Till Deceived Do We Part

I was late.

The road had taken on that sinister look, as it did in all of those cliche movies, and just like the movies, rain began to sprinkle down. But unlike the movies, it was a light sprinkle, not a downpour or a thunderstorm. Oh, the thunder was coming, you could see it from the clouds, but it would be a while. So for now, I would have to do with the pounding of my heart for rhythm.

My knuckles were white around the steering wheel, and though I had calmed the shaking, inside, I was afraid.

I was afraid. I was really afraid.

I don’t remember fear as a child. I suppose I must have felt it when my family was killed, and I was left for death, but I don’t remember. I assume I repressed it, among everything else. For how else could I forget that tragic event? As a child, Jake subjected me to millions of therapy tests, and all of them would come back fine. I was a normal healthy little girl with a need for violence. It was only years later that Jake figured it out. My rage was my way of coping. When I felt any sort of fear of any kind, or any sort of sadness, I turned it to rage. Which was why I would always lose my cool if I missed a beat in a step, or screwed up a hit. If I couldn’t deal with my emotions that way, how could I?

It was weird, fear, that is. It was a jittery feeling, a sinking in my gut... and just... just a sense that something was amiss. Something, anything. I wanted to turn around, to leave, to make these feelings just go away. I wanted them to stop, for I wasn’t accustomed to it. I wanted them to stop clawing at my insides, to stop making me shake, and to stop making me feel so cowardly. I just wanted them to stop.

The truth? I was going to face one of my family’s murderers... and I was trembling on the inside. It was insane and idiotic, both the scenario and my feelings. I was an assassin. The assassin... yet I was afraid.

Dane phoned. So did Jake. I ignored both calls, my phone laying abandoned on the passenger seat, where it would stay. I didn’t need it where I was going, nor did I need my gun. That didn’t stop me from brining it, however. For it was like a safety blanket. Gripping it just made me feel better.

Isaiah’s folder was tucked away in the glove compartment, where it would also stay. If I didn’t come out of this, Jake would find the folder when he got my car. He would take care of it, that I knew. For the man in there was someone who we would normally target. The last thing I did, before I got out, was enable the GPS on my phone. Upon leaving the base, I had disabled the car’s, and my phone’s.

I stepped out, letting the now harder downpour of rain, hit me. I was soaked in seconds, my keys soaking before I even slipped them in my pocket.

My eyes turned to the building, the one I had suggested. There wasn’t anything specific about this house. I didn’t need anything specific. The reason I knew about it was because I had killed the man who used to own it. The police had yet to find the body, and had no reason to suspect he was dead. The man had no family or friends, and his rent wouldn’t be due for another couple months. Deserted, to say the least.

It was a single floor house, with a dingy old basement that flooded every time it rained. Single bedroom, single bathroom. Small kitchen, no stove. Blew up in one of his drug party’s. It used to have a dining room, but the table got burnt for firewood. There was no furniture left, and all that remained in the house was a blood stain in the middle of the room, courtesy of myself. Jake told me not to worry about cleaning it up, for by the time someone did notice, it would be too late. Plus, in a house like that? How many people are going to notice? Or let alone care?

The nearest house was a kilometre away, in each way. The grass was yellow, despite the rain that was pouring down on it. As are most drugy houses, the stairs were rickety, as was the overall all appearance of the house. Shingles were falling of the roof, the sides were rotting, and the windows were so damaged, that they could only open halfway. The front door liked to jam, and send out a horrible sound as you opened it, giving away any sort of surprise you may have hoped for.

The path to the house was covered in mud, the rain now washing it away to reveal all sorts of presents. Condoms, condom wrappers. Needles, needle wrappers. The work, everything and more than you’d like your kid to find.

My eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail. Even though my memory already knew it all, I took it in again. For insurance. For something to do... and just for my own sake. It was how I remembered it, except for the black SUV parked near the side. A black SUV? Really? The cliche’s just kept coming.

I climbed the stairs, my hand only millimetres away from my gun, my nerves on edge. This was what I needed, and without even second guessing what I was doing, I pushed the door open. Or more accurately, slammed the door open. With this door, you had to give force. Regardless, it still squeaked and slammed against the opposing wall.
I stepped in, retreating from the rain. It was, however, in no ways, a haven from the rain. I’d face the rain if rather than face this man, if I could. For I could already feel the emotions riding up on me. He killed my family. He took Zane. I didn’t like him. And people I don’t like end up dead. It’s how it was. This was going to be no different.

The door creaked shut again, cutting off the loud pitter patter of rain. It was now a soft melody in the distance, yet I took no comfort in it.

The blood stain was still on the floor, and the living room was still void of furniture. Now, however, a man stood at the end of the living room, his back to me. He was bent, his eyes staring out of the window.

I knew he heard me. I knew he saw me coming. Yet he remained with his back turned, where I could easily shoot him.

I didn’t.

He knew I wouldn’t, which sent rage shooting through me. Good. I let out a breath, trying to build on the rage. I funnelled it, rolled it together, then compacted it into a tight ball. A small, tight ball of pure rage. And then, I brought the outer linings of it, to my eyes. It would show, and that’s what I needed right now. The rest of the rage, I shoved aside, waiting to bring it out. Like a fireball, ready to be flung at an unaware victim.

Lincoln, having sensed a change in the atmosphere, straightened. He fixed his shirt before turning, trying to appear cool and nonchalant. It didn’t work.

I finally got a look at him. I finally saw one of the faces that killed my family. And my first thought? Huh, I thought he would be more rugged. I expected to find some haggard looking guy, with facial scars, missing patches of hair, and muscles expanding out of his shirt. I found none of that, which I should have guessed.

