The Wrath of the Chosen (The Chosen Series Book 1)

by K. C. Hamby

  The sun is doing its best to peak around the sullen clouds and warm the earth. The cool wind blowing around my face has a small hint of heat and a tint of spring flowing through. People wander around, some on their way to work—it’s nearly 8:00 am—and some are trying to find a place to spend their money on overpriced food surely fashioned to clog their arteries.

  I find myself here, trying my best to blend in to the crowds after I ditched my weapons and clothes on the roof of an unoccupied building. It’s usually my go-to thing to do. No one ever goes into a building waiting to be torn to pieces unless they are homeless or kids looking for trouble. But even then, they never meander to the roof.

  The picture of my target crinkles in the pocket of my black, leather jacket as I try not to crush it with my hand full of anger because of the way I have to track him. It’s the only thing I have. Best not rip it apart.

  I tried to look relatively human today. It’s hard for me to look anything but deadly. It’s the assassin swag; a gait. I’ve overheard some Lupi speak of it when they’re whispering as I walk by. I’m a silent and smooth walker and it freaks people out. Sometimes, when I really try, I manage to just look unapproachable. It seems to scare people less. I can’t help I like dark clothes and kill people for a living. I did, however, put on a gray V-neck t-shirt instead of black. But, I still put on black jeans that end in my black combat boots. Old habits die hard.

  The cool air keeps blowing my long, black hair into my face, but I guess that’s good. People don’t stare at my scar as hard as they normally do when I pull my hair back in its usual braid. I tell myself it doesn’t bother me if they stare. They typically get scared or intimidated and avert their gaze quickly. I kind of think it’s hysterical.

  It’s not that I enjoy how people are afraid of me, exactly. It’s more I’m glad no one will approach me so I won’t have to be social. I’m not good at talking to others, so it’s usually a winning situation for everyone involved. I don’t have to try to be social nor do others have to deal with me being a dick because I don’t know how to kindly tell them to fuck off.

  Unfortunately, I’m going to have to ask around to see if anyone recognizes the charming fellow in the picture barely surviving in my pocket. The idea makes me cringe. I guess I’ll have to learn how to be social today.

  Goddamn Cosma. She knows my weaknesses.

  I stop on the corner of the street and wait for the walking man to appear in bright green so I can cross. I peer down the car-filled street and a flash of recognition zaps through my brain. A girl. Blonde. About a block away.

  A growl slips through my teeth at the realization it’s that Nina.

  She’s the reason I’m having to do this ridiculous job. My hand threatens to shred the probably already ruined picture in my clenched fist.

  The nerve of her.

  Sure, I guess she couldn’t help the guy attacked her, but she could have at least not been a distraction which, in turn, let the asshole get away.

  In the back of my mind, I know my argument is weak at best and I’m truly the only one to blame, but I’m not ready to accept the responsibility of a missed deadline yet.

  The walking man appears and I stomp my way across the street, heading straight for her. I want to give her a piece of my mind. Fury pushes my feet forward, before my brain can catch up.

  Finally, common sense knocks on the door of my stubborn mind.

  What am I doing? I can’t just walk up to her and blame her for my missed target. I don’t even know how I could begin to explain without exposing myself and my species to a human. An action strictly forbidden and punishable by death.

  I stop mid stride, but a little too late it seems. Nina’s seen me and, to my utter dismay, a smile lights up her face. I cut my eyes to each side of me, looking for an escape, but it’s either a brick wall or a road and running out into the street and dodging cars is not on my agenda for the day.

  I sigh heavily and slowly walk forward.

  She skips into a walk. She actually skips. The happiness radiating off her is threatening to make me lose the small breakfast I had earlier this morning. I know I’m cynical, but comparing myself to the chipper Nina makes me seem downright evil.

  She stops a few feet in front of me, a little too close for comfort, in my opinion. Her red, blue, and gray tie-dye dress flows in the cool, early spring breeze, clearly revealing her gray sweater-like tights. I find myself being slightly impressed at how she’s wearing black combat boots, but they are definitely not as worn as mine. Not that it’s a competition or anything. I’ve just…earned mine is all.

