Falling for the Hitman

by N. Alleman

  Oh God, I can’t deal with any of this. I need to get out of here.

  My mind races, and I feel jittery and terrified. I flit around from room to room, needing to do something. I don't know what, but I need to do something.

  I start throwing things randomly into a bag, including a stack of cash from the stash Damien calls his “pocket money”, half making the decision to get out of here for good. If I want to do something positive for myself, something other than killing him, the only way to do that is to move out. If I’m here, with him, things will end up with one of us dead.

  What I need is some time away, some space to sort out my thoughts. Then I can make a rational decision, do something smart. Maybe once I’ve had some time to myself, we’ll both realize that divorce is really the only option for us, and we can end things smoothly. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want me anyway. Maybe once I’m gone he’ll be able to accept that, and we can both move on.

  As I grab my birth control pills to toss them in my bag, a tight knot of fear grips me even tighter. I hold onto them, staring at them like a mad person while I do some frantic calculations.

  Shit!

  As much as I try to keep away from Damien in the bedroom these days, sometimes I can’t escape him, and this month has been worse than most.

  It’s been far too long since I got my period. I’m definitely late, and I pray it doesn’t mean what I think it does.

  My hand trembles as I pick up my toothbrush to throw in my bag. I’ve always been so careful not to get pregnant by Damien, I’ve always been acutely aware of where that might lead, and since my mother had me in an abusive situation, I didn’t want that for my future children. But it seems I might not have been careful enough.

  Add picking up a pregnancy test to the list of things I need to do, and I’ll take it when I get to the hotel, or wherever I intend to stay during the next few days.

  That’s the next thing I need to figure out…

  Bang!

  The front door slams shut, and I can hear my husband staggering through the house, clearly drunk. My heart falls and I’m gripped with fear. I force myself to take a deep breath then I look down at my bag and try to decide what to do with it. Should I hide it and act like I everything is normal, or do I boldly let him see and tell him I’m leaving? Maybe opening that line of communication is the right thing to do, maybe if he realizes that I’m serious about going, he’ll let me go.

  Maybe this can all be okay after all

  “What the fuck is this?” He slurs as he bursts into the bedroom and makes my choice for me. “What is your shit doing out on the bed? Or maybe I should say my shit, since I paid for it all. And what’s with the bag?”

  His tone is nasty, and grit my teeth before unclenching my jaw to say, “I’m leaving.” Raising my head high, I move towards the door, but he leans close enough for me to smell the booze on his breath and blocks my path.

  I hate him when he’s drunk, he’s even worse than normal. “I’m leaving now.” I repeat. “I need a time out for a while, I think we both need a break, don’t you?”

  “Oh you do, do you?” He sneers. “Right, I see, and where were you earlier?”

  My heart races. He wasn't here when I went out for my meeting with the hitman, so I assumed that everything would be okay, but it sounds like he suspects something is up. Nausea swirls in my stomach and I’m afraid I’m going to be sick, but I force it down. “I went to meet some friends for a few drinks.”

  “Friends,” he pushes me backwards, toying with me. “You don’t have any friends.”

  I force myself not to say it’s his fault I don't have any friends, but I feel like I might explode. I’ve been bottling things up for far too long, and now they’re about to burst free.

  “I followed you,” he announces, and my blood runs cold. “I saw you meet that man. I know you’re cheating on me, you lying bitch.”

  I know it isn’t true, and I’m aware of the irony, him yelling at me for something that he blatantly does all the time, but I’m still terrified. That familiar glint in his eye means he’s about to come for me, and I shrink inside myself. Taking a step backwards, I myself against the wall, and then he lunges at me.

  He smacks me three times, each blow more punishing than the last and my head snaps so violently to the side that I fear I’ve got whiplash. When he goes to hit me a fourth time, I shriek out of desperation.

  Without having thought it through, I yell, “I think I’m pregnant.”

  “Not mine,” he lashes out once more, and luckily because he’s drunk and I dodge him, his hand connects with the wall instead. “You fucking bitch,” he shouts, shaking his injured hand. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re having someone else’s baby, and you expect me to suffer for it?”

  Tears roll down my cheeks as, I grab my bag and a set of Damien’s car keys—the one to the car he never drives anyway, the one that technically mine then I race down the stairs as fast as I can manage. I’m certain I can make my escape because he’s too wasted to catch me., Fortunately I’m right, and I burst into the cold night air before Damien can even make it down the stairs.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting up the engine. My fear is fueling my body with adrenaline, and I need to get out now.

  As the car slides out of the driveway, and the wetness continues to stream down my face, I try to decide what to do next. Damien now knows that I want out, which means whatever he has planned for me, it’ll be awful. If I am going to make my move with this hit, this is the time to do so.

  I’m all out of choices.

  With a heavy heart I grab the phone and put in a call to the hitman.

  “Hello?” He answers gruffly, sending a whole bunch of crazy sensations racing through my body. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s... it’s Nadia,” I say with a shaky voice. “We met earlier today... I just want to confirm the contract.”

