Dust and the metallic tang of copper choked my throat as I clawed my way free from the wreckage. My shirt was ruined, drenched in a fresh, sickening crimson stain.
"I'm a disaster…" I muttered to myself, dragging my bruised limbs toward the direction of the parking lot.
I crossed an elevated concrete overpass just in time to spot a flatbed truck lumbering down the expressway below, heading directly toward my destination. How convenient.
I turned on my heel, took a short, desperate sprint, slammed my foot onto the guardrail, and launched myself into the open air, aiming for the truck's rusted roof.
I missed.
The impact hit like a sledgehammer. My body bounced off the asphalt, releasing a ragged, bone-deep grunt.
"Close enough," I gasped.
A sleek sedan pulled up alongside me, its engine idling. The window rolled down to reveal a guy squinting at me in utter disbelief. "You good, homie? You fell from pretty damn high."
"All good, homie… just a scratch," I wheezed, clutching my agonizingly twisted leg. Unbelievable. All that brutal fighting, and a fifteen-foot jump is what almost breaks me.
"Want a lift?" he asked, his expression softening with pure pity.
"My guy, you are officially my favorite person on Earth—right after Obama." I dragged myself across the pavement and hauled my broken body into his passenger seat.
"Thanks, Tyrone, you're an absolute legend! May God grant you a long, happy life—right after mine, of course!"
I watched Tyrone's taillights fade into the city traffic, wincing slightly as a gentle tap landed on my shoulder.
"You really love keeping me waiting, don't you?"
I turned to find her standing there—clad in a breathtaking, sharp red dress. Her expression hovered right on the fine line between annoyed and amused.
"What? No way," I bluffed, my brain frantically scrambling for a cover story. "I was actually… helping an old lady. Pushing… um… a truck?"
Jesus. I used to be better at lying than this.
"An old lady? Pushing a truck?" She crossed her arms, raising a single eyebrow.
I gave a confident nod, fully aware I was spiraling into absolute doom.
"And were you helping her, or murdering her with all that blood on your chest?" she asked, her eyes narrowing playfully.
"I… tripped on my way back."
She stared at me in absolute, deafening silence—the universal 'are you serious?' face. Then, she cracked, bursting into a light, melodic laugh.
"Oh, my god… well, at least we match now."
I glanced down, only now realizing that the wet, dark stain plastered across my shirt matched the exact shade of her crimson dress. I let out a dry chuckle as she reached out, took my bruised hand, and pulled me gently toward her car.
"Next stop: Keline Gardens."
Laughter echoed across the manicured green lawn as I dragged her toward an empty park bench. We sank onto the wood, exhausted, letting the weight of a chaotic day melt away.
"That was legendary," I grinned.
"I didn't realize you had a dark side. You terrified those kids so badly they nearly dropped their ice creams."
"I'm full of hidden talents," she boasted softly, leaning back.
"So… are you finally going to tell me your name? You've dodged the question every single time."
"Patience is a virtue," she murmured, turning to me with an adorable, teasing smile. "The reveal will be worth it." She gestured out toward the horizon. "Look how gorgeous the sunset is from here."
I glanced at the drowning sun, but my eyes immediately drifted right back to her. The golden light caught the soft curve of her hazel skin, the effortless cascade of her dark curls, and the sharp elegance of that red dress. Meanwhile, I looked like a guy who had just survived a building collapse.
I let out a sudden, aloud laugh.
"What's so funny?" she asked, curious.
"Just sitting next to perfection in completely ruined clothes."
"It's fine," she winked, standing up.
"I like you a little roughed up. But you're definitely changing for the next stop."
Twenty minutes later, I stood staring at a grand estate so obscenely lavish that the word 'wealth' felt like an understatement. Towering marble, golden floodlights, and armed security at every corner.
"This is where we were going?" I asked, adjusting the crisp lapels of the fresh black suit we had just sprinted into a boutique to buy.
"Don't worry, you'll fit right in." She slipped her hand into mine and led me up the massive grand stairs.
Inside, the ballroom was a blinding display of decadence, towering crystal chandeliers, tables overflowing with delicate food, carved pillars draped in silk, and velvet carpets laced with gold leaf patterns.
"Who the hell are you?" I whispered, genuinely intrigued.
"Just an archaeologist," she smiled, leaning in close. "But I have… connections."
She gave my hand a light squeeze before stepping away to mingle with a cluster of high-society guests.
Connections, I thought, scanning the room. No kidding. The people in this hall weren't just rich—they were the shadow power players running this city. Including a few high-priority names off my personal hit list.
Over by the grand staircase stood Grace Spencer, looking terrified despite being flanked by four heavily armed bodyguards. I suppose mounting her chief advisor's severed head on the city fountain as a message had achieved the desired effect.
Targeting Grace tonight would be suicide with that much security, but a room this full of trash meant there was always a smaller fish to fry.
My eyes shifted to the man standing at Grace's right hand.
Jeff Neuman.
Or, as I preferred to call him: Jeff the Predator. Seventy documented cases of child abuse, corruption, and systemic cover-ups—yet the city police mysteriously kept losing his files. A guy like that didn't walk free because of bad detective work; he walked free because he bought the detectives.
"Darling, I'm so sorry," her voice broke my concentration as she glided back to my side.
"There are just so many people I have to say hello to."
"It's totally fine, take your time," I said smoothly, keeping my vision locked on Neuman's movements.
"I'm just going to explore a bit."
"Thanks, luv," she smiled, blowing me a quick kiss before turning back to a group of diplomats.
I slipped into the crowd, maintaining a subtle distance as Jeff broke away from Grace and slipped down a quiet, dimly lit corridor away from the main hall. He was moving with a strange, hunting urgency—following something.
I took a parallel hallway, stepping silently around the marble columns, and peeked through an archway. Down the secluded hall, a little girl was running happily, clutching a teddy bear in her arms. Behind her, Jeff was closing the distance, a sickening smile spreading across his face.
He dies tonight.
As Jeff lunged forward to grab the child's arm, I sprinted out of the shadows, tackling him sideways mid-stride. We smashed through an open doorway, crashing heavily onto the hardwood floor of a private study.
"Gotcha," I growled.
Before he could even scream, I scrambled up, grabbed a heavy bronze lamp off a side table, and brought it down hard across his temple. The light went out in his eyes instantly.
I get up removing my just bought coat.
"Let's get this over with."