[ 3rd Person POV ]

Tonight has been one long night from hell, I think to myself as I sulk through the streets of London. Regrettably the weather has taken a turn for the worst, as always, and I am soaked through with the rain before I've even gotten three streets away. I can't see what's funnier; watching couples hopelessly trying to shelter under tiny umbrellas or the taxi drivers taking pleasure in driving through puddles, soaking nearby pedestrians. Either way, it makes me chuckle. I've already fixed my hood back in place, but it doesn't stop the rain from seeping its way down my back under my jacket. The sooner I can get back inside, the better.

After walking through Trafalgar Square, weaving through the tourists, I change course to head up through the back streets of Leicester Square, a hot spot for dealers, and one or two bag snatchers. They usually hang around in the doorways of buildings, keeping themselves in the shadows so they can observe their next prey freely without the risk of getting caught. Not that I will be falling under their gaze tonight. Typical British weather like this soon sends them back indoors into the inner clubs and brothels, leaving the leaner hunters like me in peace. The people who know me dip their heads and turn their eyes away, leaving me to continue about my business undisturbed as I walk up the streets. I spy a few police officers loitering outside a club, several drunken idiots cuffed and on the floor, cursing like children. They'll never learn. You can't get everything you want in the world, so it's best just to keep your head low, shut up, and take it.

Even though I dropped off my gun at the other side of London, I don't want to make the rookies mistake of heading straight there. Who knows who could be following me, waiting to see if I take a wrong turn. Unlike most professionals who refuse to go anywhere near the last location they made a hit at within the first few hours, I find myself subconsciously heading in that direction, getting closer towards the restaurant where all havoc broke loose only a few hours ago. The street has been closed off to traffic by the emergency services who are still there, despite the time being past midnight, the city was still alive and as busy as ever. Tourists and pedestrians fought for dominance walking along the pavement past the fire trucks and police cars, men in fluorescent jackets ordering them to keep walking. I too join in the act of the nosey Londoners, peeking a look as I squeeze my way through the crowd. The wreckage of the building still burns fiercely as fire crews still try to put out the blaze, the tower of smoke spiralling up into the wet, blackened sky. "Crazy bomber. No stoppin 'em". "Gas explosion I heard". "Chef left the cooker on was what they told me". The whispers and jaunts of gossip continue through the crowd as each passer by gives their own opinion on what they thought happened at the restaurant hours ago. Shame, I think to myself, it looked like a great place. I wouldn't have minded dining there myself.

By the time I've finally made it to my drop off point, I'm soaked through with the rain. If I did have a shadow following me, they have long since gone as now the streets are nearly deserted, save for a few homeless people and the odd late-night jogger. Even though my body has been on autopilot for the duration, my mind has been busy at work trying to formulate a plan, and needless to say, it's becoming trickier by the minute. I'm a hitman by trade, so considering that my boss, this 'Devil', wants me to swap my trade to kidnapping, it doesn't settle well with me. If my target had been a low profiled no-body then it wouldn't be too bad. I could have them wrapped up and gone within an hour of getting their name. But they aren't; they are a high class priority, and well known at that. There's no way that I could just nab them off the street, not when praying eyes are everywhere watching them. I need to draw them out of their safety zone into my playing field.

Casting a quick look over my shoulder to check the coast is clear, I cut down the side street beside St Paul's Cathedral and keeping to the shadows, walk through the concealed archway into the back street. I walk past the taxi ranch and head towards the side window of the building, making sure to casually check over my shoulder again, just in case I am being followed. Seeing the coast is clear, I pause by the window and reach under the windowsill, sliding across the hidden compartment and pull out my backpack, checking the safety zip to make sure it hadn't been tampered with before closing up. With my rifle safely back in my possession, I continue on my next destination, towards the river. If I was going to do this job correctly, I was going to need some help, and a few crooks here and there to help.