  There’s a brief pause before he speaks. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I rasp, thinking about the evil look Damien wore on his face only moments ago. My husband definitely intended to kill me. That is, unless I have him killed first. “I’m sure.”

  “I’ll be in touch. I’ll text you with a time to be out of the house, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  And with that, it’s done.

  Once I hang up the phone, I drive to a motel where I doubt Damien would think to look for me. After I check in and barricade myself in the room, I sit down on the scratchy bedspread, an odd sense of relief flooding through me. This might be the craziest decision I ever make, but I don't think I have any other choice. It feels sad, my life turning out this way, but at the same time, I feel a glimmer of hope that maybe I can have a second chance if I get this done. If I do it right, and I take advantage of this opportunity, maybe it’ll all be worth it after all...

  No matter what happens, I promise myself that I’ll never put myself in such a bad situation again.

  5

  Alexi

  As soon as I hang up the phone with Nadia, I feel a million times better. I know she’s making the right choice, and I’m glad that she’s finally come around to that way of thinking. She’ll be much better off without her abuser, and the sooner he’s gone, the better as far as I’m concerned.

  Now I’m ready to do it. I have all that I need, and I’m just eager to get the job over and done with. Normally, I wait at least forty-eight hours after confirmation, just to give people a buffer in case they change their mind, but with Nadia I know time is of the essence. I need to kill him before he comes after her.

  The next morning I’m about to head out and get it done, but first I need to call Nadia to get her out of the house. This is often done via text message, but I don't want to leave any kind of trail... at least that’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it so I call instead

  “Hello?” She answers on the first ring.

  “It’s Alexi,” I tell her before realizi
ng I haven’t given her my name, but she must recognize the number because she instantly seems to know who I am. “I need you out of the house within the next hour.”

  “I... I’m not actually there,” she tells me, sounding nervous. “We had a huge fight last night and I left... just before I called you last night.”

  Fucking hell. She’s just made things a million times more complicated for us both by putting herself even more in the firing line. I’m already unsure of how well she’ll do under police questioning, and now it could get even uglier.

  “Okay,” I say, trying to remain calm. She’s clearly already a mess so I don't want to make that worse. “Then it’s even more important for you to have an alibi. Be sure that you are seen wherever you go. Talk to people, have memorable conversations. Do whatever you need to, to insure that people know you’re there.”

  “Oh... okay,” she stammers. “I will.”

  As I hang up the phone, I rub my hands across my face. What the hell did she go and do that for? Of course I’m glad that she isn’t still with that douchebag, but to run away just before he’s killed... that’s not the smartest move. I mean, I know people don't react well to stress, I’ve been in this line of work long enough to know that, but still, this is going from bad to worse.

  Never mind, there’s fucking nothing that I can do about it now. It’s time to just head out there and get shit done. I just hope this doesn’t end up blowing up in my face, and I pray Nadia doesn’t crack under the pressure and end up telling the cops everything. It’s a point of pride with me how well I’ve managed to stay under the police’s radar, and I’d like it to remain that way.

  “Fuck it,” I mutter, shaking my head to myself. “It’s go time.”

  I’m impressed when I see Damien’s home. The son of a bitch must be doing pretty well for himself. Looks like he finds crime as lucrative as I do.

  The massive McMansion sits on a large expanse of land. I try to picture Nadia here, but I have trouble doing it. It just doesn’t look like the sort of place where she would fit in at all. Too impersonal. I remind myself I shouldn’t be getting all worked up over a woman I’m never going to see again. After today, we’ll cut ties and that will be the end of it. I just need to focus on the end goal, get this asshole killed and get on with my life. Maybe with the pay-check I’ll get from this one, I’ll take a break, go on vacation somewhere.

  Yeah, a break sounds damn good.

  I set about sorting out all the security in Damien’s house remotely. I need his CCTV turned off so there’s no trace of me, but because I’ve done this a million and one times, that’s no problem for me. I can do this practically with my eyes closed. My fingers tumble over the keyboard, getting everything set up.

  I wonder if this guy is going to suspect something is up. If so, that will make things a little more complicated. Someone who is on the lookout for trouble will pick up on things that a clueless person will pay no attention to—noises, bumps, unusual presences...

  Hopefully the asshole is just going about his daily business, none the wiser.

  And I also pray that he’s alone. Having other people around is always an issue, but as I flip through the CCTV footage it doesn’t seem like anyone is in there.

  Okay, it’s go time.

  My heart races in my chest as I walk through the home, tiptoeing as quietly as I can manage. Anticipation courses through me, and I notice I’m more on edge than usual. Normally when I go into a job it’s with a steely sense of calm, but today that’s missing. Today I feel something else.

  I grip the cold metal gun between my fingers, and tell myself not to think. Just execute the plan. But as soon as I’ve done that, something else creeps through me, something unpleasant. There’s a weird air hanging above me and it has my hackles instantly rising. Something is wrong, and I’m not sure what it is.

