Nessa Fleming is a photographer.
Dexter Smith is an assassin.
Everyone wants them dead.
But neither Dexter nor Nessa are what they appear to be and they are both keeping dangerous secrets.
Cover by meha-k
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I could have sworn my heart was going to pop out of my chest.
I screeched as I ran up the stairs, the sound of gunfire following me. When I was halfway up the stairs, I lost my footing and fell on the steps. I hit my chin of a stairs I but I didn't let it faze me. I kept going, praying a stray bullet wouldn't hit me on the way.
When I got to the top, I leaped into my bedroom. I slammed the door shut so hard the walls vibrated.
Though they were already vibrating from gunfire.
I looked around aimlessly in my messy bedroom. I scattered everything around, shoving clothes out of the way, pushing useless junk around. "Where did it go? Where did it go?"
The sound of gunfire started again downstairs. I cringed thinking about the man that was facing it.
The thought had me searching harder.
I had always been pretty good at talking my way out of situations, but the chances of convincing another assassin into letting me live were very low. I didn't know what exactly made him stop in his assassination attempt but I didn't plan on letting it go to waste.
I was a firm believer in doing good things for other people and good things will happen to you. Dexter Smith not killing me was proof of that.
I heard the sound of my bat making contact with something. I hoped Dexter Smith was on the other side this time.
Though his reputation so far had me believing otherwise.
As I ran around my room frantically I stubbed my toe on the edge of my bed. I fell in a heap on the ground. My cheek hit the floor with a thud.
Like a golden light was shining down on it, the gun was right in front of my face. I smiled in triumph. I grabbed it around the hilt.
I was nervous as I touched it. I couldn't remember a time I had ever held a gun before. I had seen plenty, but they were always held by capable hands.
I didn't feel so capable.
I didn't overthink it as I quickly stood up. I lurched towards the door opening it with excitement.
"I found it," I called to the assassin.
My eyes widened the sight of the living room.
Destroyed and broken. Furniture was torn apart. Bullet holes maimed the walls. Huge dents covered the floorboards. Don't even get me started on the kitchen.
Dexter Smith hid behind the kitchen tabled that was laying on its side. Using the tough old Irish wood as a barrier between him and the bartender.
She stood near the back door, she looked ready to run at any moment. Her gun pointing at the table, waiting for him to make another move. Her movements more jumpy and way less confident than they were moments before.
