The Hit Man (2 page)

Miller

Screams reverberated off of the warehouse walls. I’m not talking about the kind of screams that are produced when a victim is attempting to yell for assistance in fear. I’m talking about the blood curdling and terror filled kind—the kind that I enjoy most.

Most people can’t stomach my line of work. Even the most seasoned of soldiers in Iraq had to leave the room when I was
extracting
information out of a captured enemy. I’m a cold-blooded, sadistic motherfucker, with a compassionate heart—go figure. The only problem is that I’m impenetrable—until now… But back to the matter at hand.

I eyed the scumbag I had tied to the chair. I liked the terror I was seeing in his eyes, but I couldn’t stand the begging—I save that for the women that I fuck.

His weak ass whimpering and sniveling was getting on my nerves and I like to think of myself as a man in control, a man who can control his state of irritability.

“I swear man, I’ll stay away from the parks, the schools, the kids. I’ll never touch another kid again.”

That pissed me off—by saying he’d stay away from places kids were, he was admitting he knew he was wrong and he was still watching kids—purposely breaking his probation agreement. I slammed the butt of the gun into his face and watched as his skin split down to the bone and another blood curdling scream pierced through the air. Yes, that’s much better.

“The problem with scumbags like you is that you’re born fucked up and the only way to purge society of you is to kill you. Castration doesn’t even work on men who abuse women and children.”

A shot rang through the air, well actually a muffled
pew-pew
thanks to the silencer on my gun, as I pointed the gun between his legs and fired. I watched as his groin splattered open, sending pieces of flesh flying in my direction. I quickly moved out of the way. I still had to drive home and the last thing that I needed was some cop stopping me with blood and flesh matter covering me.

Damn, I hit his femoral artery. Looks like the fun is over. Just another child molester some mother won’t have to worry about. Hell, I would have killed the son of a bitch for free, but the guy who hired me has a hundred grand to spare and right now, I’m saving my money to buy an island. Fuck going on vacation. When I’m not working, I want to disappear and reappear when I see fit. In my line of work, I have to be a ghost. And buying my own island will allow me to completely disappear when I need to.

I made my way out of the shower and threw on a pair of sweats while my computer booted up. I needed coffee, so I meandered my way into my industrial kitchen and began spooning coffee into the stove top espresso maker I use. I set my phone in the charger at my desk and began going through emails as I waited for it to brew.

I clicked on a message that had been sent from an unfamiliar address and studied it. I immediately knew in my gut that something wasn’t right. I quickly made my way back into the kitchen and poured my coffee. I wanted to give this email my undivided attention and coffee in my system was going to be needed for that.

I sat back down and read it.

Miller,

I received your name and email address through a mutual friend we both did tours in Iraq with. I’m fully aware you don’t normally deal with clients who have requests that involve women. However I think you may be inclined to find this case interesting since the death of a child was involved. I am enclosing all of the party’s personal information. I trust that you will come to the same conclusion I have concerning the individual involved.

Anticipating your reply.

Sincerely,

Mark Bradley

Though I am a man who believes and relies on statistics that are factual in nature, I also go with my gut, and my gut was telling me something about this request for my services was drastically off in nature. Whether it was a case of someone trying to infiltrate my operation, or a case of a woman being wrongfully accused, I had every intention of getting to the bottom of things and finding the truth.

The first thing I did was open up the attachment that had been sent with the email. I felt my breath hitch in my chest when I viewed her. The woman in the picture was the epitome of innocence.

The visage looking back at me socked me in the gut and held me hostage from the moment I laid eyes on it. This woman was the kind of beautiful that is completely opposite of magazine cover beautiful. Her hair hung down to her ass like corn silk—blonde, perfectly straight, virgin hair. Her eyes were so light blue they appeared to be translucent in nature. Her face didn’t have a trace of make-up on her peaches and cream complexion. No lipstick was on the plump, full, naturally bright pink lips that I could envision wrapped around my cock. This woman was by far the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. She didn’t know it yet—but she was mine…

Laura

I squirmed in my seat as I got organized with everything I would need for my voyeuristic meanderings. I had a comfortable leather recliner, which was positioned where I could get the best view. When I had purchased it online and had it delivered, I purposely had it placed in this very spot for just that reason. I chuckled as I thought of what the burly man with the plumbers crack would have thought if he knew the plans I had for this chair.

