The Assassin Project

The drive

Louis did surely not expect to wake up anytime soon. Or anytime at all, that is. He was pretty sure the gun which has been just mere inches from his beating heart was definitely not able to miss it.

Slowly coming to his senses Louis had the urge to pry open his eyes and try to escape. But before he did something stupid he got a hold of himself, willing down is natural instinct. He kept his eyes closed, relying solely on his ability to hear.

The soft vibration thrumming through his body and the faint rumbling sound of an engine told him he was in a moving vehicle, a car or a van probably. It smelled strongly like disinfectant and there were voices.

A soft one that reminded him strongly of honey and amber. Luxurious and rich. A slight accent. A young voice. But it had something to it that made Louis wonder which horrors this definitely male person had encountered to sound like that.

And then there was the other voice. Male as well. Louis would now notice this voice everywhere. Deep and raspy, causing goosebumps all over Louis body. It was the handsome guy who shot him. Or tried to because apparently Louis was still very much alive and planned on keeping it that way.

Slowly and with much care he opened his eyes, risking a quick gaze around the vehicle. It was a car. Not too big, but big enough to hold a small family. The seats were made out of fake brown leather. Louis was lying on the backseats, hands and feet luckily not tied together. They definitely didn't expect him to wake up. The car windows were tinted dark, dimming the cold and steel sunlight. Tall, shabby buildings passing outside.

Louis gaze wandered from the window to the front seats. He could clearly see the guy who shot him in profile, dark brown hair still up in a bun, green eyes focused on the street, long lashes casting faint shadows over his cheekbones and plush lips forming hushed words Louis was not able to understand. He smiled and there was a dimple right in his cheek but his smile did not reach his eyes. Louis wanted to swoon and shudder all at once because the dimple was just the cherry on top of the already handsome appearance but the lack of a honest smile mirroring in his eyes made Louis want to retreat, leave and run. Run as far as he could.

The man driving the car had dark hair. Louis squinted his eyes. Black. His hair was black and as much Louis tried to detect maybe a faint brown shadow in the light that was coming through the windows, there was none. Like the blackness was absorbing all the light just to appear even darker and richer in colour than it had before.

As much as Louis wanted to explore if the rest of the man's appearance was just as fascinating as his hair colour was, the wish to leave kind of outweighed his curiosity.

Louis saw the holster of a gun peeking out from under the leather jacket of the guy who shot him. But he'd definitely notice if Louis pulled the gun out. He wanted to huff and bang his hands against the seat out of frustration but he had to restrain himself, keep calm with a steady breathing until he found something to ensure his way out of the moving car.

He forced himself to tear his gaze away from the two men in the front seats to look round the back for something that might help him. At his feet was a black box that had an odd resemblance to an arms chest. If he only could open it and check out its content without anybody noticing, that'd be great. But even Louis had to admit this was an endeavour not worth its while because it'd more likely get him killed that save him.

So very slowly he moved his head to his right to check out if beneath the drivers seat might be something of help. He just needed to ensure the men wouldn't notice his movements. When he laid his eyes on an assemblage of three smaller guns and two hunting knives he had to bite down on his tongue hard not to erupt in cries of joy. As casually as possible he let his right arm slip down the seat and rest his hand on the handle of one of the guns. With as much care and quiet as he was able to muster he unlocked the gun, the material cold on his palm.