Читать книгу Any Means Necessary - Shane Britten - Страница 2

The assassin stood quietly in the bedroom of his intended target, a sliver of darkness in a room already dominated by shadows. The only light was from the target’s mobile phone, plugged into a charger on a bedside table but still illuminating every few seconds with a notification.

He held the razor-sharp carving knife in a comfortable grip outside his right thigh and

crossed the room on silent steps, avoiding the items strewn across the floor until he stood alongside the bed. The target was asleep but murmuring.

He crouched until his head was eye-level with the target, his dark wool suit making no sound. He opened his mouth slightly and tilted his head to better capture the murmurs leaving the target’s lips.

The rapidly repeated word would be an anomaly for most people, but the assassin froze. He kept listening as that single word was repeated with a whispered tone of pleading.

The word came one more time, raised in volume.

The assassin’s eyes narrowed and their dark depths studied the face in front of him. He rose with silent grace, moving back towards the door. Once there, he glanced back at the sleeping figure, before slipping out the door and away into the night.