The Assassin's Obsessions: The Confradia Assassins IV

Priest

Finding a dead body in a hotel is something that happens more often than anyone might think. Every day, in many places around the world, a hotel employee or guest will find a dead body frozen in its final moment of life. The media will then report a homicide or suicide, which in most cases occurs in a bathtub, bed, or shower. Sometimes the body will go sailing over a hotel room balcony to grotesquely land near a fountain near the front entrance and create quite a stir. There will even be occasions where a hotel guest will find someone’s body floating in the pool or hanging from the ceiling.

Of course, it’s the dealer’s choice on how an assassin wants to end someone’s life. Especially a high-profile asshole like John Treadwell, who has been selling children on the black market for his client’s pleasure. In this case, the children are tortured and killed in some gruesome way while the customer watches. Yes, you heard me right—the man will buy children and sell them to sick assholes who like to see them be tortured to death. Trust me when I tell you that it’s a lot worse than you imagine. The bastard has managed to escape any repercussions because he is wealthy and influential, and no one can touch him—or so he thinks. Unfortunately for him, the Confradia has decided that it is time to end his existence.

That’s why I’m here. I’ve come to show Mr. Treadwell the error of his ways before he meets his maker. I’m called Priest, which is ironic because I’m done with sick bastards like him when they all pray for a final absolution. I’d like to think that the old bible adage, an eye for an eye, is an adequate form of punishment. And that’s what Mr. Treadwell is receiving tonight.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asks with an arrogant smirk when I step into his hotel room. Regrettably, at that moment, he hasn’t noticed the sharp knife in my hand. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have taken that tone with me. Moving closer, I give him a heated glare. His face pales as he gets a good view of my face. As if finally sensing that I’m not there to hand him a hot towel or bring in his evening supper, he takes several steps back. “What do you want?” He asks, raising his hands up to ward off my approach.

Without another word, I lift my knife up and wave its gleaming edge in front of his face. The man’s eyes widen with the realization that there’s no happy ending for him at this moment. However, like every rich asshole in the world, he tries to negotiate. They always do. That’s the problem with rich, evil men like him. They all think that they can buy anyone. Unfortunately, that’s not the case with me. Seeing that I’m not responding, the man begins to cry and beg. It makes me wonder about his reaction to the kids that he bought when they cried and begged as those men hurt them. Did he feel pity? Or did he watch emotionlessly as the men stripped the innocence and lives away from those children? I know that I didn’t feel bad at all when he tried to escape my grasp. I think about the look of horror on his face when I slide my knife under his ribs, puncturing vital organs. It’s satisfying to watch him struggle for air until he’s choking on his own blood.

The best way to kill someone slowly is to puncture a vital lung or artery and watch the life slowly fade from their eyes. I can’t pretend that I didn’t get any satisfaction watching his life-sustaining blood drain from his body. I also can’t say that I didn’t enjoy watching him struggle for breath. Men like him deserve a terrible end, and I’m here to guarantee that they get what they deserve.

Once I’m done, I carefully remove the latex gloves from my hands and watch as Treadwell’s body twitches one last time. The only regret that I feel concerning this man’s death is that he didn’t suffer enough for what he did. I genuinely believe that I let him off too easily. Oh well, at least it’s one less monster in the world.

Without giving him another thought, I step over his prone body and try to avoid the slowly spreading pool of blood adorning the white tiles of the bathroom floor. It’s easier to kill someone in the bathroom. No furniture to get in the way, and very convenient for a quick clean-up. Before I leave the room, I check my reflection to ensure that my black Versace sports jacket and white silk shirt are clean. Thankfully, not a drop of blood has marred the pristine material. My mahogany hair is in attractive disarray, and my silver eyes glow with a healthy sheen. I blink my eyes, still feeling a strange exhilaration that I can see again after all of this time.

You see, a few years ago, I was blinded during a routine mission. A rookie agent and I oversaw the setting off charges in one of our mark’s fortresses. Unfortunately, the agent set up the detonators incorrectly, and everything went to hell. He lost his life that night, and I lost my eyesight without any hope of recovery. That is until the Confradia offered me a second chance. The Confradia is a covert government organization that employs sanctioned Assassins to “clean up the state’s messes” without causing any diplomatic dilemmas between our allied countries. We work in secret to keep the United States from being a part of a foreign or domestic incident.

In Hunter’s words, we eliminate rich, bloated assholes who skirt the law because they think they are above it.

About a year ago, the Confradia offered an experimental surgery to correct my blindness. Seeing that I had Nothing to lose, I consented. The operation was successful, and I was reinstated as an active agent again. When the accident happened, I was designated to the equivalent of a desk job for the Confradia. I was mainly doing grunt work without any of the action. Which was tough for someone with my range of abilities.

As a former decorated Navy Seal, I was trained in Special Ops, foreign language training, SEAL tactical communications, Sniper, Military Freefall Parachuting, Jump Master, Explosive Breacher, and a few other things that I’m not allowed to share with the public. I also have extensive knowledge of weapons. I can shoot pretty much any gun in existence, wield a deadly knife, and swing a sword like a gladiator. Even when I was blinded, I continued to hone my craft. I also carried around a concealed sword inside my cane. I got the idea from an old British spy movie I saw as a child. However, my best assets are my new eyes.

Hunter, my friend, and coworker, jokingly calls me Priest 2.0 because I have what he calls “terminator’s eyes.” The Confradia scientists used some high-tech nanotechnology to repair my damaged retinas and added a few extra upgrades while I was under the knife. Not only can I see, but I can heal faster, and my vision is honed better than any humans’. At first, it was difficult to adjust to my new sight. You see, I don’t see exactly like a regular person. My vision is a bit more real-time. The best way to describe it is to see a video game when you play the first-person perspective. For a while, I couldn’t adjust to seeing color. Everything was black and white. That is, until the day I met her.