The rain is still falling by the time I've cross the bridge over the Thames river and head further south, away from the tourists and further into my own territory. What territory you might ask? Ever taken a wrong turn and found yourself down the wrong kind of street, where the shadows and walls look like they would become you're grave with the threat of death waiting to jump out at you? Those are the streets I naturally thrive in. Others tend to avoid them like the plague, not wanting to risk walking down a underworld alleyway in the dead of night. I sometimes even give a little chuckle as I purposefully walk in the shadows, making best use of my intimidating size to frighten away the scurrying rats. We all have to have a little fun from time to time.

I soon find the place I'm looking for underneath the railway tunnels in one of the empty allotments which once used to be a garage. The huddle of hooded youths don't take long to notice my arrival, as they break away from their conversations to attempt to intimidate me. With their hoods up and several of them spurting knifes and metal pipes as weapons, their only defence is their numbers, 10 against 1. "Oi! You trippin or what bro?", one of them shouted at me, coming forward with their knife flicking in their hand. He was soon backing off along with the rest of them as I casually pulled out my rifle, resting it up on my shoulder. "I want to see your boss. Now, go fetch him before I loose my temper", I growl at them, eyeing each one of them up. Ages vary between them, from adults nearing their 30s to one kid who I know is only 13. Some future he has planned if he wants to live.

"He's busy. But I ain't", a female voice chirps up, their figure coming out from inside, their attire much to be desired. Of course it would have to be Kyra; no woman would be able to last 5 minutes around men like these and still keep their clothes on. Dark ripped leggings and boots which defy gravity are always the first things you see; it is best to look a woman up and not down, as that's how trouble starts. Her bosom is hardly contained in the bra top she's wearing, the white streaked in oil and obviously hand marks off someone who has already been on her entertaining side. Apart from the tattoo of an eagle stretching from her shoulder to her neck and her bob top red hair, she looked like any ordinary hooker you could pick up around Soho. Only this was no ordinary hooker; apart from being a burlesque girl in her spare time, Kyra is a wonderful little thief. Not only can she slip herself into your pants, but into your wallet as well.

"Still trying to show everyone you have the big guns huh?", she jokes in a sly manner, licking her lips in her usual routine, her eyes roaming all over me like a wolf would eye up its prey. "Last I heard you were banging up some old peanut. I see the shell cracked", I answer dryly, refusing to back down on my gaze as I see her jaw tighten. The men around us don't quite know what to do, their grips shifting on their weapons, awkward coughs and silent mutters trying to fill the silence created by us to the background of the rain and city noise. "Well then, come on big boy. Let's see if you can crack this nut before she decides to pop", she whispers playfully despite the repressed anger in her gaze, giving me a wink as she slinks herself back through the doorway inside, her hips seductively swaying into the gloom.

Being inside is far more welcoming that being out in the rain, even though the company is against my tastes. Kyra is quick to slink herself off into the back to collect the man I'm here, so I make myself comfortable in one of the broken armchairs near the centre of the empty allotment. The curved bricked walls swoop overhead to form the ceiling, with the odd bits of chain and pendant lights hanging down, the only reminder that this use to be a place of work. The concrete floor still has tire marks on, as well as the vast stains of oil and fuel creating an interesting pattern. I notice the space over the far side where there use to be a mechanics pit has recently been filled in with concrete, and in a hurry too. I wonder who's buried underneath it, my mind ponders as I settle into the chair, resting my gun on my lap as I watch the burning fire coals crackle away in the burnt out barrel in the centre of the room.

It's not long before I hear the click of her heels coming back through, and I avoid meeting her gaze. It's not that I don't want to look at her; heck, she's an attractive woman who knows it. It's just that last time we met, things ended on a very sour note, mostly involving me having her pinned against a wall threatening her never to try and pickpocket me again. I can feel her eyes almost burning into my forehead as I sense her dropping down into a seat on the opposite side of the fire, letting out a huff of annoyance, probably because I'm ignoring her. If there's one thing woman hate, its getting ignored and having no attention. "For the record, I wasn't that short for cash. I just wanted to see what you'd do", Kyra mutters as she too copied my actions of staring aimlessly into the burning barrel, her body almost vanishing into the old upturn sofa she's sat on.

