Vicious Romance

Chapter 12

I feel my consciousness slipping away as the plastic sheet presses against my face, tightening with every second.

I try to ignore the number of questions going through my head as I feel my vision getting hazy. Just as I'm about to slip into a trance of permanent sleep, I remember something. I have two guns in my hand, and I'm pretty lethal. I can't possibly die, not right now.

I force myself to knock my elbow in my attacker's groin area, and finally, after a loud grunt, the plastic sheet is loosened from my face as the hand that was once wrapped around my waist, releases its grip.

I throw the plastic from my face. As I turn around quickly, the attacker grabs a chunk of my hair, pulling on it. I grunt in frustration as I try my best to elbow them again. It doesn't work. And the grip on my hair isn't loosening.

I let the guns in my hand fall to the floor, as I use both my hands to grab the arm that's clinging onto my head. Using all my strength, I pry the fingers off my hair and turn around to face the attacker.

Male. About 5'10. It's too dark to see his face. Nonetheless, I kneel on the ground as he tries to grab me again. I pick up my guns from the floor, and aim them at his face as he stumbles, struggling to keep his balance.

He looks up slowly, and I can sense the fear creeping upon him as he sees the guns pointed at him. He begins walking backward, away from me.

"Who sent you?" I call out to the stranger as I slowly walk towards him. I wait.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

No response.

"I said, who sent you?" I ask again, but with a bit more frustration.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

That's it. I'm out of patience.

I quickly take one of my guns, and shoot at his shoulder, without a second thought. He tried to kill me- I ought to retaliate a little.

He cries out in pain, as he crumbles down to the floor. I'm honestly in no mood for this right now.

I kneel at his level, still keeping my distance.

"Don't overreact. It's just a flesh wound, you'll live. Now, I don't like repeating myself. Tell me who sent you," I say with a little more attitude.

I get a grunt in response.

I get closer to the man. I can see his features now. Brown eyes. Blond hair. His clothes are ragged. Dry, cut skin.

"What was that?" I ask.

Before I realize what's going on, the man grabs a gun from my hand and carelessly shoots my abdomen.

Fuck. I feel the bullet dive into my skin, ripping every muscle, tearing everything apart. The pain shoots through me like fireworks, and I refuse to let myself give into the dizzy feeling that overwhelms me. 

I groan out loud in anger as I throw a punch at the man's face, blood flying from his mouth.

Good. He deserves it.

While he's distracted with his face, I snatch the gun from his hand and use that same pistol to shoot him in the thigh.

"Next shot won't be a flesh wound. So tell me, who sent you," I start. I look at the man in the eyes. "Look, I've rather nice to you, and you haven't exactly returned the favor. You owe me," I lightly joke.

He spits in my general direction.

"Go to hell," he remarks.

He cracks something in his mouth, and within seconds white foam seeps out from his teeth, and his eyes, frozen in place just before his body plops onto the floor.

Perfect. He poisoned himself.

Now I have a gun wound, and a dead body to clean up.

That's just perfect.

***

I sit on the kitchen counter, making myself comfortable before I lift my pajama shirt, and proceed with inserting a pair of tweezers into my wound.

I can't help but scream with agony as the cool metal digs through my flesh, finding the bullet.

Within seconds, the tongs meet a hard, metal-like surface. I carefully grab the bullet with the tweezers, slowly pulling it out. I pull, and pull until the tight feeling in my stomach is gone.

I look down to see the tweezers holding a bloody 9mm. Ignoring the amounts of blood coming from my stomach, I take the bullet between my fingers as I begin to examine it.

There's an engraving in it.

Before I can get a good look at it, a sharp pain bursts through my wound, and I can't help but let out another scream. I carefully toss the messy bullet into the sink, and I put down the tweezers before opening the first aid kit next to me.

I pull out a thousand different types of bandages and gauze, struggling to keep the bleeding at bay. I then take out a ball of thread, and what I hope is a needle. I can't tell at this point, my vision is blurring.

I try my best to stitch up the area, without fainting. By the end of it all, I cover the stitches up with several different bandages. It's all like clockwork at this point. I've done this too many times.

I leave everything as it is, I'm too tired to clean this all up.

I wash my hands the best I could, before gulping down a large glass of water.

That's better.

It's when I'm walking over to my bed that I spot my attacker's body.

I groan in frustration.

I forgot to dump the body. Why does life have to be so difficult?

I walk over to the body, and chills run up my spine.

I ignore the uneasy feeling as I begin to scrummage through the corpse's pockets.

I find his wallet, and eventually his ID to learn that his name is Liam Whitaker. He's from New York. And, that's all his wallet tells me. There's nothing else but a debit card to TD Bank.

I scrummage through the rest of the pockets and finally come across something solid.

It's a note. It reads,

Agent 5693,

You have been instructed to assassinate Hally Shea- full name Harinder Shea, a special level detective at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She is currently under the alias of Alina Whitfield, "working" at Vogue as a journalist.

Her current address of residence should be:

160 W 24th St, New York, NY 10011. Apt # 1167.

Note: Shea is supposed to be bought in dead. The target will more than likely be armed, so caution is advised.

Good luck.

Oh, that's wonderful. Just wonderful. Judging by this, a group of people know not only my full name but information on my alias.

Beyond perfect.

It hasn't even been a week, and I already found a way to screw up.

I'm going to need to watch my back, a bit more. Because something tells me, this is only the beginning.

A/N: DUN DUN DUNN- things are finally getting worse than they already were... excited  yet?

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