His Little Hunter
Lacey, our sniper, whispered from my side, the concern evident in her voice.
We were both sprawled out on the roof of the old abandoned warehouse with our fronts pressed to the edge of the surprisingly sturdy zinc. Lacey had her rifle settled, the barrel angling slightly to the right, waiting for our targets to step onto the stage.
Her blonde hair was scraped back into a severe ballet styled bun, and the black half-face mask she wore concealed everything but her eyes. We’d known each other for years, but those green eyes never failed to stun me. Even in the gloom, they were piercing. A clear, vibrant emerald that could make anyone look twice. Lacey was the kind of beautiful that made men stu
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