He wasn’t tall, nor was he short. He was taller than me, barely, and had a slender shape. Slender didn’t mean weak, however. For I could see the careful toned muscles lying beneath. He was careful in that aspect. He made sure he was strong enough to hold his own in a fight, but not too strong as to draw attention. That was the biggest mistake most men in this field made. He didn’t make that one.

He had a round face, almost baby-ish. His cheeks were rounded softly, and his eyes looked like a perfect example of a “puppy dog” look. They were green, a very pale green. His eyes also held so many hidden aspects, that personally, I was amazed. He had a thin layer of brown hair on his head, only barely showing the fact he was beginning to bald.

If he had been old enough to kill my family, and still be here, he had to be well over my age, and most likely, over Jake’s. Which put my guess into mid forties, maybe beginning fifties. A long life for a man like him.

His nose was pointed and bumped, the only indication that showed he got into fights. The bumps showing how many breaks he had. I counted three, at least. His mouth was a thin line, but not so thin that you’d think something bad. But thin enough not to draw attention.

His clothes? Now that shocked me. He looked like a business man, almost. I could faintly make out the fabric, and it wasn’t the typical ‘business man’ material. It was as my clothes were. They looked normal on the outside, but were anything but.

He wore a worn out white shirt, with a pale blue jacket over top, the buttons undone. A tie hung undone around his neck, with dark navy and black crisscross’s all over it. He had black dress pants on, and polished black loafers. Over all, all he was missing was a suitcase. My guess? In his SUV.

“Pleasure, “ he said, his voice only slightly different than it was on the phone. It had a deep rumble to it, and I’m sure he could easily disguise it as a friendly business man’s voice, something I’m sure he did often.

“Lincoln.” I bit out the word, not trying to hide my resentment. He chuckled at that, and it felt like nails across a chalkboard, or at least to me. He killed my family.

My vision went red momentarily, before I caught myself and pushed my rage down, adding to the ball. I had to keep my cool, to remain calm. If I didn’t, I’d be playing into Lincoln’s plan, just as he wanted me to. Just as I had been the entire time. And that was something I was not going to do.

“Why the hostility, sweety? Haven’t you ever heard the saying respect your elders?”

“I don’t respect people I plan to kill.” That got a laugh, a deep throaty laugh. With it, came his true nature. His true self. His eyes turned colder, his stance turned more hostile, and his demeanour went from playfully friendly, to on the guard fight stance.

“Drake, Drake, Drake.” He said, tsking as he began to circle me. I stood still, allowing his petty games. “You really are an intriguing girl. If I knew you’d be so pretty-“ he reached a hand to me, which I shoved away, earning a chuckle. Bile rose in my throat, and my stomach churned, but I ignored it. I just added it onto the ball. Any emotions I got, I added it onto the ball, saving it for later. I would need all the emotion I could get. “But alas, I didn’t. My mistake for not having foresight and fighting for you.”

“What do you want, Lincoln, what is this really about?” He stopped circling, his eyes meeting mine.

“You mean the amazing Jake hasn’t figure it out yet? Hasn’t put together the puzzle pieces?” Bitterness and resentment laced his voice, which led me to believe this wasn’t just a slam at our leader. It was a slam against Jake personally. But why? Jake saved me, yes, but it was their own fault for not getting me, right? “Or is he just keeping you in the dark? Hmm. So many questions.” I glared at him, and poured that outer lining into it. That gave me pause.

“Tell me, sweety, what do you know about your family’s death?” My fingers twitched, which he unfortunately saw and chuckled, his grin spreading wide. Keep calm. Keep in control. Don’t let him win.

“You and Dalton killed them.” He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “Let’s get down to it, Lincoln. You have Zane. I want him. What do you want?” Not that I particularly cared, but that didn’t matter.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said with a heavy sigh, his hand rubbing his chin playfully. “Many things. A millionaire dollars? My own country? To be recognized? A feisty blond in my bed?” He winked, and again, I had to shove my rage down. But it was getting harder and harder, and not just because he was baiting me. The ball was growing all right, as I wanted it to, but it was getting big. Too big. I could feel it pushing on my nerves, just itching to be let loose. To be poured out onto a victim.

“I’m sure you have more money than that. You’d make a piss-poor leader, and you have to be good to be recognized. So in other words, not going to happen. And feisty? I can think of a few more colourful words for myself.” He smiled.

“Blonde with a brain. So hard to find nowadays.”

“I’m sure you would know.” His grin grew, full of mischief.

“You truly are one of a kind, Andrayka. If only we could come to a mutual agreement. Get a partnership going.”

“Give me Zane, and-“

”And what, sweety? We’ll talk? We’ll work it out? Don’t bother forcing those painful lies past your lips. We both know it’ll never happen.” I smiled.

“True. So how about a trade?” His eyebrows rose at that. “Give me Zane, and we’ll drop the whole matter.” He laughed at this, even louder than before. His head went back and the sound echoed around the room, grating at me with every note.

It happened before I could stop myself, and I knew no matter how much training I would have had, it still would have happened. He had killed my family, for damn’s sake!

My body flew, and my fist slammed into his face, my body taking his to the ground. The laughter died in an instant, and his body twisted. We landed at an awkward angle, and his foot landed sharply against my shin, sending my body twisting. His elbow jammed out, his muscles tensing. It hit where it was meant to, in my jugular. I gasped, but shot out my fist, hitting him again in the face.

His elbow eased for a second, and I took that time to kick him in the stomach. He gasped this time, and I aimed another kick for his stomach. He tried to block it, but not quick enough. He doubled over, and I scrambled to my feet, immediately kicking him again. His arms wrapped around his stomach, his head lifting. I backed off, my breath heavy, my eyes fluttering.

I needed more. I needed to hurt him more, but I had to get it under control. I had to.