Lola Williams is exhausted from the same schemes and the same easy kills every day of her existence. Working as an assassin for the French mafia was supposed to be exciting but lately it's been more than lackluster.
It isn't until another easy kill...
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My eyes open heavily — the force keeping them down is almost unbearable to resist. I blink away the intense light filling my vision. My head was throbbing and the persistent hum of a high-pitched sound filled my ears. When my senses finally came to full capacity I could feel the burning spreading down my neck and chest.
My hair was limp and messy around my head as I glanced at myself on the silver reflective surface of the table. My pants and shirt were messed up and disheveled. I looked like a complete mess and the bruises across my sore face didn't help. The room was a mess, as well. Everything turned over and askew while the clothes that were once lazily thrown in the bin now missing and the door cracked open.
My hands were cuffed tightly and I couldn't help but chuckle sarcastically. I searched for the familiar feeling of cold metal in my pockets but the keys were long gone. Of course, Lola, had taken my only get away.
With a lot of difficulty, I finally inched myself up a bit. My hands helped me push my body up even with the cuffs biting angrily into my wrist. Everything pulsed with pain —my head, my hands, just everything.
I observed the dried blood that coated my nails and recall the frantic scratching. Had it been worth it for Lola? She hadn't even flinched when my nails dragged across her skin. When I begged and pleaded silently for myself to stay alive while she attempted to kill me? She could've if she wanted to. She was more than capable of taking my life and yet here I was — beaten and bruised but very much alive.
I weakly dragged myself up to a standing position. I heaved a deep breath before falling towards the wall and collapsing against it. The world spun and twisted around like I was doing cirque du soleil. Damn she really did a number on me.
I leaned against the wall and made the executive decision to dislocate my thumbs. I needed to do it, I couldn't walk around with my hands stuff in these cuffs and I had done it many times before. They still hurt like a bitch every single time. I suck in a deep breath through gritted teeth and do it quickly. Pain erupts through my hands and every muscle in my arms tightens. I conceal a scream before shaking the cuffs off. They clatter to the ground and I nearly hyperventilate as I pop my thumbs back into their sockets.
"Fuck me," I breathe out harshly.
I slowly hobbled to the door and cracked it open, as a strong stench wafted over me — copper and sweat. I raised my hand trying to shield myself from the smell before stepping into the hallway. There he was, the newbie, there on the floor. His blood was plentiful so it wasn't completely dried. His body was stiff as his hand twitched slowly.
I walked over to him before examining his body and running my fingers along his spine making sure there's no unusual turns. I raised my fingers up to his neck, parting his once fluffy hair now soaked unfortunately with blood. Finding the correct position, I pressed my fingers down looking for a heartbeat. Nothing.
I leave him there before walking to the main part of the building. The police station chief was parked up beside a woman laying down, her head with a large cut across her forehead.
