by N. Alleman
But he refused, and he threatened to kill me if I ever tried to leave him.
It took a long time for me to decide to call the assassin agency, but once I did it felt like I was finally making the right decision, the one that would ultimately free me. Ever since I found that service online, I’ve gone back and forth. I’m absolutely petrified of actually taking that step, but I now that I’ve stolen the money from Damien to pay for it, I feel like I have no choice but to follow through with my plan. If he ever finds out that I took that money from him, even if he doesn’t know what it’s for, he’ll kill me. I really am stuck now.
It’s come to the point where one of us is leaving this marriage in a body bag, and it’s either going to be him or me.
I’d much prefer it to be him.
Shit, a bolt of panic shoots through me as I hear a car pulling up in the driveway .I race towards the window to see Damien finally arriving home. Fuck. My eyes flick across the room, checking I’ve got the place as tidy as he likes it, because I don't want to encourage his wrath if I can help it. I do my best not to provoke him these days.
My heart thunders against my ribcage, and a tight knot forms in my stomach. He emerges from his car, and a sight that once filled me with happiness, now brings only terror.
My husband is home, and my hell begins.
I hate him, I ball my fists. I fucking hate him.
Then, another sight that I’ve started to see more and more frequently—a woman pulls herself from the passenger’s seat, giggling and flicking her hair back flirtatiously. She’s in a skin-tight dress that hugs her curves, accenting her massive fake breasts. Compared to me in a simple pair of jeans and t-shirt, she looks incredible. And young, if a little plastic. My heart sinks as I witness his blatant disregard for our marriage. At least he used to be discreet with his affairs, now it’s as if he doesn’t give a shit. He flaunts his infidelity, wanting to hurt me, to humiliate me. It’s like he needs for me to be in pain—just one more way he can control me.
I suppose it’s good because he doesn’t hit me in front of other people, and it also means he won’t be coming anywhere near me later on. But it still cuts deep, confirming that I’m useless, not worthy of love.
“...I know, I know...” I hear Damien laugh at something the bimbo said. He makes sure he does this loud enough for me to hear. I flinch as she pops her gum, their footsteps are coming my way.
I’m going to have to face them—the shameful, humiliated wife, and it damn near kills me. “Oh, Nadia...” he acts surprised, as if he wasn’t planning this all along. “I didn’t realize you were going to here.” He pulls his random skank closer to him, making his emotions very clear. “Well, Janelle and I will be taking the master bedroom. Don’t disturb us, okay?”
I don't answer. I simply stand there with a determined look on my face until he takes a step towards me, the threat evident. “Okay,” I finally whisper, angry tears pricking my eyes as embarrassment engulfs me. A split second of pride bursts through me, and I give it one last shot. Grabbing hold of his shirt, I whisper, “Will you please give me a minute? Speak to me alone?”
I don't know why I did it,, I have no idea what I intend to say, I just know that I need to give it one last. If we could just talk about it, I might be able to find something there. My guilt was mounting. Anything to give me a reason to call the whole thing off.
But I can already see from the look on his face—the contempt—that there’s nothing left between us. Nothing good anyway.
His hand swings forward and before I know it, he’s connected with my face, and I’m flying backwards. He’s actually hit me in front of an audience. That’s how low I am. I glance back at him, desperation filling me, but he simply sneers at me.
“You should know your place by now,” he snipes, turning to walk away from me. “Just leave us the hell alone.”
“Is that your wife?” The girl laughs nastily, wrapping her arms around him and sticking out her oversized bottom lip. “What the hell is wrong with her?”
What the hell is wrong with me?
Tears roll down my cheeks. Why have I stayed and let this happen? Why haven’t I stolen money before and just run away?
Because I’m terrified he’ll find me. His murder might not be what I want, but it really seems like the only way.
With him gone, I’ll be able to restart my life. The only problem is I don't know what I’m going to do with it. I don't have any plans, any dreams, any goals...
Oh God, this is far too overwhelming for me. I don't know what the hell to do anymore.
But before I let that get me down, I’ve got to focus on getting out. Once I’m free, then I can figure the rest of it out.
I race to the spare bedroom, the one that I use when Damien has “company” where I collapse onto the bed, crying. I weep for my crappy life, for the stupid decisions I’ve made, and for the fact that I’ve had to resort to such extreme measures to solve my problems. And I try not to think about the fact that I have no idea what I will do when he’s gone.
But as the sounds of energetic, animalistic sex burst from the room above, my resolve strengthens because my other choice is to be a coward and live like this for the rest of my life.
3
Alexi
I pull my truck up in the dark alley outside a fast food restaurant. This is where the agency has arranged the meeting between Nadia and myself. I feel that old familiar rush race through me again.
There’s nothing I love more than the start of a fresh, new project, and for some reason this particular job seems even more intense. I have a feeling this job is going to be special, that it’s going to affect my life in some way, and the anticipation has me so excited I’m having a hard time sitting still. I haven’t been this keyed up since I first started in this line of work.
