Excuse The Obscene

I’m not afraid of death. Two years ago I knelt down on the floor with a gun pressed to my temple. My life didn’t flash before my eyes. I didn’t see the things I never got a chance to do. There were no tears. All it was was a cold, hard realization. And the cold, hard realization stuck with me even after the bullet wasn’t sent through my head. In that moment, I had prepared myself to die. I guess the preparation just never wore off. The not fearing death condition comes with some side effects like recklessness and danger. But that’s what makes me good at what I do. Not being afraid of death helps make me the best fucking hit man on the east coast. Or hit woman if we’re getting technical.

Home is a decent sized apartment in New Jersey with a roommate named Drew. Not that Drew could be considered your average roommate. He was more like my manager, though the term doesn’t really suit what he does. If you want someone dead then you find Drew and pass the information along. Dealing with assholes in power has not been my thing in the last two years. Drew finds the jobs and I pull the trigger. It’s a pretty good system since Drew gets his hands dirty setting things up and I get my hands dirty getting it done. He comes along with me on jobs to watch my back and I trail him when he meets people to watch his. We make the best goddamn team on the East Coast. But we don’t always see eye to eye.

“What the fuck was that back there?” Drew shouted, slamming the apartment door behind him.

I was hoping the quiet car ride meant that he wasn’t going to acknowledge what had happened on the job. I was wrong.

“What do you mean?” I asked, going to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

“You’re too fucking reckless, Toni. You can’t keep pulling shit like that!”

“This argument is getting a little redundant.” I dropped onto the couch, drinking my water.

“And we’ll stop fucking having it when you stop trying to get yourself killed! I said it wasn’t clear. I told you not to go in. When I fucking say don’t do it then you shouldn’t fucking do it. They out-numbered you. You were this close to dying.” He stood in front of me, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well they didn’t so relax. They should pay us extra for taking care of the fucking lackeys too.”

“Fuck the money. What part of your near death hasn’t dawned on you yet? What you did back there was wild and careless.”

“And you should try it sometime. Maybe it’ll help get that stick out of your ass.” I stood up and pushed past him heading towards my room.

“I don’t know what to do with you anymore. How the fuck I am supposed to protect you is you won’t listen to me.”

And it was that last sentence that made me snap. I spun around and my arms collided with Drew’s chest, pushing him backwards.

“I don’t need anyone to fucking protect me, least of all you. Last I checked I could still kick your ass so don’t waste your time trying to protect me. I can take care of myself.” I might be significantly shorter than Drew but that didn’t stop me from shooting a harsh glare up at him.

We were both silent for a moment, just staring at each other, before Drew finally spoke.

“You’re right. You’re so fucking high and mighty, what do you need my protection for? You’re so fucking great that you probably don’t need me at all. So why the fuck am I wasting my time here with you?” He grabbed his jacket and started walking towards the door.

“Good luck finding someone to plan your fucking funeral.” He said before slamming the door shut behind him.

I grabbed the water bottle I had put on the coffee table and continued on my way to my room. I removed my guns from there various hiding places and tossed them on my bed. I would put them away later. I was walking towards my closet to change when I paused in front of my mirror.

I looked almost exactly the same way I did two years ago. My body was significantly more toned and my hair was layered due to a recent hair cut but for the most part I looked no different than I had when I left California. How is it that I could look the same but be an entirely different person?

I’d left California with nothing but a couple hundred dollars and no idea of where I was going. I’d thought about going back to Northern California to live with my dad but I had nixed that idea for two major reasons. One, if Zacky changed his mind and decided to kill me that would probably be the first place he’d look and I didn’t want to put my dad in any danger. And two, when I had moved out of my dad’s place we hadn’t been on the best of terms. We still talked occasionally but I didn’t think I could take living with him again. So I headed straight to the bus station and looked at the destination board. It took me two minutes to gaze over the entire thing and decide to go straight to Chicago. It would be far enough away from California and I could afford to get there on one bus.

My first week in Chicago was fairly hard. I had just enough cash left over to spend a few nights in the cheapest motel I could find. This cheap motel also turned out to be my first job. The manager had agreed to let me keep a room there for a while if I worked for free, cleaning rooms and occasionally manning the front desk. It wasn’t the most appealing job but at least I’d have free living. I found another part time job working nights at a restaurant. Lucky for me, both jobs required uniforms so no one ever asked why I was wearing the same shirt and pants for the first week or so. Two weeks in I got my first paycheck and it was the saddest thing I had ever seen. I thought my job as a bartender in Huntington had paid bad. This was just atrocious. But it was enough for me to get together a new wardrobe.

I met Drew after about a month and a half of living in Chicago. I first saw him at the firing range I spent a lot of my time at. I was a bitter, pissed off woman, living a shitty life. Firing at cardboard for hours helped take the edge off. Once again I had worked out a deal with the owner in order to use the space. I helped him keep the guns in shape and he let me use the firing range for free. Drew had come in one day and just started firing rounds off. I was used to being the best shooter in the range because all the other guys who came there were either hunters just passing through Chicago or cops who needed some serious work on their aim. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Drew fired off shot after shot, hitting it dead on. With longish dark hair, one pierced ear and tattoos covering every inch of his body that the eye could see, he definitely didn’t look like a cop or a hunter. Deciding to show off, I grabbed a gun and got to work. Once I was done, I smirked at him and left. I never really thought I’d see him again but ironically enough he showed up at my cheap motel, asking for a room.

