ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪɴᴄᴏʀᴘᴏʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ™

6.

R A V E N

P R E S E N T  T I M E

╳

"I've been expecting you." Colt states, relaxed in his chair.

I ask quietly, "What do we do?"

"I don't know. Improvisation was never my thing," Arrow replies, equally baffled. 

"You know I can hear you both, right?" The blond man points out. "Name's Colt. Zeke Colt. But you probably knew that already."

I shoot Arrow a startled glance. Agents and their targets aren't meant to interact. It's against the rules of the agency. The fact that this man knew we were coming and isn't sprinting out of his house in terror is bewildering. 

I clear my throat. "What do you know, human?"

"Woah, no need to go all E.T on me. We both have the same anatomy, therefore we are the same. You have arms, I have arms. You have legs, I have legs. Through my dazzling eyes, you're basically a human," Colt argues. "Speaking of eyes, yours are beautiful."

My brows furrow, not really sure if the comment is directed toward me or Arrow. "Thanks?"

Colt leans forward, chin in hand, resting his elbow on the table. "I could easily spend hours just staring into your mesmerizing eyes."

My face heats up from the flattery. "Ok."

"Maybe you aren't human, after all. Because I haven't seen a human as gorgeous as—"

Bang!

A bullet comes out of Arrow's gun and tears into Colt's guts. 

"Was that part of the plan?" I question, startled by the sudden change of plans.

He secures his gun back in his back pocket, no remorse in his expression. "It's called improvisation." 

Colt presses his palms against the bullet wound on his stomach. He looks up at Arrow. "Ow! What was that for?"

"If you were expecting us, then you'd know that we're here to kill you," Arrow replies in a cruel tone. He turns to me. "And since when have you given a shit about compliments? Get your head in the game, Ray. He's our target. We're not here to marry him."

"Marry him? Who said anything about—" I start to speak, but I'm quickly interrupted by the audience coming to watch Colt's demise. 

There's a middle-aged man in a butler's uniform, a middle-aged maid, and a man with a button down shirt and formal pants all hurrying to aid the dying target. 

"Johnny . . . " Colt's voice is soft and struggling to let out. 

"Yes, sir?" The butler answers. The maid next to him is praying under her breath.

"Promise me . . . " He goes on, "that you'll make cake tonight." 

"Of course, sir." 

The tall man in the button down shirt rolls up his sleeves and bends down next to Colt. "Great! You had to do this now, Zeke? I just changed! Now my shirt's going to get all stained." 

"Oh, that reminds me! We need more detergent for the laundry room." The maid scurries out of the dining room because having good-smelling clothes is their top priority right now.