Hit

As I stood against the brick wall, I slowly peeked around the corner and saw the door that I needed to enter. The door was dimly lighted by a single street lamp. I cocked my .60 caliber and checked my knives, which were positioned on my hip and ankle. Without hesitation, I rounded the corner with my gun raised and stomped up the steps. I kicked the door down, which reviled an empty room, split blood on the bare, cement floor. I carefully walked through the room into a hallway. With a tighter grip on my gun, I made a left into the hallway and saw only one door. These idiots are making my job easy. I walked to the door and stood in front of it, listening for anything unusual. Once again, I kicked the door down, but was met with rounds of bullets. I jumped to the side, couching down, put my gun near the small of my back and pulled my knives out. Once I was ready to strike, the bullets stopped.
“Come on sweet stuff. I’ve got a bullet with your name on it.” A man with a Russian accent sneered. Disgusted, I wiped my knives on my jeans and smiled into them. In one swift motion, I was on my side on the floor, throwing my knives into two of the men’s hearts. I quickly pulled out my gun from under my shirt and nailed two more between the eyes. The shells fell as the two bodes hit the ground, the smoke faded quickly. I wiped the blood off my knives onto my jeans and placed them where they belonged. I stashed the gun near the small of my back, got up and walked to the big man with the Russian accent. Blood was splattered all over his face. I reached down and ripped the golden chain from the man’s neck and put it in my pocket. I walked out to my ’89 black and red mustang and drove off with a sick smile.
Being a female hit woman had its times. Some people didn’t take me serious, so I often got an easy kill. Here in the streets of Southern Jersey, there are three dominant groups. The Spanish-The Martinez, the Italians-Costellos’ and the Germans- The Slaughtenhause, which means ‘Slaughter House’. I am a current member of the German gang, which is actually a long story. My father started the group after my mother was murdered. My mother was the daughter of Giuseppe, the Italian mob boss. When word got out that my mother and father were one (and had a child), my grandfather ordered a hit on his own daughter, my father wanted vengeance. After my father started his own group, he killed Giuseppe; everyone told him that by doing this, he was digging his own grave. But, he didn’t care…three days after Giuseppe was murdered, so was my father. When my father’s life was taken, I was only five, and an only child.
****
I unlocked the door to my Atlantic City apartment and walked in, throwing my keys on the table. I was immediately greeted by silence, and loneliness…darkness. I live by myself, I don’t have any friends, the only thing in my life is my job. I pushed the solitude out of my head and began to walk to the bathroom, stripping my clothes, leaving a trail of bloody and dirty cloth. I started the shower and made sure the water was blazing hot, my father always said, ‘It takes scorching hot water to wash the sins away.’ I stepped in, washing my hair and my body twice, even when the blood rolls off, the sins seem to tattoo into my skin.
After my shower, I walked to my room and prepared for bed. Dressed in shorts and a simple tank-top, I climbed into the cold sheets and begged for sleep. Sleep is something that doesn’t happen often. I am often bothered by my previous actions, I hate what I do. But I have to admit, I do feel powerful when I’m standing over a man, begging for his life, which I often deny by pulling the trigger. Now, as I lay on my back, I listen to the sound of rain on the roof and the constant clicking of the clock. I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes, knowing I have to take another life in the morning.
If only I knew what would Really happen…
**
I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock going off. 6:00 damnit. I slammed it off, threw the covers off and placed my feet on the cold hard wood floor. I finally got up and walked to the kitchen, blindly tuning the coffee on. With a cup of warm coffee in my hands, I sat down and pulled out the file of the man I would be killing today. Thirty-three, married with children, Toms River. According to the file, he couldn’t put his money where his mouth is, he owes a couple grand to my boss. I slammed the file shut, finished my coffee then got up to walk to my room. I got dressed in a pair of tight black jeans and a low cut V black shirt. I packed my knives on my hip and ankle, than loaded my gun under my shirt. I slipped on my Converse then my black leather jacket. I quickly walked down the hallway and to my car. It was maybe an hour drive to Toms River, but with my heavy foot and the help of my Metallica CD, I’d be there in thirty.
After many wrong turns, I finally found this guy’s house, a mini-mansion. But according to his file, his four year old was playing with his mother in the front yard. I parked in front of the mail box, got out and walked to the happy couple. I nodded to his wife, wanting answers.
“Upstairs, first door on the right.” She simply said. She seemed to know what kind of business her husband was involved in. I once again nodded and entered the house. I skipped stairs as I made my way up, I want to get this done as quick as possible. Now that I saw the family, it puts me in a guilt trip. Without knocking, I entered the room. He was sitting at his desk in his chair, with his back turned to me.
“Do you have the money?” I asked him. Without a word, he waved his hand in the air like he was dismissing me. “I guess that’s a ‘no’.” I say as I cock my gun. That seemed to get his attention. I could see his right hand squeezing the arm rest, obviously awaiting the bullet. He turned around in the chair and smiled at me. But instead of the face from the file, it was Mark, another member of the German mob. “What are you doing here?” I asked. I looked at him, brown hair and his stupid crooked nose. I smiled to myself, I gave him that stupid crooked nose.
He shouldn’t be here…
“Finishing what the Costellos should have done a long time ago.” He sneers as he spins side to side in the chair. Instead of a response, I sent him a question look…he was joking right? “Let’s see…your father is dead, so I think we are missing one more piece to the family puzzle.” He smirks as he stands up. I backed up against the wall and pulled my gun out; I raised it and tried to steady my aim. Mark just shook his head and smiled. Four more men walked in from the German mob, knowing they were going to ‘try’ and kill me, I wanted some answers.