Hundreds of condominiums in the high-rise building situated directly opposite of mine were far enough away for me not to be discovered, yet close enough to give me an intimate view of my neighbors’ lives. I knew detailed secrets about these strangers. Hidden nuggets of knowledge that their own families didn’t know—intimate, embarrassing, shameful details of their lives that they would be horrified and mortified to think were public knowledge. I reveled in the power and control that it gave me.

I scanned the residences with my high powered binoculars, catching glimpses of familiar faces, bodies, decor and living spaces that each person possessed and inhabited. I stopped when I viewed the habitation of one of my favorites that housed a type of dungeon of sorts within its walls. It appeared that the couple was heavy at play tonight and I felt my lower abdomen clench in anticipation.

I watched, in a trance, as her husband grabbed a fistful of hair and growled words that I could only imagine in her ear. She was held captive on a wooden device that looked like a large x. Her wrists were bound above her head and her ankles were strapped to the lower half of the x leaving her legs spread open and her at the mercy of her husband. The look on her face stated so much more than the words that I was unable to hear could. I felt myself flinch with her when he jerked at the fistful of hair he held tightly within his grasp. Her mouth opened as if she was agonized and her eyes begged him for release. This was not a woman who was being subjected to any form of abuse. No, this was a woman who was enjoying the dark side of her innate sexual desires.

I could feel the moisture pooling between my legs as I viewed him talking in her ear. Oh what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall right now. My hand slid down between my legs and into the dainty cotton underwear I wore. I continued to watch—holding the binoculars with one hand as my other hand swirled over my now engorged wet nub.

I watched him release her legs as his cock jutted out demanding attention. Her arms remained subdued above her head. He wrapped her legs around his waist and thrust up into her. His hands fisted in her hair on both sides of her head—as he mercilessly pumped away at her insides. I noted how his ass tightened and indented at his hips with each thrust and it made me crave being fucked roughly, violently—not made love to, but fucked in a primal fashion. I wanted what she had—I wanted to experience being taken by a man I could trust. It was a fantasy though, nothing more than a fantasy. It was something I had never experienced, and probably never would, so I lived vicariously through a couple that had no idea I even existed. My finger moved faster as my legs tightened and I knew my release was close—so very close. As if on cue, my body convulsed at the same time that the couple fell into each other sated.

Though I was physically satisfied, I missed the connection that came from being with a partner. I just wasn’t in the right mental state for a relationship though. This would have to do for now. Yes, for now, I had been reduced to a voyeuristic kink. I got up, shut things down, and made my way to bed.

Laura

I’m not quite sure when it started—the fear. I just know that it has crippled me—or so the professionals tell me. It seems to bother others much more than it does me. I find it very soothing that I can live in the penthouse of my high-rise condominium in downtown Louisville as a recluse. They have a name for what I suffer with, though I in no way believe that I am suffering,
agoraphobic
. It means that I don’t go outside—ever.

I probably should reword my first statement about not knowing
when
the fear started—I don’t know
how
it all started—because I have always been afraid. I have shown signs that I suffer from ‘anxiety’ since childhood, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was when I lost the person I treasured most—my baby girl. Life ended for me that day, but my nightmare had only just begun.

It really isn’t so hard to live the way that I do, not with the technology we have available to us nowadays. I do everything online. When I say everything, I mean everything. I buy my groceries online. I order take out online. My job is online—writing scripts for a very popular weekly TV show. It’s been lucrative enough for me to live quite well. Even my social life is online. I’m happy with the way things are because I don’t like change, but change is inevitable, it always is.

I got up and took a shower and fixed my coffee, the same way that I do every other morning. I am a creature of habit. I pretty much do the same thing every day and it gives me a sense of well being. Control, gives me a sense of well being.

I sat down at my computer and went to my blog. I had decided a couple of years ago that writing a blog on my condition would not only be therapeutic, it might even help other people going through anxiety issues. Evidently it was doing what I intended, because I had people following my blog from all over the world. It was common for people to email me because I made myself available to them. I couldn’t stand the thought of my life being spent selfishly behind closed doors just because of the fact that I was tormented by fear.

