Target 84 by K Larsen Page A

barely even registered me tonight, but I know she was watching and waiting on me. I've clocked her following me for days now. The level at which she's skilled at stalking uneases me. She's the actor extraordinaire with her aloof act. I don’t like it one bit. She could be working for Torren. If my cover is blown, if anyone knows ATF is involved with this deal, I am screwed.
    It’s time to do something about her. I need answers. Being a step ahead is likely all I will have going for me so I need to stay proactive, gorgeous woman or not. I’d rather screw her than interrogate her but what the hell, maybe a little interrogation can lead to a little screwing. The blonde goddess needs a little talking-to.
    This opportunity seems monumental to me. My dark side has been begging for a release. You can’t just pick and choose in this life. You can’t take the good without the bad. I can’t let the monster out. I can never lose control.
    I keep suppressing it like a well-groomed member of society but now I have a reason to give in. I have a way to let the monster out without repercussions. I step out into the dark and draw the nighttime air into my lungs feeling indestructible, as resistant as a roach.

Chapter Fifteen
Greta Billings
    “Bad blood stirring in the boiling pot. Finger on the trigger of a gun.
    An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It's an old web being spun.
    Born from the seeds of anger and hatred. Do it to them like they do.
    It's only revenge and the worst of it all. It all comes back to you”
    DEAD MOON – “REVENGE”
    I push through the doors of the monumental, stone, historic church at the busy street corner. The stained glass windows look dark and dreary due to the weather outside. My heels clack on the marble floor, the sound obscene amid the peaceful silence. The confessionals are to my left. I wait for the one I need to become available, then enter. There is no me. I'm just a container.
    “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I say and try not to snicker. I’m not exactly the religious type.
    “Tell me, child, do you believe in God?” The priest asks. His voice is warm and soothing. A deep baritone. I squint through the tiny, grated window to try and get a better look at him. I’m curious.
    “Sure, but what I see in my line of work...faith is a tad difficult to sustain,” I answer honestly.
    “So then, what brings you here this evening?” he asks, ignoring my plea to ask about my line of work. Hmm, time to up the ante .
    “Murder, Father,” I answer.
    “Why did you murder someone?” he asks. His voice is still neutral, contained. I wonder what kind of things he must hear on a nightly basis from the whackos that live outside the church doors.
    “For a paycheck, Father,” I answer lightly.
    “For money? You murdered someone for pay?” His breathing has increased just slightly. He’s growing nervous. Fight-or-flight instinct is starting to grow in his belly.
    “Yes, Father. I didn’t do it out of anger, though, just for a paycheck.” I almost laugh. I can hear his breathing coming faster and faster. If I’m perfectly still, I’m sure I could hear his heart rapidly thudding away against his ribs.
    “Who did you murder for money, Greta?” And just like that, the dirty priest has made a gross mistake. He knew I was coming. He knew I was hired. I never told him my name. My reputation, though, precedes me in my particular...community. He must think he’s special if he guessed my name. You don’t just send me for scum. You send me for the people that matter. Still, it was a lucky guess. There are other women, few and far between, available for hire.
    “You, Father,” I say, deadpan. I twist the silencer onto the pistol in my handbag quickly and effortlessly.
    “I'm s-s-sorry?” he stutters. Fools. All of them. When your time is up, just accept it. Fighting it never changes the outcome when I’m involved.
    “I said you, Father. Did I stutter before?" I raise my pistol and