The Life of a Hitman

Let Her Down

~ Ethan ~

I hope my eyes sent the message I wanted to send. I wasn't going to let her down. Not again.

Bailey seems to understand, but her face is covered with a cloth; no doubt a sedative, and she's pulled into another room.

Holy shit this place has a lot of rooms.

"Ethan."

My eyes snap to a figure dressed in a white assassin's cloak.

"Ethan, my name is Alan. You must show utmost respect for me. I will train you in the art of killing. I am a former Canadian special forces operator and Canadian intelligence officer, I've deployed with your father before."

He had me at my father.

"Yes sir."

He points at a dagger rested on a tabletop. "Pick it up."

I decide it's for my own good and I pick up the beautifully smithed blade. Before I can admire the weapon any further, Alan reminds me of the death it can cause.

"Your first lesson, CQB."

He must see the confusion on my face, and he explains, "CQB is close quarters battle. It's hand to hand or knife to hand or knife to knife combat in close vicinities."

Oh. That.

I'm terrified. I've never fought before, much less with a deadly weapon.

He draws his own dagger, another beautiful foot-long blade. "Come and fight me."

Excuse me; what? I've never fought before, and you want me to fight someone whose job is to kill? No thank you. I like my fingers where they are, thanks.

His eyes narrow, "What did I ask you to do?"

Shit, this man was serious. I lunge at him, desperately slashing, while he calmly outmaneuvers me and explains where I'm going wrong.

"Go for the strike- no don't use your fist Ethan, use the deadly tool."

"Block it!" Smack. Ouch.

"Slash me! Slash! Don't be afraid to hurt me!"

"Good! See, I'm bleeding now, are you afraid of blood?"

I grit my teeth. This is so much more intense than I'd expected, "No, I'm not afraid of shit."

He doesn't respond, he just launches a flurry of strikes and before I know it, I'm gushing blood.

He's going to kill me. I know it, his eyes explain what killer eyes mean. They were so bent on destruction.

I roll out of the way, remembering my promise to Bailey.

He sweeps his legs under me and I tumble into a roll. I've seen my father do it time and time again in street fights before his final deployment.

He swipes the non-knife hand towards my face and I block it with my arm. In a swift motion, he knees me in the ribs.

"Fuck!" I think I broke something.

Out of anger, I lock our arms and flip him over my shoulder, in the process giving myself a million pinpricks in my chest. Shit, it's broken alright.

He rolls over and hops to his feet as if nothing happened.

He smiles, "Good! Now disarm me before I can stab you!"

He doesn't leave mercy. The knife arcs down in a deadly angle. It's heading for my chest.

Alan doesn't show signs of stopping, so I quickly step into his shoulder and loop my arm around his neck. I toss his hip with my knees and, in mid air, turn him around while holding his wrist. The knife drops to the ground with a satisfying clatter.