Chosen for Pleasure

11. Saving But Not Helping- Revised

(3775 words)

I was on my fourteenth cigarette. I hadn't felt this much stress and anger in years and I had to find some way to get it gone. I made sure to stop myself from smoking the rest since I would need them for later, but I was more tempted than I should have been. I already hated the idea of Lance hating me for going back to my old habit, but it was too much for me. Just the idea of him getting hurt in any way was enough for me to finish ten cigarettes.

I was about three minutes away from our apartment and my brain refused to come up with a plan. I figured I could use my old tactics and hope I didn't mess up in any way, knowing if I did it would end bad for the both of us.

I could see the blinds moving, indicating someone was watching me, or the very least looking out for me. I turned back around and went the longer way, adding two minutes but it was better than being seen. I had to keep some level of secrecy if I wanted to get at least a few of the men down, knowing him it shouldn't be that hard.

I opened the back door and heard the light pattering of feet, the thin walls exposing the useless conversations that were being had. I lit a cigarette and took a few drags, making sure to fill the staircase with the smell. I tossed it in the middle of the hallway soon after, this floor not having carpet so there was no concern.

After a few minutes of smoke drifting upstairs, their shoes were finally heard coming down the stairs. It was two men; their guns being held loosely as they looked around confused. I was glad that it had actually worked, knowing the first time I did it was a hit or miss.

They didn't look like they were prepared to fight. They were too relaxed to be of any nuisance so it was easy to discard them without concern. It was an easy knife to the head for each. The knives I have weren't specifically meant to be thrown, but that hadn't stopped me before. I was just slightly surprised I could still do it.

Blood splattered onto the cigarette, the cancer stick no longer useable. I sighed while rubbing at my face, making my way to the bodies so I could retrieve the knives, the blood seeping out faster.

I moved to the next floor, this one consisting of carpet so I had to be careful with where I placed the ciggy. I took my light and started another cigarette, making sure to take a few puffs before leaning it against the wall diligently.

I hid in the staircase for a few minutes before two more men were on their way down, these ones a little more well versed in the business of danger. "Why the fuck are you-" He stopped speaking when he noticed the lonesome cig, his partner looking around like he was the one on a hit list. "Why is it just sitting there? Did they forget it?"

The other one shrugged, his hand tight on his gun while the other took a moment to look around himself, although he wasn't nearly as paranoid. I wasn't sure if the man knew about me or was always this uptight, but it really didn't matter. I was pissed and not afraid of a fight.

I took in a few more breaths before two knives were flying through the air. The paranoid one dodged it while his buddy was struck dead, his body dropping with a bounce. I quickly took the knife from my back pocket and aimed it for his hand, moving closer in case that one missed too.

When it stuck, I ran up to him, removing the knife from my thigh and grabbing his hair. Gurgles were the only sound he could make once my knife left his throat. Blood once again splattered, this time covering me as well as the cigarette, putting it out easily.

I flipped my hair while collecting the knives, my last hair tie broken for at least week. It would be aggravating but nothing I hadn't done before.

I continued with my old trick, the cigarettes leaving one by one and I would be lying if I said I wouldn't miss them. Each floor had an extra person the higher I got, like some type of sick game. Each one got harder to go through, whether that be because of the amount of people or their actual skill level.