Bound by Chains Page 2

  It took a certain level of finesse when hunting a bounty. She could overpower few but outsmart many. She always went forward with a plan in place, though that plan was loosely constructed and never solid. She preferred to improvise, though she always had some semblance of a plan on how to take down her bounties.

  She pulled a laminated map of Miami from her desk and uncapped a dry-erase marker. She knew the who and why, now she just needed to know the where and how.

  She started by researching suspected victims and putting a dot on the map where they’d been last seen. Emery hadn’t been convicted yet so all the ‘evidence’ was circumstantial, but even suspected murderers were allowed out on bail if the extensive fee could be paid, and Emery hadn’t shown up for his trial. He’d jumped bail, and perhaps Cora would thank him for it when she caught him. His shenanigans would make her fifty-grand richer after all.

  Five girls that they knew of were dosed with a paralytic, raped, then overdosed on that same paralytic. Aconitum, also known as Wolf’s Bane, was Emery’s poison of choice. A few drops of concentrate to paralyze a victim, a few more to poison them.

  “You really are a bitch, aren’t you Wilson?” she mumbled, shooting a pointed glare at the black-and-white photo containing the kind of guy she’d like to kiss with a chainsaw. Instead she would give him a taste of his own medicine, so to speak.

  The victim’s bodies had all been dumped at construction sites. She put more dots on the map where the bodies had been discovered then connected the dots. Surprise, surprise, they formed a circle. She connected the victim’s dots next and once again a circle formed. There were only a few buildings in the center of both circles and one stood out to her, screaming ‘villain hideout’.’ It was an old abandoned warehouse, which used to store medical supplies, of all things.

  “Gotcha,” she said through her lollipop, which clanked against her teeth as she twirled her tongue around it.

  She copied the address onto a sticky note and slipped it into her pocket then went to get ready. Around the same time Asher was getting into the shower, Cora was moving her Glock to her ankle and strapping a throwing dagger onto her thigh high enough to be perfectly concealed by her Pepto-Bismol pink dress. She moved to the door where all of her shoes sat tucked into little cubbies beneath yet another mahogany piece of furniture. A bench with shelves for multiple pairs of shoes. Sitting down on the platform, she pulled her leather boots from their spot of honor and slipped them on with careful precision, positioning her right boot around her gun to conceal it professionally.

  They were slim and comfy, her boots; with little support without the insoles she inserted herself. They were still a bit on the dressy side, more fashionable leather boots than practical ones, but they made her feel invincible. They were dark brown, which masked blood and were the only thing she owned that was leather enough to be considered bounty hunter worthy. She always wore them on the job. She called them her ‘ass-kicking boots’, because when it came to kicking ass they hadn’t let her down yet.

  As Asher was preparing to leave his apartment, Cora was calling an herbalist that lived down the street to ask about Wolf’s Bane. After a briefly pleasant conversation the herbalist agreed to sell her some, but only a very distinct dosage. Not enough to kill anyone, which Cora assured her wasn’t a problem.

  Cora and Asher both locked their apartment doors around the same time and headed towards the same warehouse to take down Emery Wilson, though with two completely different motives.

  The warehouse was outside of the city. A medical supply warehouse wasn’t exactly a tourist attraction, so it was hidden from view. As was most all of the crimes that happened in Miami. Wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea that the city containing one of the highest crime rates in America would be dangerous. That would be bad for business, so like the abandoned warehouse it was hidden from view. This made the warehouse a prime spot for illegal activity of course, and especially enticing to someone like The Snake.

  At least that’s what Asher was thinking as he rolled up to the warehouse and stepped from his vehicle, his ears and eyes alert to anything out of the ordinary. The remnants of the building contained boarded up windows, rotted wood, rusted metal frames, faded company print, and graffiti. Though there were other buildings around, it was mostly a construction zone long abandoned, some city project which lost funding no doubt.

  Now the buildings were home to rats and homeless drug addicts. He couldn’t hear any scuffling around however, the night was quiet. Eerily so.

  His boots did scuff against the asphalt however as he stepped casually towards the building. The entrance was unblocked and only when he was concealed by it did he remove his gun from its holster. A Beretta 92FS was his gun of choice for this hit. It was among the most durable, accurate and dependable pistols in his current arsenal. That particular model had never jammed on him though previous ones had in the past. It was rare, but it happened, and it was never fun when it did. He always brought a backup and a few knives of various curves and lengths just in case he’d have to deviate from his constant plan of attack: get in, kill, and get out unscathed and unseen.

  He moved slowly through the building, cautiously stepping over piles of broken glass and drywall. He listened for any movement, but only heard the near inaudible tap of his boots against the floor. He kept his knees bent; his gun aimed towards the floor but ready to fire as soon as he raised it for his target. There was only one level to the warehouse other than the rafters overhead, but rows and rows of tall racks stretched to the ceiling and though they were rusted, they still held molded boxes that blocked his view of what may be lurking beyond them.

  He passed a few more racks before movement caught his eye. He felt his ears prick in that direction, head swiveling to try to pick up any sound, but the quick glimpse of color had been on the other side of the warehouse. He changed course towards it, his gun still positioned downward and eyes keen to seeing any further movement.