  Her wavy, honey blonde hair blows around her face and I notice for the first time some dreaded looking braids adorned with a few silver beads hiding in the bottom layer of her hair. She smells so strongly of lavender and something else I can’t place; it takes over all my senses. I take a step back, trying not to seem rude, but I think I fail because she quirks her eyebrow up at me and smirks in a way that brings out all the freckles on her cheeks.

  “Hey, you,” she says in a voice I can only describe as soft, calm, and a little more soothing than I thought it would be in comparison to her chipper and excited voice the other night.

  “Hey yourself,” I clip back with my deep, ragged voice and inwardly give myself a high-five for only sounding a little snarky.

  Just like the other night, she isn’t fazed by my attitude. “I just wanted to thank you for the other night.” She takes a sip of her spicy smelling coffee. “You’re basically my hero.” She smiles softly with her peachy lips and lightly makeup-lined sapphire eyes.

  Ugh. I hate that word. Hero. I roll my eyes so hard it hurts.

  “I’m not your hero. I was just in the right place at the right time.”

  Nina clips off a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll say. You really kicked the guy’s ass.”

  More than you know.

  “How could you even let yourself get in that situation anyway?” I spit, trying not to snarl. Why am I so angry? My jerkish tone easily slides into my words. She’s acting like it’s no big deal and it makes me furious. “Seriously, he could have killed you.”

  She jerks her head back and scoffs. “Okay, first off, I’m alive. Thanks a lot.” She ticks off her points with her slim fingers. “Secondly, it’s not like I run around looking for trouble in dark alleys.” She stops short and looks down at her shoes.

  I watch her. Her face is revealing things she doesn’t want to say. I find myself extremely curious, but I don’t have time for this. Why am I even talking to her?

  “I was trying to make sure you got away from the bar okay,” she mumbles and finally lifts her head up, meeting my eyes with her brows furrowed angrily. But anger is the only thing I see. She looks straight at my scar without flinching and it unnerves me.

  Her words finally reach my brain and it’s my turn to jerk my head back. “I’m sorry, what?”

  She sighs heavily. “That guy had been watching you for a while at the bar. That’s why I came and sat with you. Well, one reason anyway..” she pauses but continues before I can find the meaning in her words. “He looked creepy. Then, you left and he followed you outside. So, I followed him to make sure he didn’t hurt you. Admittedly, I had a bit of liquid courage and I decided to confront him.” She looks down bashfully. “That’s when he attacked me. I held my own until he slammed me against the wall, but then you showed up and saved the day.”

  She glances up at me from under her makeup-coated eyelashes, waiting for me to say something. Honestly, I don’t know what to say. This girl doesn’t even know me and she was trying to make sure I was safe. I’m slightly insulted she thought I needed protecting, but it’s my pride figuratively banging on its chest, screaming how I can handle myself.

  I have to hand it to this Nina, she’s brave.

  “Huh,” is all I manage to push through my lips as I cross my arms over my chest. It bothers me immensely I was so unaware of someone following me. It’s not like I was distracted. Maybe he had just ma
stered being a creep. He had enough practice, that’s for sure.

  I peer down and catch a glimpse of the face of my watch. Goddess, I’ve spent way too much time talking to Nina.

  “Uh, yeah, I’ve got to go.” I walk past her and sigh at myself.

  Way to go, Fal. Rude again.

  “Oh,” I hear Nina say behind me. “Well, thanks again for saving me. If you ever want to hang out sometime,” I look over my shoulder at her, “I’m usually at the coffee shop called The Bean.” She sounds hopeful as she juts her thumb over her shoulder, pointing at nothing in particular.

  I slightly turn and side glance her. I couldn’t stop the scoff that falls out of my mouth even if I wanted to.

  “Yeah, okay.” I turn around and keep walking. I don’t know why she would think I’ll have time to hang out with her. I’ve got things to do, people to kill.

  My ears pick up her voice quietly saying, “You really shouldn’t be so rude to people who are kind to you. You’ll end up all alone.”