I began opening emails and was intrigued with one from a man whose friend was showing signs of the early stages of
agoraphobia
. I guess the fact that I normally receive emails from women was what caught me off guard, that and the fact that this man had cared enough to reach out on behalf of someone else.

I found myself wishing that my ex-husband would have done that for me, but there was no sense thinking about what could have been. Ironically enough it feels like that stage of my life is some faraway place—a lifetime ago. How can it seem like a lifetime ago, and still be so painful? They say that you never get over the death of a child and I am living proof of it. I pushed through my thoughts and began reading the email.

Grasping at straws

Laura, it seems that you are quite famous in cyberspace. Upon googling agoraphobia, your name and blog immediately came up.

Though many would choose to get feedback from a professional, I can’t help but believe that it would be in my best interest to talk to someone who suffers from this debilitating disease.

It isn’t I who suffers, but my friend. His family is becoming concerned because he refuses to leave his home. We have approached him about seeing someone for help, but he insists that he doesn’t have a problem. I will steer him in the direction of your blog, but I would appreciate it if you would be willing to talk—online of course, when I have questions.

Sincerely,

Miller

I immediately answered the email before I lost my nerve.

Re: Grasping at straws

Miller, it is wonderful to hear from you. Your friend is very lucky to have someone who cares enough to reach out on his behalf. I have gone through this alone and that was the purpose of me starting this blog, I wanted to make myself available to others who are alone. I am by no means a professional—only a support system for others, such as myself, who have no one.

By all means feel free to email me, and tell your friend about the blog. I’m looking forward to hearing from you about how he responds to the community I have set up here.

Have a wonderful day…

Laura

His reply was almost instantaneous.

A friend

You don’t have to be alone, Laura. Consider me a friend. If you need anything feel free to contact me.

Sincerely,

Miller

I sat back and looked at the email, how was I supposed to answer that? I wasn’t accustomed to people reaching out to me, normally it was the other way around. I did what I always do when I am uncertain how to respond to a given situation—nothing.

I spent the rest of the morning working on my blog. I thought nothing of the man who had just unbeknownst to me—inserted himself into my life. I had no idea that I had just finished communicating with a cold blooded killer…

Miller

I stretched my long legs out and plopped my combat boot up on my desk as I interlocked my fingers behind my neck and toyed with the toothpick in my mouth.

I could feel the rush of a mind fuck surge through my system. I had just successfully injected myself into a woman’s life—a woman who was clearly untrusting by nature.

For me it was just as much about the mind fuck, as it was about the kill. I could merge into a target’s life just as easily as one would merge into traffic on a day when the roads were clear. Much like the stretch of unhindered highway would be open to a vehicle on a Sunday drive, I never saw obstacles—only success.

I had a way of figuring people out and finding their interests to open the door to a leisurely conversation. I had a way of projecting what I wanted people to see. I was a man who had mastered the ability to cloak the trained killer who may be drinking at the bar with you one moment—then squeezing the life sustaining breath out of you the next.

I enjoyed the mental and psychological aspects of my job so much, that I would go so far as to dress the part. Whether I was in a suit portraying myself as a successful business man, or in camouflage portraying myself as a good ole boy, everyone believed me. They saw what I portrayed, but never saw the real me.

For just that reason I didn’t have relationships, I had one night stands—nothing more, nothing less. I was a playboy of sorts and quite a hit with the ladies. My size, demeanor, and boyish charm saw to that. Though I was a ruthless, soulless human being, you would never know it to look at me. I stood at well over six feet tall with a solid build that boasted of rigorous workouts. My long, layered, dark brown hair had been left long on the top, but shaved close to my scalp on the sides. It fell over one eye when I cocked my head and studied you, giving me the appearance of having a boyish nature. In fact, until my hands wrapped around your throat and my hazel eyes took on a yellow hue, due to my blood lust—you would believe that I was the kind of guy who lived next door.

Until I chose to reveal my true nature, you would be totally clueless to the fact that you were in the presence of a very sinister man. I was a man on a mission, and once I got something in my head, come hell or high water, I would find out what I wanted to know, and in this case—I wanted the truth. I wanted to know if Laura was a baby killing bitch—or the victim of a money hungry ex-husband.