Hit

by Mallory Hart

The crude stitches in my wrists were no doubt the handiwork of Mr. Serial Killer.

I’d done a lot of things with my hits before finishing the job. I played their friend, their ally, I lied, but I never put a hit in a red evening gown and took them out on the town. I never promised them “one perfect night” before putting a bullet in their head.

Feck. Feck this. Feck Pina. Feck this fecking hit.

Jesus Christ. Someone needed to have a long talk with her about conversations you do and don’t have with people pointing guns at your head.

That was the scariest part of all. The worst monsters weren’t scary, strange things in the dark. They were handsome men who made you believe they’re something that they’re not.

“You’re playing with me,” I finally said. He leaned forward, so close his warm breath cascaded across my neck. Goosebumps raised across my arms. “Get used to it.”

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Pina. I’ve never saved one.”

“What are you doing?” If he wasn’t so tired, he may have rolled his eyes. “Don’t start swooning. It’s snowing and you have no shoes.”

“The happy life with a white picket fence was never an option for you. I’ve given you two. Run, or stay. It’s your choice.”

There were no such thing as happy endings in our world. Besides, even if I could find someone who looked past all the bullshit, they’d be a target for the rest of their lives. Marriages were alliances. Love was nonexistent.

Two weeks ago I laid in my bed, listening to Andrea talk about girls. Now I was in the middle of nowhere, down one finger and engaged to a psychopath.

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” I breathed. I meant it, too. Because how could someone go from planning my death, to sending my pinky off to their father, to putting a ring on my finger and feeling me up in the shower?

She didn’t look like a proper bride, but she definitely looked like my bride.

Meanwhile, all I could think about was how I wished Kieran would hurry this the hell up. All I cared about was screwing my wife without her feeling guilty about it, then waking up tomorrow and skipping her training to do it all again. Assassin life could take a backseat to my needs for once.

“This marriage is a sham. It’s an alliance so we can both get what we need. But if you’re going to get additional perks from it, then I need some too.” My jaw set. “Is the idea of sleeping with me so vile it can’t be a perk for you too?” She stared at me, long and hard. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Are we . . . going after someone?” Darragh cocked the rifle in his hand and grinned. “Actually, you’ll be shooting me.” I chuckled. “Ha-ha, very funny.” He stared at me dead-on. “I’m serious.” My smile faltered. He handed me the second rifle. “May the best spouse win.”