Classroom Assassination Books Novels & Stories

“We are the proof they want to erase.” My stomach twists. I think of the arrows that came from nowhere. “That attack on you… Was that the purist faction?” “We haven’t been able to find anything out about that.” Frustration bleeds into his words. “Whoever sent those assassins covered their tracks well.” I reach for another book, this one smaller, leather-bound. The title catches my eye: A Compendium of Magical Bloodlines. I flip it open and skim the pages until two words jump out at me.

He stood up, rounding his desk to where she stood facing straight forward. “There's a man in Mexico city. A very powerful man that threatens my position as the top worldwide.” His voice lowers to almost a whisper, the strong breathy smell of toba**o fanning her face. “Don Antonio Alvarez. You will infiltrate his mansion and assassinate him quietly. No mistakes.” Her head shot up. “Another don?” Darius’ brow lifted slightly. “Are you perhaps hesitant right now?” His voice dipped lethally. “I'm not,” Alina said quickly.

Chaos erupted. Everyone scrambled toward the soldier's hospital room. Miller dragged me by my handcuffs, pushing me to the front of the crowd. Through the glass, I saw Enzo tangled in a mess of tubes. Disgust flashed across my face. Then I gave Miller a faint smile. "If I had known you were so hard to kill, I would have used white phosphorus instead of cyanide." "I planned nine perfect executions, only for you to become the one stain on my record."

"I need the anatomy book you've got—full-on body display and the one murderers look for.." The man licks his lips, swallowing before seeming to open a secret drawer underneath his desk. "I know what you need; this book is named, 'How To Kill Like A Serial Killer,' and it's everything you're searching for, ma’am." I smile. "How much?" Two minutes later, I hurry to leave the bookstore. I ended up buying the goddamn book and some other anatomy book I’m obsessed with to keep me up all night and ignore Axel. These books will surely keep me from trying to kill Axel.

By the time I dropped them off at the preschool, I wanted to go home and take a nap, but there were things in the office that required my attention. I showered and changed in my room at the pack house before heading to my office. To my surprise, Zane was seated in front of my desk waiting for me. “Have the bids together already?” I asked. “I figured that would take at least a day.” “No. There were a couple incidents last night. I need to fill you in.” I gestured for him to continue as I took my own seat behind my desk. “That assassin, Marcus, he killed his cellmate last night.”

It wasn't until I spoke with one of the assassins that I realized they were there to kill me because of the death of the same young man I had left to go. "I was once again so stunned to hear that. I can't deny that I was so confused at that very moment. However, after some thought, I easily realized what was going on. The dog, Books, sorry Brooks was merely trying to drive a wedge between us. "Since he knew I'd be coming after him, what was the best way to ward me off if not to make you come after me?

The book was full of secrets; real, dangerous secrets. There were names of powerful families, politicians, senators, high-ranking officials, even mafia lords from different regions. It was a goddamn encyclopedia of corruption and blood. Some pages had receipts attached, small documents taped neatly beside notes detailing murders, deals, and betrayals. It was chilling. Who the hell compiled this? I turned to another page and found a handwritten list of assassinations , who ordered them, who executed them, and how much it cost. My hand trembled slightly as I read through lines that described lives being snuffed out like they were nothing but routine transactions.

He pesters me as I struggle with myself to at least be able to wiggle my fingers. I hate him. I hate him so much. No particular reason as to why they want him dead? His words right now are enough reasons. What part made me this unconscious? Was it the hit? Or was it the fact that I cut myself? Was it my blood? I have bled one too many times. Aunt Kitra made sure I never had my trainings easy. “What is an assassin if you cannot fight the same death you have made your job?” He continues to pester me as he increases his pressure on my foot.

Saturday class was a small group that morning. Some days the roster swelled to the point that we had to move to the library to fit everybody. When I had my druthers, though, I kept it in my own classroom. Easier and more comfortable for me to get stuff done in there without having to relocate, and frankly, the books I had on my shelf to keep bored students awake were better than what our librarian kept on stock. Calvin and Hobbes anthologies, Jack Handey's The Stench of Honolulu, or, for kids I trusted better, Gary Brodsky's The Art of Getting Even: The Do-It-Yourself Justice Manual. Some real gems in my collection.

But, today would still be not much different — in the case of classes that is — as the students hesitatingly awaited the lesson plans that the Rozbite's teacher association will taught to them. Instead of the normal classes of math and literature, the students were taught murder, mayhem, crime cases, and cracking cipher codes. Yeah, real shit, it was certainly not what most would consider a regular school day, huh? Ruby thought, as she warily stepped into the chamber, mind and perceptions blown out with a sense of morbid curiosity as she begrudgingly opened a classroom door that corresponds to the directions that her student map pertains about — Class 3: Chambers of Macabre.