  I think if I keep rolling my eyes like this, they’re going to get stuck in the back of my head. The audacity of her. Of course I’m going to end up alone. I’ve never expected anything else. It’s what being an assassin is about. Duty above everything. I’m not allowed to have a personal life, even if I wanted one. All it will do is get everyone involved killed and I can’t have anyone else dying because of my feelings for them.

  I groan and push the intruding thoughts out of my mind. I’ve wasted enough time thinking about Nina and what she said. I need to focus.

  I drag my thoughts back to my target. If this guy is as bad as I think he is, I probably need to start digging for information in the not so nice parts of the city first. There are a lot of interesting things that go on in these parts of the city whether it’s drug deals, prostitution, or someone getting shot over a disagreement that escalates too quickly over something minor. Surprisingly, I really haven’t had too many targets in these areas. It’s usually the people with more money who are the terrible ones. Funny how that works.

  It takes me a good forty-five minutes to make my way to the slums. There is no mistaking when I arrive. Hole-riddled curtains cover the open windows of apartments in need of serious TLC like, yesterday. Grass grows wildly through the cracks in the sidewalks and shoes dangle from telephone lines above the nearly empty streets. Clothes hang on wires in backyards and flowers line the corner of fences in remembrance of someone dying too soon for reasons not justifiable by death. Groups of people hang out on front porches laughing loudly, seemingly happy despite their circumstances. No one pays me any attention as I stroll by; they’re too busy living their lives as best as they can to bother a glance at a dark clad woman prowling the streets looking for answers and, for this, I’m grateful.

  I finally come across someone sitting against a brick wall of an abandoned store, looking like he has made this particular spot his bed for the time being. I bend down next to him, trying to keep his foul odor away from my nostrils, but failing miserably.

  I tap him gently on his dirty, tan jacket. “Excuse me,” my rough voice whispers.

  He jolts to attention and stares up at me with shock in his hollow eyes. His filthy, wrinkly, tan skin falls over his bones with no muscle to give is body any shape other than grotesquely emaciated. His eyes grow wide. “I don’t want any trouble,” he manages to cough out.

  “Neither do I,” I assure him. “I just want to know if you happen to know who this guy is?” I pull the wrinkly picture out of my pocket as I remain bent down beside the man. I hold out the picture for him to look over and he glances at me for a second, hesitating, but finally grabs the picture and studies the face. His eyes lace with fear and he shoves the picture back in my hand as forcefully as he can.

  “No, I don’t. Now, leave me alone.”

  I grit my teeth. Anger won’t get him to tell me anything.

  “Are you sure you don’t..”

  “I said no! Now, get out of here!” he shrieks and begins coughing up a storm. I sigh and stand up, annoyance washing over me. I want to punch the wall he’s leaning on in frustration. He obviously knows the guy, but won’t say anything.

  Great, my target must be a regular ray of sunshine.

  I leave the man alone—as he so kindly requested—to find other people who may know who the hell this guy is. Five more times I get the same reaction. Someone even pulls a gun on me and I accidently let a laugh slip through my lips. I could say I’m not proud of it, but in my defense, the woman held the gun sideways while carrying a yapping dog that’s probably a rat’s twin.

  She didn’t like it very much when I easily disarmed her, unloaded her gun, and threw it in the trash. She didn’t have too much to say to me after that, though.

  Long story short, it’s 3:00 pm and I haven’t gotten any answers.

  I lean against a graffiti-marked, brick building and let out a loud groan. I rest my head back on the cool wall and close my eyes while the breeze blows my hair across my face. The air brings a sickly-sweet smell in front of my nose, prompting me to open my eyes and find a woman to my right standing on the street corner watching cars go by.

  She’s probably a little older than me, but her makeup makes her look like she’s closer to thirty. She wears tight, bright pink fishnet stockings with black heels so high, I think I break my neck just looking at them. Her faux leather skirt shines black in the bright sun and a neon pink fluffed fur coat covers a sparkly black top. My eyes dilate and I see she’s drawn her lipstick outside of her natural lip line to make her lips seem bigger. Her eyes appear as if she’s rubbed charcoal all over them. Her look is topped off by pink and black streaks in her blonde hair. She could totally be a human flamingo.

