ile we were driving to the shooting range. It was a ver

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know I won't mess up. This time is not like all the other times. Things have changed. I have changed. I have trained more and my target hits are more accurate than even. I can decipher things from a mile away and I am also dealing with an amateur. I know that because I have checked his work and in all honesty this dude needs to go back to training again. In our worl

discomfort away, throwing my long hair over my back and walking towards him. The hall is filled with various scents but the most distinct one, that I can almost taste on my mouth is the alcohol. Had I not been in business long enough, I would mistake this for a high school party for pretty obvious reasons.

and he does. The research was right, women are his thing and evidently he will bite whatever there is for him as long as it is a woman. I sit next to him on the bar and ask for a glass of whiskey. He looks at me and by the way his eyes scrutinize me I am certain that he is checking me out and appreciatin

is all a game and the person who plays it the best is the one who will end up winning. I take another sip and swallow with a smile before turning to his direction. The mask may have many people fooled but not me. I feel like I can already even tell the desires of his heart just by looking into his eyes. It is especially disgusting with how he

hidden gem for a whole community somewhere. I can now feel a second pair of eyes except those of my dad and I can immediately recognize who. He is the only person whose gaze brings me comfort and not pressure. I try my best not to turn in his direction and smile at him. I can't jeopardize this chance that I have now. Ignoring the eyes, I st

g the wrong thing. I thwart the thought as fast as it comes remembering that in this world, I do not make the rules, neither do I get to judge whether something is deserved or not. My work is to do as I am told up until the day I will be the one giving orders. I know it will happen soon. From the way my father's healt

essness is almost starting to show. From the very depths of my soul I can feel the formication spreading and somehow I do not know what to do. My hands get clammy but I hide it by bringing my drink to my mouth and downing all of it. It doesn't drown it down. It feels harsher and wilder. I get up and excuse myself barely making it to the f

a pat down of my outfit when I realize they are in my pulse. I almost cuss the damned gods of femininity for introducing dresses that don't have the same advantages as pant suits. I get the small pill bottle and rashly pop it open bringing one of the white pills to my mouth and swallowing it dry. At the same moment th