The Assassin's Prophecy

Mr. Tough Guy

Copyright © 2021 Spread_Positivity_ All rights reserved. If you see my book on any other platforms other than Wattpad, it is not by me.

17 years later.

Blood dripped down from the edge of my blade and landed in a puddle under my shiny black platform boots. Ugh, I just bought these shoes, now it's going to be a pain in the rear end to get them washed.

I glared at the culprits responsible for ruining my precious pair of Versace. The eighteen men laid down on the cold concrete floor of the empty, abandoned warehouse. Ha, they couldn't even look me in the eye due to my intimidating build...or it could maybe possibly be because they were unconscious. Regardless, now they are scared of me and that's what matters. That is, except for one last idiotic turd.

Mr. Hugh Crapper.

The most sadistic druglord of an underground cartel in Central America. Terrorism, extortion, murder, trafficking, loitering. You name it, he did it. He held many connections with the rich and famous and was making it very difficult for my client to get richer. Therefore, I was hired.

Contrary to his reputation, the man was puny. His hair formed a ring around a big bald patch in the center. What I assumed to be a tattoo of a tiger decorated his upper arm. His arms, or more like wings, were a hundred percent fat and a negative twenty percent muscle. So, the fear-factor of the stretched tattoo was lost on me. He stood up from his chair and rose to his full 4' 11" stature. He glared at me, attempting to be a macho bad boy. How he ever became a druglord beats me.

"Leave now, Golden Eagle assassin. Or I'll call reinforcements and you will die."

"Oof, what a bold threat, Mr. Crapper. Go ahead, call them." I smirked under my mask and played with the tip of my blade, purposefully aiming towards his crowned bald patch. The druglord flinched every time. I liked to tension people like that.

"I'm calling them." The dumblord commented.

"Okay, cool."

"I'm really calling them! You're going to regret this!" He turned red, shaking the phone in his hand.

"Stop bluffing old man. Leave the lying to your politician friends." I raised my gun and pointed it at his bald patch.

"Please, please. I'll give you as much money as you want. I'll do anything you want. Just don't shoot me. Please understand, I have a very low pain tolerance!" The dumblord was practically begging on his knees, trembling.

Oh wow, what toilet did this man crawl out of? He was ready to hide behind his men and let them be killed, but once it was his turn his strategy changed. Although, his offer was very tempting.

"Hmm...you said you'd give me money?"

"Yes! Yes! I'll give you as much as you want!"

I pretended to ponder his offer for a moment. "Okay then, wire me a hundred million."

"Well...that's a bit..." Hesitation flickered in his eyes.

I positioned the gun down and let the bullet fly. It grazed between his legs.

"Okay! Okay! I never said I wouldn't give you the money! I'm doing it right now!" The man shakily held his phone out to me and let me wire the money to my account.

Should I take advantage of this fool? Take 200 million maybe? Nah, that would be stealing. I don't do such heinous crimes.

"Thanks for the tip, Mr. Crapper! Guess I have to finish the customer service." I held the gun to his head.

"Wait, wait. You lied! You lied to me! I gave you a hundred million pesos!"

(100 million pesos is about 5 million dollars)

"Your life is worth a hundred million, but the innocent lives you stole were priceless. So I guess it's a fair bargain. See you in hell, Mr. Crapper!" With that, I pulled the trigger. Done.

See? I don't do heinous crimes. I do noble crimes.

******

I huffed and puffed as I tediously dragged the oil tank all around the warehouse. Why do I have to do this too? Does Golden Eagle think I'm some kind of body builder? I didn't sign up for this, I'm a dignified, highly paid assassin. I have to mention this injustice to Madam Ichka, my poor muscles were aching from this torture. I finally reached the other end of the oil circle and I took out my lighter and threw it on the oil.

(Ichka is pronounced eye-ka)

I leaned back on my motorcycle at the edge of the property and watched the warehouse blow up in flames. I took out my disposable phone and called my favorite blue-eyed Russian boss. "Madam Icky! How ya doing? I finished the job and even got a tip!"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that! And what? You mean you got a tip again, we don't steal money Amara!"

"What! He offered it to me! I would never steal!" Huh, murder is ok but accepting a gift is not? Madam Icky and her icky double standards.

"Oh lord, give me strength! I want you to come home right now, young lady. We need to talk."

Oh man, I must've done something really bad this time. Think Amara, there's a lot of things you did, but which one's the worst?

"Is it because of the cockroaches I put in your underwear drawer? I swear it was only a joke. You have a mansion filled with assassins, surely you can find someone to kill them for you?"

There was silence on the other line.

"You. Did. What?"

No praise for being honest? Pity.

"Oh, just kidding...haha...I didn't do that. I just said that to stimulate your brain cells."

"I don't even want to begin with you right now."

"Sounds good to me."

"The reason I want you to come home is because we found a lead on your mother's murderer."

I immediately sat up on my motorcycle. "What did you find?"

"We can speak more about this once you get home. It's too risky if this information gets leaked anywhere."

"Okay, I'm on my way." I ended the call and threw the disposable phone into the flames.