“Ezra is all Hugo has, his most prized possession. First, we take his heir, then we take his kingdom, and then we finish him. What do you say, kid? You in?”
I nod, “Consider it done.” James smiles and leans back, rocking in his chair.
“That’s my boy. Excellent, I’ll inform the client. Drop me the text when you have the girl, and the client will do the rest.” I nod and walk out of his office.
I don’t like this. Not one bit, but fuck if I was going to sit back and let Hugo Quintero hurt innocent children and young girls to make a quick buck. It’s because of scums like him I got into this line of business in the first place—that and a bleak past I’ve locked away in a box deep inside my mind.
That’s a whole other shit-storm I’m not quite sure how to deal with. There’s too much evil in the world, too many corrupt systems, and no one can do a damn thing about it. That’s where we come in, a team of expertly trained, contracted killers to take out the scums of the world. Each of us taken an oath – hurt no innocent. An oath-bound by blood; an unbreakable contract is only broken by blood—yours, and if you decide you want out, once the oath is broken. You don’t live to talk about it.
The agency is for those with nothing to lose. Much like myself, no family, no life outside the job, and the job is all that matters. We focus on drug lords like Quintero, politicians, all the big boys up in their ivory towers that think they’re untouchable, invincible, hiding behind their money and the power wealth brings. Money—the greatest evil of them all. There’s a whole lot money can buy, but immortality is not one of them.
I have two rules, and I don’t break them for anyone.
Harm no innocent.
Never leave an open contract.
My name is Damien Wolfe, and I am an Assassin. In the business, I’m identified or often referred to as ‘The Ghost.’
You’re probably wondering why I chose or how I wound up becoming an assassin. Let’s just say I didn’t choose. It chose me. The agency is the only thing close to a family that I have.
I was picked up at the age of sixteen. My foster father at the time, Kevin, had enough of my adolescent ways. I was a little shit and got into quite a bit of trouble, so he contacted a friend for some advice and suggested Dynasty, thinking it was a boot camp for troubled kids. Boy, was he wrong. I was the perfect candidate, an orphan boy with nothing to lose. Before I knew it, I was picked up off the street and hauled into training.
I spent two years in intensive combat, weapon, and survival training. Beaten mercilessly until I figured out how to fight back, and believe me, when they inflict that much pain on you, you learn fast. An assassin is more than just his gun. You must have a sharp mind. Anticipate each move before they even think about making it. You must always be two steps ahead of your target. And the most important one of all—remain unseen.
I don’t know why, but I couldn’t seem to shake the tense feeling I got in the pit of my stomach. It’s an unfamiliar feeling. I do not get tense—in fact, I completely dispossessed such emotions. I’m the unattainable beast. Often people use the words coldblooded, unyielding, and impenetrable when describing me. I always have my guard up. I don’t allow anyone in. Ever. I prefer it that way—less headache.
I look at the file in my hand and shake my head. I better get to work. The sooner I get this shit over with, the better. I walk over to my car and get in, tossing the file on the passenger seat. I push the start button, and the engine to my Audi RS5 roars to life. I slide my shades on and tear out of the underground car park.
Ezra Quintero. I’m coming for you.