The Hidden Shadow

Chapter 2...

The sound of metal chains echoed around me as I let loose swing after swing. My shoulders ached and my arms felt like jello but I kept going. Sweat poured off my face and rolled down my shoulder blades soaking the sports bra I had on. I had my hair pulled high on my head in a messy bun, a few pieces breaking free and sticking to my face.

The gloves I wore pounded the bag and the slight vibration from the hits went up my arms. I was oblivious to everything around me as I continued on punching the bag. It swung slightly as I hit it but the 100 pound bag didn't budge from it's spot. While I assaulted the punching bag my thoughts drifted to my father.


All I really wanted was his approval. I wanted him to be proud of me even if what I did was something I hated. Everyone wanted their parents to be proud of them and to show it. Even if it was a smile when they got an A on a test, or a pat on the back for scoring a touch down at a football game. The only time I remember ever getting an praise from my father was my first kill. He gave me a nod and squeeze on the shoulder for a mill-a-second before walking away.

It wasn't like I didn't think he loved me, I'm pretty sure he did in his own way, but most of the time I think I am just a weapon to him. A weapon he created and can use anyway he wants. He knows people are scared of me and what I can do so he uses that to his advantage a lot. I did love him and was grateful he took me in, but of course like every other kid out there I hated him. There was a thin line between love and hate. I guess being taught at the age of 15 to be a killer did that to you.

I was 15 when the training started. Before that I was your average 15 year old that just happened to live with a bunch of gang members and had a powerful man as a father. I spent seven years having nothing to do with what my father did, he had me stay out of it but like every kid I was curious about what he did when he would make me stay in my room while he did 'business'.

I think I was 13 when I realized that my 'father' was a mafia boss. He sold drugs, weapons, had hundreds of men working for him. Byron Wright was just a dangerous man that no one wanted to cross.

The first seven years that I came to live with Byron was actually pretty pleasant. From being on the streets, to living in a mansion was a change for me but things could have been worse. At first Byron was nice to me, making sure I ate, had plenty of clothes; made sure I had anything I could want. You could almost say he treated me like the daughter he had always wanted. He even legally changed my last name to Wright after him.

After months had passed of me living there and getting acquainted with the maids and routine of living in an actual home, Byron started being gone more and more.

My routine had consisted of going to school, coming home to do homework, eat dinner by myself or with the cook and maids, then go up to my room to read and sleep. That was my routine until I turned 15. Apparently that was when Byron thought it was time to make me useful. Time to make me into what he wanted to do with me in the first place.


My training was nothing short of painful. I trained for hours upon hours learning every technique you could think of. I was taught by the best of the best in each skill. I learned how to punch correctly, how to take a man out without a weapon, how to kill someone with only one shot. I learned how to shoot every type of weapon available, as well knifes and how to throw them.

Because I wanted Byron to be proud of me and to show him that taking me in wasn't a mistake, I put everything into my training. Even when I was exhausted and wanted to lay down, I kept going. At times I did want to give up but Byron was always right there yelling at me to continue. He worked me until I was numb to everything. Because I wanted him to love me I became the best assassin he could have dreamed of.


All I would do is get up at 4 in the morning to train until 7 o'clock before school, and when I got home from school I trained again from 1:30 to 5 o'clock with no breaks. After a quick dinner I was back at it again; like clockwork. This was my new routine for the next two years.