Paid Stories Badge Paid Story
There are 4 more free parts


710K 20.7K 45.8K


I rinsed off the shampoo and fresh blood from my hair, grateful that I was finally able to finish my damn shower.

I dried off, and quickly stepped into my walk-in closet. The racks were all filled with mostly black clothes, but I did have some splashes of color here and there.

My shelves were filled with designer brands: Gucci, Hermes, Fendi, Louis Vuitton, I had most of their collections. However, I always ended up wearing the same thing most days: a black tank top and ripped black jeans.

I didn't care much for looking fashionable while I was slitting someone's throat. Besides, black went with everything and it didn't show when you got blood on the fabric.

I reached in a drawer and pulled out my usual outfit before I walked over to the door in my closet. I swung it open and walked into my shoe room, because a shelf just wasn't enough.

My hands grazed each pair as I walked past. If there was one thing I loved, it was my shoes. Knowing I was about to get dirty, I threw on a pair of worn-out combat boots. I quickly braided my hair in a long French braid that fell at my hips, the same way I usually did whenever I went out on a mission.

I walked over to my desk in the corner of my room and grabbed my half empty pack of cigarettes. I made my way out of the room, shoving the box into my back pocket before closing the bedroom door behind me.

The basement was where we kept most of our prisoners, and it was honestly my second favorite place in the house. My father relied on me to get information, and trust me, I was damn good at it.

As I descended the last flight of stairs, I laid my eyes upon the entrance to the basement. There were four men guarding the door, each with a stoic face and semi-automatic rifle. They acknowledged me with a quick nod of their head and swiftly moved aside.

"Your father's already in there." The bald one said. I nodded before I placed my hand on the ID scanner. I waited for a moment as the scanner flashed white before turning green, beeping for a moment and causing the metal door to slide open.

I popped a cigarette between my teeth as I walked through the door. I pulled out my zippo lighter, flicking it open with one hand as I inhaled. I slid the sleek black lighter into my pocket as I hummed Paint it Black by The Rolling Stones. I took a mental note to get an elevator installed as I made my way down five flights of stairs until I reached the cells, each also with individual ID scanners at each door courtesy of my overprotective father.

I found the one I needed and placed my right finger on the scanner. It beeped in recognition, and I joyfully walked inside.

This'll be fun.

The dim room was only illuminated from the single light hanging from the ceiling. My father and two men were standing in front of our prisoner, most likely waiting for me to arrive before getting started. There was a rectangular table pressed against the wall displaying different devices and tools.

The assassin's hands and feet were zip tied to the back of the metal chair he was sitting in. Still unconscious, his head hung low as blood dripped from the gash in his head.

"Those things will kill you, you know." My father scolded, nodding to the cigarette in my mouth.

"Trust me, Dad, when the devil comes for me, it won't be because I smoke too many cigarettes." I laughed as I leaned against the wall, propping one leg up and crossing my arms.

My father rolled his eyes at me dramatically before he made his way over to the assassin. I blew smoke out of the corner of my mouth as I watched my father grab the man roughly by his hair.

Over My Dead BodyWhere stories live. Discover now