“I don’t get it…I did all that was asked of me.” I shook my head with wide eyes and professionally faced mocked terror. Inside… I was really laughing.
“Of course you don’t fucking get it! It was in front of your eyes the whole goddamn time. You are just too caught up in the whole ‘I hate what I’m doing so fucking kill me’ thi-“I cut him off quickly.
“Whoa…I don’t like your tone.” Katie cut the sarcasm, I warn myself…but I just can’t help it. Mark shot me a nasty look but continued his speech.
“As I was saying,” He growled. “You hate what you’re doing…so your wish is our commands…down to fucking hell you go.” With that said he raised his gun and fired a single shot into my chest. It was the first time I’ve ever been shot, and at first it felt like I was hit with a stick. Then the pain settled in, I gasped as I slowly slid to the floor. I looked to my left and saw a guy standing looking down at me, the same on my right. With both hands, I quickly pulled my knives out and stabbed one in the thigh, and the other in the shin. They both fell to the ground. I picked my gun up and fired at Mark, but missed miserably since my sight began to blur. They guy on my right punched me in the throat which flew me into a coughing fit. I blindly elbowed him in the chest twice, while still coughing. I heard Mark stomp over; he bent over and picked me up by the collar and kneed me in the stomach three times, then threw me to the ground. He came over to me again and lifted me by the neck and slammed me down on the desk with his hands firm around my throat. I started to kick and squirm under him. All the colors started to merge together and my head felt light as I feather. He punched me in the face a couple times, then shoved me off the desk onto the floor. I gasped for breath as I curled into a ball.
“Where’s the sarcasm now Kate?” Mark asked as he kicked me in the stomach. He bent down again and laid a few more punches to my already torn mouth.
“Mark, that’s enough.” One of the guys said. Mark looked up with a question looking then brought his foot down on my chest one more time, then left. They left me on the floor, coughing up blood as I rolled back and forth. I thought they were gone, than I heard the door open. Two pairs of strong hands reached down and hauled me up, then threw me over their shoulder. I bounced on the man’s shoulder as he flew down the stairs, couching more as he covered my mouth so I couldn’t scream. They threw me into the trunk of their car and closed it. I laid there in darkness, my body being thrown all over the place by their mad driving. I lifted a hand and felt my chest, only to feel a mass of liquid. Finally, the car stopped and the trunk opened. All three of them stood looking down at me, Mark in the middle with his asshole smile. He reached in and tried to pull me out by my shirt, causing it to rip. He then tightened his grip on my arm and dragged me out and slammed me down on the pavement. I landed with a thud, my head hitting the cement. My eyes crossed, positive that I now had a concussion.
“Bastard.” I mumbled to whoever could hear.
“What was that?” Mark asked as her got in my face.
“You fucking heard me.” I said again. Instead of hitting me again, he bent own and picked me up by the neck and slammed me into a cold brick wall.
“Say it again.” He got into my face again with a nasty glare. Don’t laugh Katie, don’t laugh. I try and warn myself. He harshly kissed me on the lips then let me go, causing me to fall to the ground in a heap. They left. There I lay in some alley, possibly in Toms River, in nothing but a bra and jeans. I’ve been beaten and shot in the chest. How beautiful.
“Well fuck me.” I laugh, then stop as a sharp pain assaults my chest. I leaned against the wall and looked around. I don’t have my gun or my knives. The only thing I have is myself, which has just been beaten to a bloody pulp.
“What the hell is that?” I heard a male voice call.
“Where?” Another says.
“There!”
“Dude, what are you talking about?”

“Bri, right there damnit!” I heard their footsteps come closer. Not sure who they were, I needed to do whatever I could to protect myself.
“Walk away, before I kill you.” I muttered.
“Doesn’t look like you can do much of anything right now.” The shorter one said with some concern in his voice. Wow…compassion from a stranger, something I have never experienced.
“Can you walk?” The other one asked. I tried to pull myself up, but I began to fall back down to the earth. The shorter one caught me with strong arms and held me to his chest.
“She’s been shot.” He mumbled.
“Alright, let’s get her home.” Usually, I would protest to that idea, but something in their voice made me want to go home with them.
The taller one took off his leather jacket and wrapped me up in it, it smelt like sweet cigars and Axe. The one holding me, picked me up and we walked down the damp, dark alley. He held me close, so I let my head fall to his chest as I closed my eyes. My chest started to become numb. I could tell I lost a lot of blood because everything seemed so far away. I re-opened my eyes to see us walking towards a black Yukon XL. The guy holding me carefully slid into the back and rested me on his lap while the other one got in the front and started the car. As the car started to move, I let my thoughts wonder, trying to get rid of the pain. But my thoughts stopped when I felt another stab in my chest. I slightly jumped and reached up and placed a hand on my still bleeding chest. I removed my hand to see fresh crimson blood dripping down my palm to my wrist.
“I’ll take care of that when we get home.” The man said as he took my hand, not seeming to mind that he now had my blood all over his palm.
“Where is home?” I whispered, resting my hand in his.
“Up north. Just outside of Jackson.” He assured me. I let myself relax more into his chest, then I felt something hard and metal by my hip. I carefully, and painfully lifted my hip and saw a pistol attached to his side. He realized what I saw.
“Don’t worry about that, we aren’t going to hurt you.” He said as he pulled me closer. I leaned my head back onto his chest, felt my eyes close and soon passed out.