“You’re the girl from the firing range.” He said as he took the keys from me.

“Room 102 is down that way.” I responded, choosing not to acknowledge his statement.

He walked off only to return a few hours later. It was late at night and it was my turn to work the midnight shift at the front desk. He waltzed right into the run down front area and pulled a chair up in front of me.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” He asked.

“My dad.” I lied easily.

“Was he a cop?” Drew asked, pretending to be interested.

“Hunter.” I replied, the lies forming easily.

“You’re lying.” He said, smirking and toying with the bell on the front desk.

“Excuse me?” I asked, raising one eyebrow. The only way he would know that is if he had actually looked into my history and there was no way he could do that without even knowing my name.

“You spoke way to fast when you responded. If you were telling the truth you would have hesitated before sharing that kind of information with someone you just met. On top of that, you have no accent so you probably didn’t grow up anywhere where your dad would be doing any hunting. And you held your gun with one hand for half the time you were shooting. Cops keep both palms on the gun and hunters don’t usually use pistols like you did.” He looked me in the eye and laughed.

“So I’m a liar and you are…” I asked, playing it off like I was shocked that he had thought about it enough to figure out that I was lying.

“I’m someone who likes reading people. And you are a bit of a mystery. I haven’t figured out why a girl as gorgeous as you are is working at this motel and playing with guns as a pastime.”

“Maybe you should stop trying then.” I responded.

“I’m Drew.” He stuck his hand out and I just looked down at it before looking back at him.

“You’re not going to give me your name?” He asked, dropping his hand back onto the counter.

“I wouldn’t want to kill the air of mystery.”

He smirked and went back to his room after that. By the time I started my shift the next day, he had already checked out. A couple of weeks went by and I had entirely forgotten about him until he appeared at the motel again. That time when he showed up in the middle of the night to talk to me he told me there was a job he thought I’d be better suited for. I hadn’t responded and once again he just left just smiling. He came back again another few weeks later and when he left that time, I went with him. Neither of us can explain how we came to be in this partnership. He took a risk on just dragging me into a business he had no clue I had already worked in and I took a risk on just leaving with him. It seemed better than keeping up the three job shuffle in Chicago. We got an apartment together in New Jersey and over a year later we’re known as one of the best teams in the business.

But apparently that’s all fucked now. If he wants out then I highly doubt I could stop him. I just can’t deal with another overprotective, overbearing male. And I’m not even in a relationship with this one. I pushed the thought aside before it could grow out of control. I had trained my mind to never think about Zacky and all the other guys. If I thought about it, it would only piss me off and in the long run probably depress me. He ruined my life two years ago and I wasn’t going to let his memory ruin it now.

Sighing, I stood up from the bed. I needed to talk to Drew and I knew exactly where I could find him. I changed into a pair of tight, dark blue skinny jeans, ankle high boots, and a tight white v-neck shirt. I pulled on a sleeveless black and gray vest and left it open. I walked over to the mirror and pulled my hair from the tight bun it had been in. Not bothering with a brush or make-up, I grabbed my phone and keys before heading towards the door. I drove for a little over half an hour before I reached a small club. I parked my car before heading in, almost positive that this is where I would find Drew drinking the night away.

I had just walked into the crowded club when a tallish guy with blonde hair approached me.

“Can I buy-”

“No.” I cut him off.

“How about a d-”

“No.”

“Maybe we cou-”

“No.” I said, finally pushing past him.

“Bitch.” I heard him murmur.

“Yes.” I smirked, winking at him over my shoulder.

I scoured the club for a little bit, ignoring the guys that tried to talk to me. I’d made it through all the grinding bodies and to the bar. I spotted Drew in front of a couple of shot glasses and a half dressed girl trying to hard to get his attention.

“He’s not interested.” I said, standing beside Drew and glaring at the whore. She rolled her eyes and left.

“I overheard some guys talking about some hot chick that was shooting down every guy in this club. I figured it wouldn’t be long before you finally made it over here.” He laughed and looked at me.

“You should be thanking me. I just walked through a valley of assholes to make it over here and I saved you from an STD.”

“Thank you.” He said, pulling me into the seat beside him and sliding me a shot glass filled with amber liquid.

“So are we good.” I asked after the first couple of shots. Drew and I never needed to actually talk about our problems. We just let the air clear them.

“We’re good.” He said, clinking his glass against mine.

Hours later we stumbled a little out of the club. I could hang onto enough sobriety to drive us home so I let Drew climb into the passenger seat of my car before hopping in the driver’s seat.

“I got a call. Someone wants someone dead.” He drunkenly slurred.

“What else is new. So how much are we talking?”

“A lot. Big guy. Big deal. Lots of cash. But we’re not the only one’s gunning for him. Bring you’re fucking a-game because we have competition.”