I see a woman hunched over, staring at the ground. She looks absolutely petrified, so I assume it’s her—Nadia. A lot of new clients expect us to be really scary men when they meet us, all tattooed and covered in scars, threatening, but that isn’t usually the case. Of course, we can be intimidating when we need to be, but I’m only interested in scaring the bad guys, the ones who deserve it. The ones I’m being paid to kill.
I have no intention of frightening this woman.
One new client told me he’d assumed I’d come with a voice changer and my face covered, truly hiding my identity. Of course, I can see the reasoning behind that, but what would be the point? Why hide something criminal when we’re all involved? If I were to get in shit, they would go down too for ordering the hit.
“Hello,” I say quietly as I approach her, trying to keep my presence as benign as possible. “Would you prefer to talk outside or in my car?” I prefer to be locked away with some protection from listening ears, but it isn’t really up to me. I want her to feel comfortable. The last thing I want to do is freak this woman out after all she’s going through with that ape of husband. I may not know the details, but I know if it’s bad enough she wants him dead and is desperate enough to do something about it—it’s pretty fucking bad.
“In the car, please,” she replies, to my relief. “It’s cold out here.”
I open the door for her, and she gets in my rented car. Right away, I drive around the block before entering a dark parking garage. One I know doesn’t have any cameras.
“It’s best if we’re not seen together,” I explain and she nods, agreeing with me on that front.
Once I put the vehicle in park I turn to her and begin my spiel. I’m all business. “Okay, to start with, I want you to know that I’ve read all the details, so I know everything you’ve told the agency already.”
She nods slowly and I continue, “And the first thing I want to confirm is that you’re still happy to proceed with the transaction. I know it might be scary, so I just want to know where your head is before we go too deep into this.”
“Okay,” her breaths are labored, and I can tell that she’s panicked. I find I have an inappropriate
urge to reach out and touch her. Thank God I catch myself before I do. Physical contact with a client is not allowed, I’m not supposed to engage with this woman beyond the transaction in any way. Our relationship must be kept strictly business, for both her safety and mine.
She’s speaking, but I’m having a difficult time listening to her because it’s just registered with me how beautiful she is. “Yes, I think so. I mean... yeah.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“I am.” She turns to face me full on and there’s an angry red mark staining her cheek. That really winds me up. She’s been hit recently and yet she’s still debating whether or not she should end this fucker?
I did a little more research on her husband, on them both really, and I know for a fact now that this piece of garbage is involved in a lot of criminal shit. Selling drugs to kids and beating his wife. This guy is a piece of work. Fucking disgusting.
“Well, if that’s the case, I will get it done, and it will be quick. I’ll be finished by the end of the week.”
Her face pales, but I keep going. She needs to understand exactly what this entails—it isn’t a game. This is real, and she needs to get that. “So you need to make a plan. When I actually go through with this, you need to be somewhere else, and you’ll have to act natural the entire time. Do you think you can do that?”
She bites her lip, but nods her assent.
“You’ll need to be somewhere you go regularly, where people know you so you’ll have a solid alibi. Afterwards, you might be brought in as a suspect and you’ll need to have people who know your face, who recognize you say where you were.”
“Okay,” she practically whispers. She’s shaking, and I honestly wonder how she ended up here. She strikes me as the least likely person to get involved with business like this, and I can’t help but be intrigued as to how she ended up here. I want to know more about her, but I can’t indulge my idle curiosity.
“I know that’s a lot to process, but you really need to know what you’re getting yourself in for. I just want you to be prepared.”
I can already see her backtracking before she even opens her mouth. “I... I... I don't know. Maybe I should just try and talk to Damien first. Maybe I should just try speaking to him about everything...”
“It looks like you already tried that,” I say firmly. “And it didn’t work out so well.”
She looks confused, and I point at her cheek.
She cringes.
A tenderness swells inside me and again I feel the urge to wrap my arms around this vulnerable woman. There’s something about her that makes me want to protect her. Underneath all the pain and the damage that’s been caused to her from her shitty marriage, I see a true beauty—a woman any man would be lucky to have. What the hell is her idiot fucking husband doing?
Her long dark hair is pulled back and I imagine she looks amazing when it’s hanging loose. Her eyes are an interesting blue that’s almost violet, and she has the high, well-defined cheek bones of a model. She’s got her body covered up under layers of clothing, but I imagine it’s incredible what she’s hiding under there...
Whoa, wait! Stop thinking like that, I scold myself. You cannot think about her in any kind of sexual way. Stop it, stop it now.
“I know this isn’t going to be easy,” I force myself to focus on the matter at hand. “But if your statement is true and he’s threatened you every time you’ve asked for a divorce, then what other option do you have? I know men like your husband. I know what they’re capable of and how this always ends up. It’s either you or him... I guess it’s up to you who you want it to be.”