  He did as he rounded another rusted rack, a flash of pink just visible through the boxes and bars which further blocked his view of whatever the object that had captured his attention was. Whatever it was, it was headed towards him and as it approached, he could just decipher the steady tap tap tap of boot-steps much like his own.

  He hunched down at the end of the rack, blocked by the molded boxes and listened rather than saw someone approach. He held his breath, his heartbeat falling into the same rhythm as the steady steps until they were right around the corner. He swung out, lunging from behind the rack and raised his gun on an inhale, ready to shoot on his next exhale as soon as he confirmed it was his target—

  A girl stood before him, not The Snake.

  Her brown-hazel eyes were slightly round with surprise, and he noticed that she had quickly slammed her posture into a fighting stance when he’d lunged from his hiding place. They faced each other, still and staring, measuring the level of threat each posed to the other.

  She stared down the barrel of his gun silently as he inspected her. She wasn’t his target, maybe a victim? She was pretty enough to attract The Snake’s attention. Her golden-brown hair pulled back behind her head in a loose ponytail that flowed in gentle waves and rested right between her shoulder blades. She was Latina if he could venture a guess, with full lips painted red, and caramel skin enhanced by the Miami sun.

  Her physique was fit; Asher noticed the toned bulges of muscle beneath her caramel skin. Not The Snake’s usual preferred physique for his victims, Asher guessed. She didn’t strike him as an easy victim, but what else could she be doing there?

  There was a clang up above and both Asher and Cora looked up to see The Snake running clumsily along the rafters, trying to be quick without falling to his death. He’d seen Asher’s gun and knew he was there to either kill him or capture him.

  To Asher’s surprise, the girl swept by him as if the gun pointed at her chest was a toy and sprinted down the aisle after The Snake. She didn’t bother guarding her steps howe
ver, keeping her gaze up above her and fixed on Emery Wilson’s movements.

  That’s when Asher noticed her gun poking from her boot, the concealing leather falling away and exposing it as she sprinted.

  “Shit,” he cursed then sprinted after her, his own harsh steps echoing through the warehouse.

  She dove down to one knee to grab her gun from her holster, then took aim quickly as The Snake was approaching an opening in the metal plated ceiling. He intended to roof hop his escape, and Asher knew he’d be gone by the time he got to that level.

  Two shots blasted from the girl’s Glock however, and landed on an unsteady beam at The Snake’s feet. It gave way and he fell ten feet onto one of the more secure storage racks. She continued running towards the rack and with no hesitation grabbed the rusted, unsteady material and hoisted her way up as if it were a ladder.

  Asher grabbed hold and began climbing up after her. She reached the landing before him however, and he watched as she holstered her weapon back into her boot while simultaneously pulling a vial the size of her thumb from her pocket. She released a dagger from her thigh and clamped it between her teeth so she could uncap the vial then pour the contents of the small glass container onto the dagger.

  She held it away from herself as if the steel intended to bite her, letting the liquid she had just sprinkled onto the blade drip off the sharpened dagger as she approached the collapsed boxes cautiously. The Snake groaned and shoved himself to his feet, facing the girl, cockily assessing her from head to toe with a leer on his face before Asher pulled himself up behind her. The Snake dropped then, retreating by grabbing hold of one of the metal bars and sliding down like a firefighter on a pole.

  The girl took aim, dagger raised, her other hand angled to help her depth perception before she whipped her arm and released the blade, letting it soar end-over-end into The Snake’s hand. He yelped then hissed as if he were a snake, and the girl clucked her tongue, pleased with herself.

  Asher looked at her, confused. She’d missed his vital organs, spine, head and neck, so why was she pleased when she had clearly missed her mark? Then as The Snake hit the floor, instead of turning to make his escape, he collapsed into a heap as if the collision of feet to concrete was too much and he crumpled.

  Poison, Asher concluded. Not quite the delicate little flower she appeared to be. Interesting.

  He watched her as she twirled on her heels, her pink skirt catching the air and fanning around her elegantly. She moved towards the makeshift metal ladder they had both climbed and Asher let her, his blue eyes capturing her hazel ones only for a brief moment. Long enough to register the triumph within, but he couldn’t let The Snake leave the building. Clearly it was her intention to capture him alive, but it was Asher’s to kill him, and kill him he must.

  Asher’s eyes reluctantly pulled free from her’s as she passed him and began her descent, then settled on The Snake who was spazzing wildly twenty feet or so from reach. Twitching as he tried to regain control of his body. Asher pulled his gun, drawing it as quickly as he had at the shooting range. He heard the girl cry out, an incoherent sound of protest but still he pulled the trigger. One shot, straight through the heart.

  He turned to her only for a moment, his face passive and unreadable. Her face was all that was visible to him now, her lower half already down the ladder. Her expression had changed, triumph had brought out the green hue in her dark hazel eyes that were almost brown if not for the thin green and gold layers, rage made them muddy, however. Her mouth hung open, red lips parted revealing pearled teeth.

