Gorgeous Misery (Creeping Beautiful Book 3) by JA Huss

Author:JA Huss [Huss, JA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Science Future Press
Published: 2022-01-24T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN - WENDY

FOUR DAYS AGO

Merc.

The word echoes in my mind as I let him wait on the other end of the phone.

“Nothing to say?”

I take a deep breath. “OK. I know who you are. What do you want?”

“Well, can I make a list?”

I can’t tell how serious he is. And I don’t know this guy. I’ve heard a lot about him, but I never bothered getting too close because whenever any of the other Company assassins would bring up Merc’s name, it always came with a warning.

When you’re one of two men on the planet who can run a PSYOP right inside the mind of a target, you’re in demand. And lots of new guys over the years have tossed around the idea of hiring Merc for his services when they had a particularly smart target who had pertinent information. Torture is so… old-school, right? Only a truly sick fuck wants to torture a person for intel before they kill him. Torture takes time. It requires a place where your target can scream loudly for hours on end. It’s not quick and easy and believe it or not, the Company assassins I know are all relatively well-adjusted men who just want to get the job done as efficiently as possible.

Whenever that happened—whenever some new guy thought bringing Merc in for a job was a good idea—the more worldly assassins would set him straight. It went a little something like this:

You want to know how to find Merc? We all know where he lives, but if you get within five miles of that place and you’re not passing by on the highway going eighty-five miles an hour, you will be followed by an armed drone until you leave the area.

If you try to ambush him into a conversation at the local coffee shop or grocery store—especially if he’s got his family with him—he will shoot you in your sleep that same night.

If, by some miracle, you actually get on his property his daughters will shoot you between the eyes and then feed you to their personal face-eating German shepherds.

When the oldkills, which is what we call the seasoned professionals, said all this, at first the newkill guy would laugh. Smile about it. Oh, this is so funny. What a good joke.

I mean, why wouldn’t he think that? He’s a fucking Company assassin. And there aren’t that many of them. Maybe fifty, total. So he’s one of the top fifty most dangerous men on the earth. Why should he be afraid of anyone, let alone some old, washed-up asshole who is so paranoid he has armed drones flying a pattern over his house twenty-four seven?

But about a minute later he would recognize the silence for what it was and realize no one was joking and that smile would drop. Thirty seconds after that he’d say something like, “Fuck that guy anyway. I don’t need to run no fucking PSYOP to get what I need.”

And everyone would let the newkill have his moment.

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