The day is burned into my memory. Hunter, Outlaw, Reaper, Savage, and I decided to crash their lady’s night out. Sophia and Jade belong to Reaper and Savage. I spotted her right away. Her name is Sage Reese. She was sitting with Sophia on a plush couch near a stage, looking like a goddess. Her long golden hair was spread becomingly around her rounded shoulders and incredible body, and she was wearing an enticingly short, red dress that made her legs look miles long. Her creamy skin beckoned me to touch, and her lush red lips and cobalt eyes mesmerized me. I was shocked to find that my vision was sharper than it had ever been before. I could see the golden color of her silky mane and the lush lips that begged to be kissed. I was entranced by her beauty and overwhelmed by the reawakening of my dull vision. I had never been so fascinated by anyone as I was that night.

Unlike most women, she didn’t stop to gawk at me or try to get my attention. I know that it sounds conceited, but I’m not used to being ignored by females or males in some situations. Hunter and the others like to tease me about my “pretty boy” looks. I won’t pretend that I don’t know that I’m an attractive man. I have been told my whole life that I’m exceptional in the looks department.

Which to some men is a gift; however, to me, it’s a deterrent. I just couldn’t understand why my looks factored in with my accomplishments. Reaper’s wife, Jade, says that I’m the physical embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome. Reaper was not very happy when he heard her that.

Hunter’s girlfriend, Maleah, says that I have a broody, poetic, bad boy vibe that makes women want to tame me. To my and Hunter’s dismay, Maleah is incredibly honest. You should have seen the face that Hunter made when she told me that. I thought his head was going to explode. It still amuses me when I think about it.

Except for my friend’s wives or girlfriends, women flock to me like bees to honey. I’ve tried to be kind about my rejection, but it has only made things worse in some cases. To be honest, I’ve only had a handful of sexual encounters. I call them encounters because I’ve found that I have no interest beyond sex with any of the women whom I’ve been with over the years. The only woman who has ever come close to changing my take on relationships has been Sage.

We didn’t really speak that night─ other than to respond to our introductions. She seemed sad and wary at the same time. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I found out that she was being stalked by what turned out to be a serial killer. Maleah and Hunter asked me to help her when the guy sent her a video of her sleeping. We couldn’t figure out how he did it. At first, she was resistant to my protection, but we became closer when we were together. Eventually, things came to pass, and the guy was caught. Believe it or not, we never had sex. Not in a conventional way, at least. However, we did have a very heated night together. After Smiley kidnaped her, he drugged her with a date rape drug, and I was left to deal with the fallout. It’s a night that will forever be ingrained in my mind. However, even though I was developing feelings for her, I couldn’t risk getting involved, so I played it off as if it was just the drugs that made her act that way and that I was helping her out. But, now...now I don’t know what I want.

The banging of a nearby door snaps me away from my musing as I casually make my way to the entryway. A business dinner is hosted in the ballroom, which helps me blend in and disappear without notice. Hunter also made sure to put all surveillance cameras in a loop. However, I have a small window of time to get to the ballroom before the loop is disabled.

The hotel that Treadwell is staying in is beautiful. It’s a nineteen-thirties era design with antique elevators, a winding stairway, and a sizeable opulent hallway covered in red carpeting. The walls are white marble decorated with prohibition-era paintings, delicate buttresses, and large windows covered with sheer cream-colored curtains.

The buzzing of conversation below warns me that I’ve made it to the ballroom balcony. Adjusting my suit button, I shrug my shoulders and lean casually down to observe the crowd below. As if my body is attuned to a particular frequency whenever she’s near, I spot her right away. It’s Sage. She is standing near a table laden with champagne flutes looking stunning. Her long blue dress drapes across her body like a second skin accentuating every curve of her body like a glove. The dress has no sleeves, baring the roundness of her firm cleavage, and her hair is set up in some intricate braid that falls down the side of her shoulder. I run my gaze down the slender curves of her body until it lands on the flaring train of her dress. Gazing back up, I notice that her lips look plump and luscious, and her eyes are as large as a doe’s. I want to run to her and run away at the same time. I don’t know what to do. My body aches at the thought of being close to her again and sating the burning desire that began the moment I first laid eyes on her. The need that I have denied myself because my life is too messed up to bring her into it.

As if making up my mind for me, my legs begin to move in her direction. I stop near the bottom of the stairs watching her gracefully lift a flute of Champagne to her lips as she gazes at a nearby painting contemplatively. She seems solemn, her lush lower lip trapped between her teeth as she releases a wistful sigh. My fists tighten painfully with the need to touch her, but I’m unable to move any further. My mind is once again warring with my body.

My stomach churns with indecision. So much has happened and not happened between us. I just don’t know where we stand now. I know that Sage felt something for me and that I hurt her when I walked away. Don’t get me wrong, she never had an expectation that we’d end up together, but the feelings were there— and we both knew it. My mind flashes back to another time and another woman. However, this woman did expect something from me, and I did not return her feelings in any way. Unfortunately, feelings were the least of our worries. The infatuation caused more than heartbreaks. It cost several unfortunate deaths and a rift that can never be repaired. My thoughts turn away from that dark time. However, it’s enough for my doubts to overwhelm me and make me turn away.

Before I take a step, my name echoes through the room. The voice is husky and melodic. It’s the voice of the woman who haunts my dreams. At the sound of her voice, my body freezes in place. It’s too late to run away. “Priest...”