The Killer’s Vow by Aria R. Blue
Simon
She flipped a switch inside me.
One that turns off everything good and redeemable.
All that’s left in me now is bloodlust and something sad. To cover the unwanted emotion, I focus on the bloodlust, and I make it grow until it’s all I see.
I stroke Lion’s head.
Wherever I go next, I can’t take him with me. I’ll have to leave him with the one other person I saw him tolerate.
“She left us, buddy,” I say. “That’s what women do. They leave.”
My mother left.
And so did the only other woman I let into my heart.
Until now, I was following strategy. But now, I move on emotion.
And there’s only one skill I completely mastered in my life: Killing.
I make that call I told myself I would never make.
“Finally.” His familiar voice soothes me.
“I’m ready, Vlad.”
“Trouble in paradise?” he asks.
“I’ve decided that the fires of hell suit me better. Give me everything. I’ll kill whoever.”
There’s a pause.
It’s nighttime in Russia. By the noises in the background, he’s at some dinner party.
When he speaks again, his voice is amplified like he locked himself in a small closet. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you about it after I draw some blood.”
“Killing isn’t supposed to be therapeutic, Simon.”
“I’m sure your list only grew longer in the time that I was away.” None of the other assassins can get the job done like I do.
“There’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance. Dancing on the line with such abandon is going to get you hurt one day.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t choose this life because it was safe.”
Vlad sighs. “Come back home, Simon. Meet me at the café in Red Square tomorrow. Our usual time.”
I hang up and look at the wolf hybrid.
He’s a painful reminder of her.
“I’m going to miss you, buddy,” I say, rubbing the spot behind his ear.
“Señor?” A meek voice makes me lift my head.
A woman places a glass of water on the table with shaky hands.
There’s a pill next to it.
Probably an Advil.
“The señorita who left wanted you to have this.”
“Did she take the car?” I ask.
The woman nods. “But she left a suitcase behind.”
I’m supposed to take my medication at the same time every morning. It helps me stay focused on what’s important.
But now that I’ve already lost all that is important, I don’t need it anymore.
“I need a ride,” I say. “To your nearest airport.”
* * *
Three flightsand nine hours later, I land in Mainland China.
I’m supposed to take a connecting flight to Moscow now. But the long hours of flying until now did no favors to my sour mood.
Because there’s more than bloodlust now.
There’s also a part of me that is worried about her. Even though she’s the one who unceremoniously poisoned me before stealing my car and leaving me to sleep in a restaurant, I can’t stop thinking about her.
And these new emotions are only making me more agitated.
So instead of waiting for the connecting flight like I’m supposed to, I walk out of the airport to work on a little side project of mine.
After my last assignment in Saudi Arabia, I unearthed a network of criminals running the worst kinds of crimes—ones that involve taking away human rights.
I’ve taken countless lives, but I draw the line when it comes to children.
I can’t stand by and watch when children are used for labor or worse. And the same goes for trafficking operations around the world.
There’s no point in involving the officials in these matters.
Some monsters don’t deserve second chances, even ones in prison.
The weight of my Glock is reassuring in my holster.
But even as I weave through a small town of one of Mainland China’s provinces, I know that this won’t give me any relief.
No medication could have gotten me to focus like Vera did.
When she was in front of me, the rest of the world slipped away.
She was a star who demanded all of my attention.
A child barrels into my legs. He looks up at me and smiles before disappearing into the crowd. Two more children chase after him.
Childhood innocence.
It’s something to be protected.
I muster up all my rage and hurt and channel it into my strides.
Red lanterns from Chinese New Year still decorate the streets. A gust of steam wafts up my nose as I pass by a food stall selling steamed buns.
As I walk farther down the street, smells of the street mix with the hot food—meat and vegetable skewers on charcoal grills, rice noodles, and other local delicacies.
It starts to drizzle, and I watch as the owners of the stalls deftly set up rain covers.
The sudden rain makes people gravitate toward the comfort food.
All the better for me because my path becomes clearer as the crowd thins out.
I take a narrow alley and climb the staircase of the third building to my right.
Rain is an ally.
It keeps people in their homes.
As expected, the roof of the residential building is empty, save for a few potted plants.
I take my position.
And I wait in the rain.
Before I go back to Moscow, I’ll be killing thirty-four men. One for every day since I heard the name Vera Maximovna Reznikova.