CHAPTER 6: WHERE MERCY ENDS

I have no idea how long I lay here. It could have been days, weeks, or months, but if I’m guessing correctly, then I got a visit from Anna once every day for a sponge bath. That would mean that I have been a poisoned, paralyzed patient for 4 days.

I’m fed through a feeding tube, given fluids via an IV and a catheter for using the restroom. So, all my needs are being met, I guess.

With nothing better to do, since I am ignoring the voice in my head, I began to think about my life since I started down the path that changed my life.

4 ½ years ago in South Carolina

One late dark night while I was walking home, I heard a woman yelling for help nearby. I kept walking, but I could hear Kelly’s little voice saying, “We should always stop and help someone because we would want them to stop and help us.”

That was something I always told my kids. Funny how I was ignoring my own advice, but no matter how hard I tried to keep walking, it was like I could feel Kelly’s disapproval.

It sounded like it was coming from behind Big Joe’s Bar.

Big Joe’s Bar is the only bar in this small piece of shit town. It has a front porch with two swinging doors that lead into a small entry door inside. It reminds me of an old western saloon. When someone opens the door, you can hear the loud music playing and laughing inside.

On the weekends, it’s always filled with college students from a campus about 30 minutes away. This is where the rich punks like to come and make trouble. So, if you want to pick a fight, this is where you come.

Hearing the cry for help again, I started to head in that direction.

It’s probably another drunken idiot who thinks he can get handsy, I thought with a sigh.

As I rounded the corner behind the bar, I saw a man trying to force himself on the woman. One thing I cannot stand is bullies. It doesn’t matter what their age, size or what the history is between the two; bullying is unacceptable. No means no. Period.

He is about 5 ½ feet tall with a handsome face, with the typical blonde hair and blue eyes. He has on a very nice dark suit. He looks like a trust-fund baby or, at the very least, mommy and daddy have money.

Why are all the cute ones douches?

I walked up behind the bully and cleared my throat. “Excuse me.”

He quickly turned to face me. “What bitch?”

Well, that’s just rude, I thought.

“Leave her alone, this is your only warning.” I said with a lazy sigh already over this whole situation, but then again, I was planning on going inside to pick a fight, then go home, anyway. So, I guess this college pretty boy will have to do.

“Oh yeah, or what?” he said with a haughty voice, then looked me up and down. Gross.

“You know what, you’re hot. After I am done with her, I’ll have some fun with you,” he said, laughing.

“Ok, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He went to turn back to the woman, but I wouldn’t let him. I wanted him to see what was coming.

Time to teach this pretty boy a lesson he won’t forget, I thought with a sweet smile.

I grabbed his shoulder and spun him towards me. Using the momentum of the spin, I punched his nose, effectively breaking it as he stumbled backwards. There was a gush of blood pouring out of his nose. He rushed towards me with his fist cocked backwards, preparing for a punch.

God, why do people think that displaying your next move will help you win? I rolled my eyes.

On his way forward, I let him think he was going to land a hit. Then at the last second, I stepped to the left, stuck out my foot while innocently saying, “Oops”.

He tripped over my foot and landed face first on the pavement. I couldn’t help but laugh. That was funny.

I reached down and turned him onto his back. At this point, he is crying like a little baby while holding his nose. “You’re going to pay for this, bitch.”

“Really? Again, with the bitch? But seriously, I did warn you, but you just didn’t listen,” I say playfully.

Then with a serious tone, I continue, “So, listen up, pretty boy. When someone says no or stop, you fucking stop. Immediately. How would you like it if you were in her shoes?” I let the disgust show on my face. “Looking at you now, you look like a trust fund baby, which means you think you can do whatever you want, and mommy or daddy will bail you out. Well, listen up, you little punk. If I find out you sexually assault another person, I am coming for you, and no amount of money will save your ass. Just remember, there is always someone stronger and richer than you.”

With that, I slammed his head on the ground, knocking him out. I stood up and turned while holding out my hand for the lady to take.

