The Games We Play

9. Eight - X

Eight - X

How well will you do what you’re told , Puppet ?

Her slightly grainy image walks across campus through the security footage. She checks behind her periodically. Could she be looking for me? I had to leave her, relying on the camera I hid in her house to hold me over. The nights she dips her fingers between her legs and arches her beautiful body, I know she is thinking about me sinking my cock deep inside of her.

I should have killed that miserable frat boy slowly for what he did to her. I’ve demolished two punching bags, picturing it over and over in my mind.

I’m sorry it was so bad for you ; Puppet screamed at me before I left. She doesn’t realize just how fucking bad. I want to burn her goddamn house down, hoping the memories would go with it. I needed eyes on her at all times to ensure my prize stays in one piece. I’m the only one who will break her.

No one else .

It was easy to slit the boy’s throat and watch him bleed out, but the aftermath was the hard part. I called in a few favors, cut his body up myself, and drove his car to the edge of the lake with frat boy pieces shoved in the trunk before sinking the evidence. Puppet is a witness, but I noted the look in her eyes when she saw the blood. I know it well. It’s the same look I wear for my job. It’s a mask I pull on when I disassociate myself from feeling. Not everyone I’m hired to kill deserves their end.

I’ve become the definition of cold-blooded. No questions asked.

She’s not ready to take someone’s life. Not yet. I need to know she’s strong enough to handle what comes after—the nights when your victims’ eyes stare back at you, void of life. When you hear their last words echoing on the long drive home, I can’t have her breaking before she fulfills her purpose.

She’s already smoking and drinking more than I want. It’ll be a matter of weeks before the fucking pills are out of her system. They want to hide who she truly is; I want her to be unleashed. I want to become her addiction. Instead of a joint slipping between those supple lips, it’ll be my cock she’s worshiping.

Then, I’ll ruin her, strip it all away until she’s bare and on display.

Hacking the school systems is easy enough. They like to tell their students and staff it isn’t, but with a couple of codes, I was right in. I’ve dived into the background of her professors and anyone else who might pose a threat to her. Her English teacher is the most interesting. He’s certainly on my list of past times if I find myself bored and need to a fulfilling hunt.

I never expected to fixate on her this hard. I planned to get close to her, do what needs to be done, and be on my way…after I find him .

Simply one night of fun to find the answers I need. But each time I’m away from her, I’m at war with myself to rush back. Some nights I just stand by her bed, watching her sleep and fight in her dreams. The nights her room doesn’t smell like weed are the nights she fights the hardest.

I understand why she smokes, but I want to show her there are other ways to fight your demons. Ways that make you stronger, not dependent on something temporary.

I run my gloved hand over my slicked-back hair and place my gun in the hidden holster at the waist of my dress pants before checking myself in the floor-length mirror. My room is conveniently placed across from tonight’s target.

I press down my employee attire and stride to the door. As expected, there is a rolling cart of the target’s room service. Other than that, the hall is empty. I’m already bored with how easy this is.

Grabbing the cart, I knock on the door.

“Room service,” I say and keep my expression neutral, as if I do this all the time. There’s no response.

I knock again.

Nothing. With the off chance he’s in the shower, I pull the master key card from my pocket and watch as the keypad flashes green. Leaving the cart, I ready my gun and slip inside the dark hotel room. I listen for any sign of the target. There’s no running water coming from the bathroom. No noise from the television.

Could he have somehow slipped out without us noticing? I lower my weapon and almost grab my phone to make the call when I feel an overwhelming sense of death .

It’s hard to explain how the mind perceives the heaviness in a room. Perhaps the energy in the air shifts. Maybe you respond to the grim reaper’s scythe skittering down your spine.

It doesn’t matter how, but I know there is death in this room. Gripping my gun once more, I walk around the king-size bed with careful steps. Death means blood, and I can’t risk leaving a trace that I was here.

After checking the shower, I glance around and note the only space left is the small closet near the entrance of the room. I brace my back on the wall and push it open a crack. The dim lighting is enough to show the target’s body strategically poised with ropes tied to the hanging rack.

Like a puppet master holding his hand up, one in a waving position, the other on top of his head.

Rage courses through my system. Someone knew about our target. Someone else did my job. I snap a picture of his face and send the message, letting the boss know someone beat us to the punch.

Not only that, but they took my pay and cost me on this trip.

It’s not uncommon for a person to hire two different services to solve a problem. In the end, someone loses. It simply doesn’t happen to us .

I take my time checking the hotel for any clues about who was here, not risking staying too long and having someone stumble upon me.

Talk about the wrong place, wrong time.

Whoever did the job was efficient. There’s not a blood trail to show where the target was killed or a sign of struggle. Likely poison.

I close the door behind me, the mechanic keypad whirring locked, and step back into my room before getting noticed.

An uneasy feeling coats my skin as I strip out of the uniform and pull on my clothes. The other person got close to me, too close.

My phone rings, and I answer without looking at the number .

“Confirm the target was compromised,” it says in a robotic tone.

“Confirm,” I respond and am met with a click of the line disconnecting. That one word is like acid on my tongue because I didn’t get paid for this kill, and I will find out who overstepped on my hunt.