She’s mulling this over so I deliver my final pitch. It’s not like I’m desperate for this contract—plenty of others will come my way—I’m just not keen with the idea of sending this stunning woman back to her horrible husband without a plan in place. “Don't you want more for yourself? Don't you envision a better future for yourself?”
“I... yeah, I don't know,” she shakes her head. “Can I have some time to think about it?”
I sigh sadly, wishing that the outcome could be different, but at the same time I know for a fact that if I push her any further, she’ll run away even faster. She’s spent a long time cooped up in her shell, I can see that, and I don't want to spook her. We are talking about murder, and most people don’t take it lightly.
“Of course,” I finally say. “Let me give you my cell phone number, and you can contact me whenever you decide. Just... don't take too long okay? Don't give him time to find anything out.”
“I won’t,” she replies, handing me her phone to type in my digits. When I hand it back to her our eyes meet. It isn’t much, but something passes between us, and it’s intense. There’s a connection there, something that has my stomach fluttering like a schoolboy, and I have to remind myself to remain professional.
For a millisecond, I want to offer her a ride home, but that would be a stupid move. If my car was to be seen anywhere near her property it would raise suspicion before I could even complete the job. As much as I don't like to have to drop her off on the side of the street and just drive away, that’s what I have to do. It’s in both of our best interests.
“Okay,” I say, pulling up about twenty yards from where I picked her up. “Will you be all right from here?”
“Yes.” She stares at me with fear in her eyes. I wish there was something I could say to make her feel better, something I could do to reassure her, but I’ve got nothing. This is a decision that she alone needs to make. I can’t push her to do something she doesn’t want to do and will have to live with for the rest of her life. “Thank you.”
As I drive home, my mind goes back to one of the guys who used to work at the agency. Paul was there when I first started. He made the fatal mistake of falling for the woman who hired him. He fell for her hard and fast, and in the end it affected his performance on the job.
The woman changed her mind, but Paul wanted to be with her so he tried to push her into letting him complete the hit. In the end not only did the bitch change her mind, she ended up turning things around and getting her husband to kill Paul instead.
I shuddered at the memory. Of course somebody from our agency took the guy out, but Paul was dead just the same. I sure as shit didn’t want to really don't want to end up like that. To be sure I don’t I’ve got to be careful with this one. Nadia is already taking up way too much of my energy.
She’s just another client. Make sure she stays that way.
Nadia doesn’t look like the kind of woman who has her own money. She’s too timid for that, so I’m concerned she may have stolen the $80,000 to pay for the hit from the bastard himself. And if he figures it out…he’ll probably kill her.
I hope she makes her decision before that happen…
I’m already more invested in this woman than I should be, but I don't want her to end up dead. The poor kid doesn’t deserve to die. She seems like a sweet person who really needs this second chance, and if I can give that to her, it justifies my line of work somewhat. I’ll feel even better about it when I finally get paid my cut...
Shit, I’m going to end up in so much trouble...I can feel it in the marrow of my bones.
4
Nadia
I arrive home it’s a relief to find the house empty, and I take a look around the place through nostalgic eyes. It seems like yesterday when Damien brought me here and showed me the home I thought would be my salvation. Back then I believed that I was his princess, being lifted from my poor, humble background into a world of romance, endless riches, and love...I’d been naive enough to think I had it made. How could I have been so stupid? The surface layer had been all I’d paid attention to, and it blows my mind how much I ignored any signs that there was something not so pleasant below the façade of perfection. There were little warning signs as to Damien’s true character, but I chose to ignore them. The fantasy had been so wonderful. Why ruin it by being picking apart his occasionally ru
de behaviour? He loved me. I convinced myself it would all be fine.
But it wasn’t.
At the beginning, the elaborately decorated the rooms, the amazing artwork, all the lovely expensive things...they had seemed like a dream, but they had become a nightmare. My lovely home had become a prison I can’t escape from.
How quickly things descended into hell. We were only together for five months before we got married, and now we’ve been wed for nearly five years, each of them worse than the last. But I never thought it would end with me hiring someone to kill him.
The day I put in that call to the agency, I was stressed and highly emotional. Damien had been particularly awful that day. He’d hit me twice for not washing the dishes quickly enough, and he’d spent an hour belittling me about something I’d said until I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d reached the end of my rope, and I did something rash.
I don't think the reality of how serious this actually is hit me until that man explained it to me. That’s when I realized how out of control this could get. All that talk about alibis and becoming a potential suspect... that really genuinely freaked me out. I don't think that I’ll be able to keep my cool around the police, especially when I know that I’m guilty. I might not be the one pulling the trigger, but it’ll certainly be my fault that if it happens, and I’m not going to be great at disguising that.
The hitman wasn't what I was expecting at all. He was actually nice, and that has me even more confused. It upsets me out that my judgment is so screwed up and my emotions are all over the place. It makes me wonder what the hell is wrong with my brain. First, I fall for someone who appears nice but is a dick, and now I think a hitman who is clearly a dangerous criminal, seems like a nice person.
