Psycho

By the time I reached my rundown apartment building, the night was so dark I could barely see my hand in front of my face. Yet, as I neared my apartment, I could feel something was wrong. It was a skill I had acquired through many years of being hunted and being the hunter. I felt the eerie sensation of being watched.

I was on guard now, stealthily sneaking up to my cracked open apartment door. I had my hand rested on my thigh, ready to pull my gun out of it holster in case the person who broke in was still in there.

After listening for an intruder, I threw the door open and held my gun up, ready to fire it at the asshole who thought they could invade my place.

The apartment was small, almost claustrophobic, so I didn't take long to search it for the intruder. Empty.

But goddamn did he sure make a mess. Couch cushions were flipped over, revealing the bloodstains I tried to hide, the cabinets were thrown open and everything inside was strewn about. Nothing appeared to be missing. But yet, even after I had cleared the whole entire apartment of danger, something felt wrong.

I felt as if there were eyes on me, watching my every move. This feeling hardly ever occurred to me because typically I was the one watching my target. Keeping my prey in my view, watching it squirm until I pounced. Now, it was happening to me.

The large window facing the living room didn't show any light through. However, the pitch black darkness revealed something. A almost minuscule red line reached from the abandoned building next to mine, through my window, and right into my living room, landing right onto...my chest.

Right as the realization hit me, the sniper went off, zooming through the air, shattering my window, and coming straight for my heart.

Had I not realized it a second earlier, it would've been my turn to bleed in this apartment. Funny, isn't it?

Luckily, or unluckily for most people, I managed to fall to the ground, unscathed. Ah, I would live to see another day of ending other people's lives.

Just as quick as I jumped down, I hopped up and blindly shot the bastard with the sniper.

Before I could even crack a smile at the satisfying thought about his body crumpling inside the old building, my phone went off.

I answered. There was a pause, seeing as its typical for the person answering to say "Hello" or some their greeting to tell the other they are listening. I'm never one to speak first until I'm sure who I am speaking to.

After the long pause, he caught my drift and spoke up.

"Psycho." His deep voice that I remembered from the alley simply said.

"Now what did I tell you to call me?" I teased, my voice going a little bit deeper.

"There's no time for games. You must list-"

"No time for games?" I whined. "That's no fun."

I heard an annoyed sigh on the other side of the phone. "Psycho," I huffed when I heard him say that instead of what I asked him to call me, "somebody is trying to kill you."

"Ha, yeah no shit, Sherlock. My place is torn apart and there was a sniper shooting at me like thirty seconds ago."

He paused. "They've already gotten to you?"

"Well I think the bullet hole in my wall says it all, Buddy." I said, my tone in contrast to his serious one.

"You mustn't stay at you apartment any longer, it isn't safe. Come stay at my mansion. We are heavily armed and guard-"

"Woah. Woah. Woah. Back it up. Now, by the worry I'm hearing in your voice, I'm starting to think you care about me, Moretti."

"No. In all honesty, this mission was to try to secure you as an assassin exclusively on the Moretti's side." He revealed.

"Good, because caring for me, would be a bad idea on your part. Trust me." My voice lost all it playfulness.

He didn't say anything to this.

"But, I agree. My apartment isn't safe. My location has been compromised. I hope you understand the danger in taking me in." I continued.

"I'm ready for it." He said, sounding determined.

"Okay, you asked for it. Now, where do you live?" I asked.

"A driver will meet you at Richard's and pick you up from there." He said right before he ended the call.

"How serious." I said in a baby voice, mocking him.

"Now, just got to get out of these heels, even though they do make my legs look killer." I laughed.

"Get it? Killer! Because I killed four men tonight!" I told my reflection in the less shattered part of the window.

Once my laughing ceased, I changed out of my dress and killer heels and into a black tank top, black leggings, and black combat boots. So I wouldn't look like I hopped out of some lame Divergent movie, I slid on a red leather jacket to better blend in at Richard's. I packed a bag and went on my way.

After walking all the way to the small pub, I saw no car parked outside. So I went inside.

The place was filled with old biker guys and women who had obviously has at least four boob jobs. They eyed me as I took a seat at the bar.

"What can I get you?" A cute, blonde bartender asked, a charming smile spread across his face.

"I'll have a beer and one shot of you." I smiled. He leaned in and lightly chuckled.

"I would love that, trust me, but there is a man who called me earlier saying that if you don't get into that black SUV that just pulled up out there, he's gonna blow my brains out."

I smirked. "Definitely some other time then." I looked to my left, outside the window of the bar, and saw what in was before an empty space, a huge, black car.

I laid a twenty on the counter for the bartender who gave me a little longing look and confidently strided to the vehicle parked outside.

I hopped into the empty backseat which was turned into something that resembled the back of a limo. Instead of two rows of seats, there were benches that lined the edges.

Once I was seated, the vehicle took off.

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