  He turned away from her and grabbed the same rod The Snake had used to slide down. Holding tight he slid those twenty feet and landed on dry concrete before the steadily growing pool of blood could drench the floor. Bending down, he checked The Snake for a pulse, pressing two fingers into the neck beneath the ear. A precaution he needn’t take, but he was a professional and always checked to make absolutely certain the job was done.

  He heard the quiet boot taps of the girl approach behind him. He didn’t turn to her however, instead he listened closely for her to draw her weapon. His hand rested on his pistol where he had holstered it inside his jacket, waiting for the shootout he was sure would come.

  Instead she spoke for the first time, revealing a slight accent. Jersey? New York? One of those that barely registered the existence of the letter R. “You just robbed me of fifty-grand,” she started behind him, her boot scuffs stopping ten feet away, “you better be prepared to pay me back.”

  Asher released his weapon and stood to his full height. He didn’t turn to her again, keeping his back firmly positioned between them as he started towards the door, stepping over The Snake’s body. “Send me a bill,” he said dryly to the open air, but even with his back to her he knew she’d heard him.

  What he didn’t know was she intended to.

  2

  Tag, you’re it

  Asher couldn’t remember how many people he’d killed. Nobody counts how many times they brush their teeth or eat a meal, it just comes too naturally.

  He couldn’t remember his first contract kill even, one that he’d been told should be the most memorable, but he remembered Emery Wilson in vivid detail.

  He had killed The Snake the night before last and reported the hit to Krone so a cleanup team could be dispatched to take care of the rest. This was usually when he forgot all about the hit, but he couldn’t get that night out of his head. Not because of Emery Wilson, not because of the hit itself, but because of her. He couldn’t stop thinking about her in particular, or what he had done when he’d reported to Krone.

  It was a typical report: “Target has been eliminated. One shot to the heart,” he’d said over the phone to his handler.

  “Any witnesses?” Krone had asked. The question was just a formality. Krone knew that if there were a witness, Asher would have taken care of it. Only… he hadn’t.

  “One,” Asher provided, quick to add, “That is, I saw someone else there.”

  “Description?” Krone asked, surprise lacing his otherwise overjoyed voice. Krone loved surprises.

  “Latina. Tannish, not super pale but there was a definite hue to her skin. Her complexion was smooth and bright. Her cheek bones high and lips full,” Asher described absently, trying to remember the clearest details. “Her neck was long, and jaw was angular. She was slim, muscular for a woman.” She clearly took care of herself, he added silently, keeping that last detail as his own. Her eyes were spirited, she seemed like she was having fun.

  “Another player?” Krone asked and Asher hesitated. “Asher, was she a threat?”

  Asher swallowed, clenching his jaw, “No. I just know protocol and that any witness has to be reported.”

  “Did she witness the hit?” he asked.

  Again, Asher hesitated. He had never lied to his handler, had never felt the need to. “No,” he said. Asher knew that if he said she was a threat, if she was a witness, she would be investigated and under surveillance at best, dead at worst. No, he would investigate her himself. Use some of his downtime before a hit to figure her out. Shouldn’t be hard, and he wouldn’t want to bother The Company with something he could do himself.

  He wasn’t certain if he wanted to go after her, however. It was probably best if he didn’t. He’d done his duty, he’d killed on command, it didn’t matter that there was a girl there. It didn’t matter if she was another player or a civilian. The ending still looked the same to him if he did pursue her. If she were another player, he’d have to kill her. If she were a civilian, he’d still probably have to kill her, but that was less certain. Though it seemed foolish of him not to at least know who she was to see if she were a possible threat, he feared that if he did he would have to kill her and he had never killed anyone he wasn’t directly ordered to.

  While Asher contemplated the consequences of digging for information, Cora had immediately begun tracking him. Turning over any information she could to discover his whereabouts. She was s
killed in such arts, or so Asher found out when he opened his door that afternoon. As always, the red string fluttered to the ground to show that the door hadn’t been opened, yet still he sensed a presence in his space.

  He had his gun drawn when he heard the familiar voice from the kitchen and looked up quickly to see the girl sitting cross-legged on his countertop.

  She was dressed in all denim, this dress shorter than the pink one she’d been wearing the night they’d met. This denim dress had spaghetti straps that held the material up around her tight tits, and a sewn in belt, which pulled her figure into place so the skirt could flare at her hips. Her hair was still pulled back, and she wore the same leather boots, but no red lipstick.

  “You were a hard man to track, though I suppose that’s the point isn’t it?” she started, her jaw working over a lump of gum. He could smell the bubblegum flavor from the doorway where he still stood stunned, his gun lowering as he stared at her. “I didn’t catch your name so had very little to go on. I found the shell casing before your cleanup crew, assuming that’s who came in after you to collect the body. Your Beretta wasn’t registered, to you at least, but it was registered to a Gabriel something so I searched a lead on that name and found an apartment rented in the same name, yet no social security number under that name or credit or anything else proving that you even exist. I guess in a neighborhood like this they don’t really care as long as you pay rent on time. I highly doubt Gabriel is your real name though, you seem more like a Stan to me.”