Life was not kind to Isabella Moretti. She was an orphan who grew up in a harsh world. She fights her demons like no other, trained since birth to only survive. She's lethal like poison and all seven of the deadly sins.
Mateo Romano, an arrogant wo...
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" my lips are the gun my smile is the trigger my kisses are the bullets label me a killer"
I focused my scope on the ballroom, a few meters from my vantage point. It was a masquerade party, my target's face thoroughly covered with a feathered mask. It wasn't even hard to recognize him. His salt and pepper hair and his lean mouth made him stick out like a sore thumb.
Man, this piece of shit is ugly. I chuckled at my thoughts.
Two whores clung to his arm as he led them to the bar. the target was a notorious women beater. Men who abuse disgust me. A man a beats women to feel powerful is no man at all. They deserve to go to the deepest part of hell, and I am more than happy to send them there. I have endured to pain much pain to allow other women to bear the same agony.
I was raped and used by people who deceived everyone into thinking they were an orphanage when they are everything but.
I was turned into a killing machine, killing is all I know.
Carlisles Ivanov, a rapist, an abuser, and a human trafficker was one of the many targets that I was paid to kill. Knowing how he likes to spend his time, I debated on where to shoot him. His balls or his skull.
My mind came to an inconclusive decision. To the skull would be far too quick of death, though, to the balls, he would suffer. But I was being paid to kill, not to torture, no matter how satisfying it would be.
I held my breath trying to focus on my shot, putting pressure on the trigger.
"Bullseye" I smirked to myself as his head exploded, sending its contents everywhere as his lifeless body dropped to the floor.
The screams were deafening and the ballroom was in commotion.
One blonde tried calling an ambulance as the other cried hysterically. I had the urge to laugh so hard I'd probably roll-of the roof.
I packed up my sniper rifle, dissembling my weapon as fast as possible.
Humming to myself, I jogged down the stairs leading to the staff-only area of my club.
I was too messed up, too tainted to have a normal life. I love the excitement on the battlefield. Just the thought of bullets, blood, and death makes me feel content. To me the battlefield is m runway, the gunshots substitute the applause, and the dead bodies are my audience. And you don't feel like that in normallife.
I kill for people who have been sexually wronged but I have demons of my own. Demons that are hard to fight b me, demons that are the roommates in my head, and in the nightmares when I sleep.
