
His eyes bulge open as I drag my blade across his throat, fixated on me as he gasps for air. He’d exposed it so perfectly as he prayed to whatever god had damned him to be on my list.
Just as the last breath escapes his body, I lean down once more and whisper to his corpse, “Oh, and my name…is Violet.”