  I close my eyes again and let out a deep sigh. Pushing myself off the wall, I walk over to this very bright colored woman.

  “Excuse me?” I ask when I’m about six feet away from her.

  Her body jerks and she slams a hand on her chest. “Shit! You scared me.”

  Goddess, she has a thick southern accent.

  “Can I help you?” She looks me over, trying to hide her cringe when she catches sight of my scar.

  I ignore it. “Uh, yeah. I was wondering if you know who this guy,” I hand her the picture of my target, “is. I’m looking for him.” She snatches the picture from me, touching my hand with long, pink nails. I have to hold back my gag.

  She rakes her eyes over the picture and cuts them back up to me. I’m 5’6” and we’re almost the same height thanks to the help of her monstrous heels.

  She smacks on her gum and asks, “Why are you lookin’ for Boss? You tryin’ to be one of his girls or somethin’?”

  One of his girls? I look her over and it clicks. She’s a prostitute. Time to swallow my pride and play along.

  I pull back my shoulders and stand tall. “Yeah, actually. It’s exactly why I’m looking for him.”

  She looks me over skeptically. “Uh huh, yeah okay.” She gives the picture back to me. “What’s today? A Friday?” I nod in agreement. “Okay, right. He should be at Club Phantom tonight scoutin’. That’s really all I know.” She pops her gum and throws her hands in the air at her lack of knowledge.

  I scrunch my forehead in confused thought. “Scouting? What’s that?”

  She shrugs her shoulders dramatically. “Listen, sweetheart. I don’t ask questions. I just get the money for him the way he tells me to. If you’re smart, you won’t ask questions neither.” She pointedly stares at me with raised, drawn on eyebrows.

  I blow out a laughing breath at her. “Right, okay. Thanks for the help.” I turn around and walk back in the direction I came from to grab my things and figure out how to find this Boss.

  “Hey, girl!” flamingo lady yells. I peer over my shoulder at her. “Best be careful.”

  Here I go, rolling my eyes again. What is it with people thinking I can’t handle myself? I’m way more than capable.

  I brush it off. She doesn’t know who or what I am
. She’s just trying to be nice. I need to get a grip on my attitude.

  Anyway, I have to be ready. I have to catch this Boss and show him who the real Boss is.

  Me.

  Chapter 7

  Lying on my stomach on the roof of a building across from Club Phantom, I seriously wonder how the hell people pick names of establishments like this. Nothing about this place reminds me of a phantom or anything remotely close to a ghost. Sure, the building is gray and a bit creepy, but loud music and belligerent, drunk humans surround the outside.

  It’s three stories high. Three stories too high, in my opinion. It’s rundown and looks like it couldn’t pass an inspection, even from a skeezy inspector. It would be safer if it didn’t exist, but I don’t exactly believe in fun, so my opinion doesn’t really count.

  The thought of fun drags my thoughts to Nina.

  Not that she is fun.

  I mean, maybe she is. I don’t know. I just mean she seemed to be having fun when I met her.

  Or something.

  Ugh, anyway. I ruminate on what she said earlier about me ending up alone. It’s like an itch in the back of my mind demanding to be scratched. If I don’t scratch it, it threatens to bore itself into my brain and never go away.

  I pull my eye back from the scope of my sniper rifle and press my lips together. It’s not like ending up alone bothers me. I know I will and I’m fine with it. I’m not exactly relationship material anyway. Maybe it bothers me because she assumes I’m going to be alone? But why the hell do I care what she thinks? I can’t pay my dues to Hecate with her opinions, so it shouldn’t matter.

  My eyes pick up movement in the back parking lot of the club. I pull myself out of my thoughts and into the scope of my rifle. It’s him: Mr. Boss himself. After me lying up here for three and a half hours, he finally decides to make an appearance. He wears a well-fitted, tan suit with a purple shirt underneath. He even has a tan, purple-banned fedora covering his sandy hair to match. Charming.