  I enter through a sliding door at the back of the property, and I make my way stealthily towards his office, where I expect him to be based on my surveillance. As I step through the door of the room, I sense it. There is definitely something wrong.

  Damien’s dead body lay face down on the floor.

  Well, fuck me. Somebody else got to him first.

  I kneel down beside him and examine his body closer, thinking it’s ironic that the murder weapon—a knife—is stuck in his back. It’s not the only stab wound. Somebody worked him over pretty good. The one wound to the back might not be enough to kill him, but it looks like it was the final blow.

  “Shit,” I mutter, yanking the knife from the body, watching the blood dripping from it. A long dark hair hangs from the knife, one that can only belong to one person... Nadia. What did you do, girl?

  I should have known this was going to happen. I heard the raw emotion in her voice on the phone last night. I knew she was a wreck. Maybe she came back here to try and talk again and things got out of control. I examine the knife more closely, knowing that it probably has her finger prints all over it.

  This situation presents me with a few choices. I could put the knife back and leave the whole mess to resolve itself, or I could take on the challenge of hiding the evidence and trying to get Nadia off the hook.

  Would I even be considering the second option if it was anyone but her?

  “I’m going to regret this,” I think as I stuff the weapon in my pocket and making sure there are no other hairs on his body. I don't know why I’m doing this, what is making me take this to another level. I don't know what it is about Nadia, but she has me doing things that are way out of character for me.

  The sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway makes me race to the window just in time to see a banged up old van roll to a stop. Then I watch in a stunned silence as someone dressed all in black, face covered, shoves a female figure out of the back door. The figure tumbles onto the ground, screaming in pain.

  The van pulls away, and I rush outside, trying to work out what the fuck is going on here. As soon as I reach the howling figure on the ground, I realize it’s Nadia. Her clothes are dishevelled, and she’s a mess.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I ask, pulling her upright. “Are you okay?”

  “I don't... what... what’s...?” She asks, clearly a mess... and in that moment it hits me. We’ve been set up.

  “Someone knew,” I tell her. “Someone knew what we were up to, and they got to him first.” Nadia looks confused.

  “Damien’s dead,” I tell her. “Someone else killed him, and I think that they’re trying to frame you for it. I mean, I have the weapon but...”

  Sirens blast from every direction, and I instantly move into the bushes, knowing what’s about to happen. The cops are here for her and the shit’s about to hit the fan. “Nadia,” I hiss at her. “Nadia, come here now.” I rush for the bushes and hide myself behind them.

  Too late, I realize she didn’t follow me Instead she just stands there, frozen to the spot. The poor girl is probably in shock. I want to rush over, grab her and to pull her to me, hide her, but it’s as if everything happens like it’s in slow motion.

  When the cops arrive, they instantly find Nadia there looking totally freaked out by everything. All I can do is watch her be handcuffed and thrown into the back of the car as she’s arrested.

  I don't dare show myself. The last thing Nadia or I need is for me to be found at the scene of her husband’s murder. So I remain motionless until the police have gone into the house. At that point, I escape into the woods behind the house. After I’m out of range, I run to where I parked my rental car a couple of miles away and I speed south—the opposite direction I’d come from.

  Whatever the hell was going on with Nadia and her husband—I’m involved now. My fingers clutch the knife in my pocket and I consider whether or not I should get rid of it.

  The only thing I know for sure is that I need to get Nadia out of police custody and keep her safe.

  The question is how.

  Whoever did this, they are clever as fuck. I can’t believe I’v
e been outwitted and made to look like a fucking idiot. Aidan is going to be pissed when he finds out about this. He’s going to have my head on a fucking spike, which is another reason I need to get this shit figured out—to protect myself.

  This contract become about so much more than money.

  It’s starting to feel like a personal attack, and that scares the shit out of me.

  But who the fuck was it? And what the hell do they want?

  6

  Nadia

  Sitting in the police station, I’m scared to death. My heart is racing, my brain is freaking out, and my legs are shaking. I don’t know what to do.

  How the hell did I end up in this mess?

  I did exactly as I was instructed. This morning I got ready to go to my yoga class. It seemed like a good choice because I go semi regularly, and I thought the people would definitely recognize my face. But I didn’t even make it away from the hotel before someone threw a hood over my head, grabbed me around the waist and threw me into the back of a van.

  When I ended up back at my own home, I didn’t understand what the hell was happening. Then I saw Alexi, and everything got a million times worse. Had I been dropped off to witness the murder? Was that what the hell was going on? And then he started saying all this weird stuff to me, and I just froze.

  Now I’m sitting here, being intently questioned by a female cop, and I don't know what the hell to say. I keep telling her that I have nothing to say because I’ve seen that advised on the TV, and I don't know what else I can do. I’m not entirely sure that it’s working, but what else can I do? I don't really know anything, I’m not sure that I have enough information to help them. The only thing I know for certain is that I didn’t do anything, but the fact that I wanted my husband dead... what if it shows on my face?

  “You don’t know anything about the scream that came from your house at 9:45 a.m.?” She asks me again.