“More often than not.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Yeah, I figured that out already.”
“But have you figured out who I actually am?”
“If I was to hazard a guess? I’d say a professional assassin, hired to either kill me or capture me. The smart money would be on Wilson Trent signing your paycheck, given I don’t have many other enemies.”
“Ha!” she scoffs. “I find that very hard to believe, Adrian.”
“No, it’s true. Mostly because all but two of them are dead. I don’t take too kindly to people who try to kill me.”
“Well, I am not your enemy.”
“In that case, your impression of a friend is fucking terrible.”
“No, I simply mean I have no personal hatred toward you. I’m just doing a job, end of story. If that’s any comfort?”
“Not really, no.”
She shrugs. “Oh… well, I tried.”
I smile humorlessly, tiring of trading verbal blows with her. “So, what now? You gonna shoot me?”
She pulls an oddly cute face as she pretends to think about it. “Hmmm… I’m not sure. I do get a lot of money if I do…”
“Really? How much?”
“One point five to make you dead.”
“Million? Is that it?” I’m actually a little offended. “I’m hurt that my life isn’t valued higher.”
She rubs her temple with the barrel of her gun, seemingly frustrated. “You’re a very strange man, Adrian.”
I shrug. “So people tell me. What’s your name?”
She stands and flashes me a smile that I’m sure has broken many a man’s heart in the past. And probably their necks…
“I’m Dominique Tevani,” she announces.
I raise my eyebrows with genuine surprise. I’ve actually heard of her, purely by reputation. She’s a damn good killer, if you believe the rumors. Never met her or seen a picture though. She’s certainly attractive, which I figure is a well-utilized weapon in her arsenal.
Trent isn’t messing around if he’s gone looking for someone of her caliber. There are only few people in the business better than her, by all accounts. Luckily for me, I’m one of them.
“What if I offered you two million to go back and say you never found me?”
Her smile finally fades, and her expression changes to one of confusion and something resembling disappointment.
“Adrian Hell, bartering for his life? Definitely not what I’d expect from someone with a reputation such as yours…”
I smile. “I’m not bartering for anything,” I reply, casually. “I hope you realize that I could’ve killed you at least twice already, if I’d wanted to. But I like to know everything, and cutting off a prime source of information such as you would be irresponsible to say the least.”
She raises an eyebrow, presumably not believing a word I’ve just said. “So why the bargain?”
“Do you know why Trent wants me dead?”
“Because he hates you?”
“Well, yeah… but he hired you because he’s scared of me. I’m on a job, just like you. He knows I’m coming after him and he’s scared of what I’m gonna do to his entire world when I make my move.”
She says nothing, but she lowers her gun ever so slightly… I’m not sure if she aware that she has. But I can see the doubt in her eyes. And the curiosity — the intrigue.
Who needs a gun when you’ve got a brain?
“Ask yourself,” I continue. “When was the last time you heard of anyone being hired to kill one of our own who’s simply working a job? Plus, I consider two million an absolute steal if it means I can get valuable information about Trent and maybe mess with his head a little.”
She looks over at Josh, who has slid sideways and is now lying unconscious in front of the door. He’ll be fine. He’s survived much worse. He’s just milking it for the audience, the big British pussy.
“And what do I get out of it?” she asks, sounding sincere.
“You mean, besides the two million dollars?”
“You know as well as anyone, I can’t go back on my contract.”
“Would you help me if you weren’t obligated to Trent?”
“Not sure… under any other circumstances, the opportunity to work with you would be too good to pass up, I guess. Plus, you are quite handsome…” She looks me up and down approvingly, which makes me feel more uncomfortable than the gun she has pointed at my head. “But,” she continues, “we only have these circumstances.”
I briefly see the muzzle flash, but I don’t register the sound of the gunshot. I feel like I’ve just been hit in the shoulder by a sledgehammer. I feel myself falling backward…
I can hear muffled voices around me.
I’m definitely lying down, but I’ve no idea where I am or how long I’ve been here…
Am I still on the floor of my hotel?
God, I hope not — that would be embarrassing!
I’m definitely breathing, which is a good start. I’m pretty sure Dominique shot me in the arm…
I try to move my arms and legs. They all work, put my left shoulder is throbbing and sore.
Okay, she definitely shot me in the arm. That’s fine — I can live with that.
Right, let’s see where I am…
I open my eyes slowly, and a blurry world rushes toward me and gradually falls into focus. I look around… I’m in a hospital. All the classic signs are here — people in white coats, beeping, generic color on the walls and ceilings, the smell of disinfectant…
I wiggle my fingers, then my toes. I flex my wrists and crack my neck. I’ve not looked, but I don’t seem to be restrained in any way, which is always nice. If I’ve ever blacked out in the past, I nearly always wake up tied to something…
My life sucks sometimes.
I lift my head, and the white coat next to me starts to pay attention. I look out the window and see darkness. I have no idea what time it is, but it must be late.
“Where am I?” I ask, confused.
“Just relax,” says a soothing and professional voice. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve been shot. But you were lucky. There’s no serious damage, it was just a deep flesh wound. You’ll be fine after some rest.”
I frown as I try to remember exactly what happened… it suddenly comes back to me like a highlight reel…
Hotel room… Dominique… Gun…
It wasn’t luck. If she wanted me dead, I would be. She shot me exactly how she intended to.
Oh, shit… Josh!
I turn to look at the white coat who’s standing on my left, next to the bed. “Hey where’s—”
“Your friend’s fine,” interjects the voice, cutting me off. “He lost a little more blood than you did, but he only suffered a flesh wound too. He’s lying right next to you.”
I sigh heavily with relief and look to my right. Josh is indeed lying next to me, looking much the same as I imagine I do.
“You good, bro?” I ask.
He tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a groggy wheeze. “I hate you.”
I lie back and relax. Yeah, he’s fine.
The white coat next to me is holding a clipboard, which he’s looking at. He seems normal and reasonably smart, so I’ll let him go about his business without bombarding him with questions.
“You’re both doing really well. The stitching is top-notch, and you should heal up good as new in a few weeks. But… the police will want a word with you. Standard procedure after receiving a GSW in your hotel room, I’m afraid. You boys feeling up to it? They’re right outside.”
My jaw muscles clench as much as they can. The cynic in me doesn’t believe for a second the cops outside aren’t on Trent’s payroll. And we’re both sitting ducks lying in here.
“Gimme a few minutes to wake up, would you?” I ask.