The Order

25

Clay pigeons travel quickly, some even travel around forty miles per hour. You usually have about half a second to hit your target before moving onto the next. Everything matters when your about to pull the trigger. Your breath, your sight, your focus, everything factors into that one millisecond of intense concentration to hit your target. But little do these assholes know, holding a gun is second nature to me.

Shooting a moving body?

Child's play.

Hitting a target with a four-inch diameter?

Also child's play.

I inhaled quickly as the clay pigeons shot into the air. The lights attached to them lit up the sky above as all sixteen targets shot up at once. I quickly aimed the twelve-gauge shotgun, moving with the targets as I anticipated where they would go. I quickly pulled the trigger, taking out five targets that were to my right. I hit them so rapidly that it looked as if all of them exploded at once.

This twelve-gauge shotgun only had eight shots, so I quickly looked to my left to see three pigeons shooting across the sky. I quickly pulled the trigger, taking them out and making the crowd behind me gasp slightly. I dropped the shotgun before I shoved my heel under the gun by my feet, kicking it up and catching it before aiming it once more.

I only saw four pigeons in front of me, and I quickly shot them down before looking around. I turned my head, looking over my shoulder at the remaining four targets falling to the ground at a rapid speed.

I quickly bent over, bending my back slightly before aiming and pulling the trigger. I hissed in pain as my stitches stretched while I quickly aimed and shot the four pigeons that were behind me before standing up straight once more. The crowd around me erupted in gasps as the brothers stared at me in disbelief.

I looked over my shoulder to see Liam standing there. His jaw was tensed, and his shoulders were hunched slightly. His face appeared emotionless, but I knew him better than that. His eyes always gave him away, and I knew as soon as our eyes locked, that the anger swimming within those brown irises was directed at me.

Silence filled the air as the brothers stared at me. Juan, the short stubby one, had his mouth open so wide that the lit cigarette fell from his lips and onto the floor. I twirled the shotgun a few times before resting it on my shoulder and looking back at the brothers as an awkward silence began to fill the air.

I was never really good at politics. I've managed to piss off most people that I ever came in contact with. I was never good at making a first impression, let alone a positive impression at that. I never had to. Most of the people I met I was sent to kill, so I didn't care, I didn't even bother to play nice. At the end of the day, my new acquaintance would have a bullet between their eyes, and I'd have a wire transfer hit my bank account.

But here, in this world, in Liam's world of glitz and glamour, politics and appearances meant everything. Showing face, making small talk, being charming, this was all they did. All they knew. They would dress up in their lavish gowns and suits, mingle with each other while deciding whether they wanted to do business with one another. Making a good impression here meant that you would land a contact, and making someone remember you in a positive light could potentially lead to the success, or failure, of your business.

I've been to enough events with Liam to notice a few things. Like the glares that were thrown my way, or the whispers that I left in my wake. How fake everyone was to each other. They would put on a phony smile, pretend to enjoy your company, then order an assassin to try and kill you the next day. Liam said this was just business as usual, but it was something I don't think I could ever get used to.