"Sup big dog. She talkin trash to ya?". At last, the man I've come here to see finally makes his entrance, earning a scowl off Kyra for obviously cutting her off from what she was about to say, biting her lip to resist replying back. Mickey the idiot, as I so openly call him, swaggers into view, casually smoking the lit joint in his hands. The baggy trackies and hoodie are his usual choice of attire, but he is always one for hats, and making sure the jewels on his fingers match those on his neck. "The only one ever talking trash around here is you Mickey", I reply back dryly as he shuffles over and plonks himself down in the seat beside me. "Nice gun", he muses, nodding towards it as I place it on the seat the other side of me, my eyes casting a side glance towards Kyra who now seems to have her full attention on me, and not Mickey who has now joined us. I merely nod a reply back, observing both of them as if they have a silent form of communication passing between their looks. It's not that I don't trust them, which I don't, but I suspect that somehow they already have a plan of their own.

"So, what brings you trawling around here? You know you intimidate my guys, and you know I don't like that", Mickey remarked to try and kill the silence, looking me dead in the eyes as he spoke. I know that he is only trying to humour me so I will be more revealing to him, as there is little he knows about me. When I first moved to London he was the first crook I met, but even though its been about a year, he's still no closer to finding out my secrets; he only knows what I choose to tell him. "Your guys? More like boys Mick", I joke back, and I see a smile flicker on his face, so I know I'm in safe waters. "Regardless, a guy like you don't walk around with a big gun like that for no reason. I take it you were working tonight?", he enquires as he lazier lights up another cigarette. Kyra leans a little more forward in her seat, intrigued to learn more as I see her eyes almost dance in eagerness. "Something like that", I try to dust off, trying to keep it casual and swing past the topic but I can tell just by the stone silence that they want to hear more.

"Okay fine. You know about the restaurant fire that happened a couple of hours ago?". "Hmm, yeah. That place with that fish tank like in that Mission Impossible movie?", Mickey asks, blowing out a long puff of smoke from his cigarette. "Yes. Where there have be several fatalities, a few deaths, a bomb explosion, fire and the whole building collapsing in on itself entirely? THAT place?", Kyra puts across playfully, licking her lips as her fingers play with the ends of her crimson hair, making her appear almost devil like in the firelight. "Yeah. There". Clearly she know's more about it that Mickey, mostly because he's always half-stoned and wouldn't even notice if the sky was falling he's that out of it. "I didn't realise that was your doing. Didn't think you were the bomb-type. Still, it was a very pretty display". Her shrill laugh of joy to my ears is like nails down a chalkboard, and she quickly whips out her phone from her back pocket with ease as she continues. "Well, I managed to get a shot i've been dying to get for ages. See. I can't resist a pretty boy. He's such eye candy, even if he looks terrified", she smiles gleefully, turning her phone around for me to see the screen, displaying the chaos of the burning building in the background with a figure highlighted out of the crowd running.

"I wasn't the one making the explosions", I reply back dryly, not paying her any more attention, turning my attention back to the fire. "Nah, you were hitting on someone wasn't ya? Who was it? Politician? Celebrity? Drug lord? Who man?", Mickey asks, his voice getting quieter to try and coax an answer from me in the hope he would have more success than Kyra. "One target. Simple assassination. Nothing more". "Phhh, rubbish. Then why'd you destroy the place and get my future hubby all wet and scared?", Kyra pouts, resting her elbows on her knees as she sits further forward, her top dropping dangerously low for me, making it difficult for me to look at her without getting an eyeful. "For starters Krya, I did not blow the place up. Someone else did who thought they'd try and beat me to it. And secondly, there is no way a celebrity will ever marry you, especially that Thomas guy". I spit back, getting tired of her behaviour. One minute she's a seductive temptress who will drag you to hell, and a second later she's like a hormonal teenager with an obsessive disorder who's like a rage-monkey having a sugar rush. "Huh. Fine. Doesn't mean I can't have my fun with him before hand", she chuckles delightfully, before leaning back in her chair, busying herself on her phone.