As I led her past the idiot, she kicked his manly bits on the way out of the alley. I couldn’t help it as I let out an “atta girl.” Then I saw a little smile grace her face.

Once we were out of the alley, I asked, “Are you okay?”

She looks a bit shaken up, but other than that, she seems okay. “Yes, thank you. I normally can fight for myself, but I think he spiked my drink when I wasn’t looking. I would ask how I can repay you, but you basically said you have more money than him.”

She sounded ok, just a little slur to her words, and she was a bit out of it. It could have been because of the alcohol or from being drugged.

“Actually, I don’t have a lot of money, but he doesn’t know that. I just said that to hopefully scare some sense into him. I guess we will see what happens,” I said before calling a cab for each of us.

While we were waiting, she told me a little about herself and gave me her dad’s business card.

As it turns out, she is Laura, the daughter of Jack Smith, the leader of the local underground fight club.

A couple of weeks later, I ran into her and her dad at a friend’s fundraiser, and he invited me to join his team.

She told her dad what happened and that she was impressed by how I handled the drunken punk. Granted, I was taking a lot of anger and frustration out on him from losing my family, but hey, he deserved it.

I had so much anger to vent that I was brutal in the ring. I quickly went from the crowd pleasers, which are the fights that warm up the crowd, to the main event.

When I had remained undefeated for thirty-seven fights, that was when I met John.

I trained every day like it was my life, fighting in the ring while learning new fighting techniques and martial arts with John.

At first, I thought they were training me to be a main ring fighter in a bigger, legal ring, but as time went on, the training changed.

It became more brutal, sly. They were teaching me to be invisible and how to identify people’s strengths and weaknesses. They would find my limits, then push me past them, all while beating all emotions out of me, not that there were any left to begin with. They were the last few emotions of humanity I had left, and they destroyed them. John taught me how to overcome and focus my anger so I didn’t get tunnel vision, like I usually do.

John taught me personally how to fight without my senses. “Not all the time will you have access to all of your senses. You may lose your sense of sight or hearing, so you need to adapt your fighting style to make up for the loss,” he would say.

I was John's pride and joy, his perfect student. However, I had one condition. I did not hurt the innocent. John understood and never broke my condition. He paved the way for me to become the most feared, emotionless, silent, and deadliest assassin and master torturer to have ever existed.

I’m not proud of the direction my life took, but I only accepted a contract for the true monsters that go bump in the night. The leaders of the criminal empires, drug lords, sex traffickers, gang leaders, terrorist leaders, weapons dealers. The kind of people who are untouchable by government and state agencies because of the law. The ones that have too much money and buy off anyone and everyone to remain untouchable. Those who leave no witnesses.

I was the person they looked over their shoulders for, the person they feared. I took down entire organizations overnight. I always made sure to evacuate the innocent, so they were not collateral damage.

They called me ‘The Ghost’ because I was in and out without a trace and without leaving any witnesses. However, they only knew me by reputation. They had no idea who I was or that I was even a woman. I always stayed in the shadows and did my recon behind the scenes, so no one ever saw my face. That way, if I ever wanted to get out of this line of work, I would remain safe to do so since no one would know who I am.

I did my research before accepting a mark to make sure I never touched an innocent person, because that is where I drew the line. I consider an innocent to be someone who committed a lazy crime, such as theft, embezzlement, or whose wife wanted the cheating husband and his mistress dead. Contracts that any criminal could complete, I left those for others.

I wanted the worst of the worst. I wanted a challenge.

Not all of my jobs were bad. I had to find a balance where I could, something that would keep me from going completely evil.

There were some good things to do with my assassin job, like when I found the victims and brought them home. Granted, I would knock them out until they were home, so they couldn’t identify me and report it to anyone, but I tried to do good when I could.

It was those moments that led me to set up a legit tracker/private investigator job that I kept separate from my assassin job. When I was in between contracts, I would use my tracking skills to travel the world looking for missing people and bring them home to their families.

That was always the best part: reuniting families and seeing pure joy and happiness, or bringing closure to families. Knowing they didn’t have to guess where their loved one was or what they might be going through. They were able to lay them to rest.