Happy Hump Day!
It's a new month and a new book to feature on Mid Week Tease, Sicario, World's End Book 2.
I've chosen a scene from chapter one of Sicario which puts us right in the middle of the action as we see Lexan at work as an assassin. Enjoy.
The target stepped out of the car, the door held open by one of the bodyguards while the other walked ahead up the narrow path leading to the front door of the brownstone. The glow from the streetlight accentuated the deep lines in his tanned face, making him appear older than in the photograph. The man’s gaze swept up and down the street as if he sensed something out of place.
Back pressed against the rough wall, I remained frozen where the shadows swallowed me up in the alcove between two houses. I wore nothing that would reflect the light—dark clothes, a hood over my head and a mask shielding my face. The morning was cool and dark, dawn still a few hours away. My gaze remained on him as I mentally confirmed he was the man I wanted.
Dmitri Yurikov. Of Russian descent. Forty nine years old. Six feet tall. One hundred and seventy pounds. Grey hair grew at the sides of his neatly cut, short dark hair. His facial hair was shaved off, although a shadow showed on his chin. He dressed in an expensive, dark, fitted suit that would’ve been made especially for him and his polished shoes shone under the streetlamp.
From this distance, his eye color wasn’t obvious, but I knew it would be blue—I’d seen it in the photograph sent over with his file.
Yurikov walked down the narrow path. I waited for the man by the car to shut the door before squeezing the trigger with smooth, even pressure.
Fat drops of rain splattered on the pavement masking the p-taff p-taff of the suppressed gunshots. The man slumped against the side of the car with a dull thud, hit twice in the sternum in rapid succession.
The bodyguard by the front door let out a low curse as he spotted his colleague falling and ran towards Yurikov, hand reaching inside his jacket.
I squeezed out another couple of rounds of low-powered, subsonic 5.7mm bullets. The copper-enclosed lead tore through the skin of his back and neck. He collapsed forward, hitting the ground with a muted thunk, arm outstretched toward his boss.
Yurikov froze in a crouch behind a low wall, eyes sweeping the area as he pulled out his handgun and held it ready to shoot. “Who are you? Be a man. Show yourself!”
Melting out of the darkness, I took a measured step forward.
Yurikov’s eyes widened as soon as he saw me. It seemed he recognized me. That would be impossible considering I was covered from head to toes. He understood my purpose. His death. He straightened up confidently, the rain plastering wet clothes to his body.
“I’ll pay you double—no—triple whatever he’s paying you to kill me,” he offered.
My response was to squeeze the trigger of the FN Five-seveN in my hand and put a bullet through Yurikov’s skull. He collapsed to his knees, a hole in his head right between his eyes. I fired another shot into his chest just to be sure. In this job, there was no room for mistakes.
He fell back onto the paving stones, his mouth slackened as he expelled his last breath. Perhaps from surprise that I hadn’t accepted his bribe. Perhaps one of his men would’ve taken the money. Perhaps he would’ve done the same.
My survival so far depended on fulfilling the terms of a contract once accepted. This business was cutthroat. Ruthless. Agreements were binding. There to be honored and delivered. Any person on my hit lit was as good as dead. I had never reneged before. Wouldn’t start now. Not for money. Not for anything.
Copyright (c) 2016-17 Kai Tyler
Lexan is one of the most complex characters I've ever written. I always had the dilemma 'How to make readers love a killer'. Find out more about Lexan HERE.
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Thank you to Angelica Dawson for the opportunity to participate.