"Leave her man. She ain't gonna do nothing stupid don't worry. Beside, she ain't kidnapped any of them celeb's she's got crushes on so all's good. Yet", Mickey calmly suggests to break the tension. "Speaking of kidnapping ...", I quietly add, casting him a sidewards glance. "... You still got that van?". His cigarette drops to the floor along with his jaw, obviously a little shocked at my sudden request, or proposal at least. "Yeah. You ain't doing what I think you're doing, are you?", Mickey asks in a very hushed voice, suddenly becoming aware that he might be overheard by someone, not that there was anyone else to hear. "Don't worry, you don't need to get involved if you don't want to Mick, I'll understand. I just need transport and a couple of guys. Sure you could do that for me?". I can almost hear the cogs in his brain whirling, calculating, planning. If there was anyone who I knew I could trust in this industry, it's Mickey; he never blabs or gives the details away.

"How much?". His question doesn't strike me as odd as it's only right that he would want to know how much he'll get out of it, but it was the way he asked it which fascinated me. Not asking so much to know how rich he'll be, but more so to myself personally, how much it will, or has already cost me. "Too much. But if I need to convince you, then this will help". I reach into my inside jacket pocket and pull out the thick envelope, carefully extracting some cash which Mickey accepts without any objections. "Who's 'TWH'?". Realising that he must have been able to get a quick glimpse of the information about the intended target, my hand quickly returns the envelope to my pocket as Mickey asks that question, drawing Kyra's attention immediately. "None of your business. Just get me what I need", I snap at him, grabbing my gun and quickly leaving.

The gang still huddled outside the tunnel don't even bother to look up as I hastily make my way out of there, stuffing my gun back into my bag and quicken my pace, eager to get back home. I haven't even gotten two streets away before I know something is wrong, and swinging my arm around me sharply, I soon find out why. "That hurts you know!", Kyra whines as I have her pinned against the wall, my envelope in her clutches. Even though the rain has stopped, I can tell she had to run to catch up with me as her brow is soaked in sweat. But then she is a skilled thief, and a silent runner at that for me not to have heard her following. Her puppy dog eyes almost make her appear cute as they plead up to me, her dainty neck stretched to try and relief the force I'm pressing with my arm against her throat. "Well you should have learnt from last time. Never steal from me".

I snatch the envelope back from her and stuff it firmly into my inner pocket, keeping my gaze locked on hers, watching her lips tremble slightly. "I-I wanna help you", she stutters, unsure of herself or what my reaction might be. Admittedly, it does take me a little by surprise that she wants to wade into deeper waters, but then again, she can never resist. "And what do you think you can do that can possibly help me?". She smiles, her eyelids fluttering in the breeze. "Well, if you're going to kidnap them, first you need to get close. Hack their phones. You can't do that unless you steal them. Hence, that's where I come in. I can slip into their pockets and even into their house without any trouble. How do you think I've made my way in this world", she chuckles, although her smile and voice falters as I stare down at her with my unmoving, cold gaze. Could I trust her? Her skills would make my job a hell of a lot easier, but then again, can I really trust someone like Kyra?

"If I sense you're up to something, then I will not hesitate to break you until your pretty little head is rolling on the concrete. Understand?". Nodding in agreement, I release my hold off her, taking a cautious step back in case she decided to spring an attack on me. "I never did catch your name", she replies finally after looking me up and down once more, as if she was seeing me again with a new set of eyes, or with a different plan in her mind at least. "I never gave it". "Well then what do I call you, boss?", she questions, as I turn and begin to walk off, not bothering to look back. I ponder as I continue to let the plan form in my mind, mulling over it all. As I continue my walk back to my domain, I casually cast my reply back to her over my shoulder, my mind elsewhere, the plan already locking into place. "Call me Don".

[ A/N: So sorry for the long delay with the update. So, it seems the plot thickens, the plan forms and certain skills fall into place. ;) Remember to leave your thoughts/comments and please do tell others about this book. Its a bit lonely on here :( ]