I could have sworn my heart was going to pop out of my chest.

I screeched as I ran up the stairs, the sound of gunfire following me. When I was halfway up the stairs, I lost my footing and fell on the steps. I hit my chin of a stairs I but I didn't let it faze me. I kept going, praying a stray bullet wouldn't hit me on the way.

When I got to the top, I leaped into my bedroom. I slammed the door shut so hard the walls vibrated.

Though they were already vibrating from gunfire.

I looked around aimlessly in my messy bedroom. I scattered everything around, shoving clothes out of the way, pushing useless junk around. "Where did it go? Where did it go?"

The sound of gunfire started again downstairs. I cringed thinking about the man that was facing it.

The thought had me searching harder.

I had always been pretty good at talking my way out of situations, but the chances of convincing another assassin into letting me live were very low. I didn't know what exactly made him stop in his assassination attempt but I didn't plan on letting it go to waste.

I was a firm believer in doing good things for other people and good things will happen to you. Dexter Smith not killing me was proof of that.

I heard the sound of my bat making contact with something. I hoped Dexter Smith was on the other side this time.

Though his reputation so far had me believing otherwise.

As I ran around my room frantically I stubbed my toe on the edge of my bed. I fell in a heap on the ground. My cheek hit the floor with a thud.

Like a golden light was shining down on it, the gun was right in front of my face. I smiled in triumph. I grabbed it around the hilt.

I was nervous as I touched it. I couldn't remember a time I had ever held a gun before. I had seen plenty, but they were always held by capable hands.

I didn't feel so capable.

I didn't overthink it as I quickly stood up. I lurched towards the door opening it with excitement.

"I found it," I called to the assassin.

My eyes widened the sight of the living room.

Destroyed and broken. Furniture was torn apart. Bullet holes maimed the walls. Huge dents covered the floorboards. Don't even get me started on the kitchen.

Dexter Smith hid behind the kitchen tabled that was laying on its side. Using the tough old Irish wood as a barrier between him and the bartender.

She stood near the back door, she looked ready to run at any moment. Her gun pointing at the table, waiting for him to make another move. Her movements more jumpy and way less confident than they were moments before.

My pink baseball bat was nowhere in sight. He was now using my kitchen knives as throwing stars.

If I had my camera, I would have been tempted to take a photo. I had seen far worse, but never in my own house.

I watched as the woman hesitated another shot. She tried to get a good look over the table.

Dexter Smith used the opportunity to jump from his hiding place, throwing a butter knife at her.

She tried to jump out of the way, but the knife lodged itself into her shoulder. She cried in pain. She gritted her teeth and aimed her gun at him. She didn't bother taking the knife out.

She may be trying to kill me, but that was badass.

The man was already behind the table again. Knives at the ready. Bullets rained down on the table.

"Hey, Asshole." I cried over top of the noise.

Both heads snapped in my direction. Surprised by the sound of my voice.

The woman screamed in rage. She swivelled around to face me, bringing her gun with her.

I locked eyes with Dexter. "Catch."

Just as I said the word, the gun was sailing out of my hands.

And for the millionth time that day, I thanked my grandma for not letting me skip softball practice.

The man jumped over the kitchen table. The same way a hockey player would jump over the bench. With ease and precision, ready to face the game to come. His mouth was in a set hard-line, eyes focused on the task at hand.

I couldn't watch to see if he caught it because the bullets were flying again. This time directed at me.

Bullets whizzed past my head, only inches from turning my brain into soup.

In fear, my feet slipped out from under me. I slid down the rest of the stairs on my ass. Bullets followed my path, embedding themselves in the walls and banisters behind me.

I had never been so happy to hear the sound of another gun.

She was so focused on hitting me, she didn't even notice Dexter as he pointed his weapon right at her.

He was cool and calm as he took aim and fired.

Her mouth formed an o as two bullets hit her in the abdomen. The force of the impact sent her backwards, crashing to the ground.

Her body laid limp in front of the back door.

I sat stunned at the bottom of the stairs. My brain trying to comprehend the wreckage in front of me. I couldn't help but stare at the blood-splattered walls.

I had never met an assassin in my life. Now I knew two. Both hired to kill me.

Honestly, I wasn't allowed to be surprised. I knew what I had gotten myself into and I would do it again.

Now I had a destroyed house. One dying assassin laying on the floor, blood flowing. Another hot assassin cleaning off his gun. And a missing pink baseball bat.

It sounded like the start of the worst joke ever.

Dexter Smith looked back at me. He didn't make a move to come closer. His face hiding any emotion he may have had.

But part of me knew he had no emotion.

Because he was, no doubt, a robot.

"Are you okay?" He asked coldly.

Physically? Yes. Though my ass did hurt. Mentally? Emotionally? Hell no.

Instead of saying that I nodded my head slowly.

He took another step toward the bartender on the ground.

"Is she dead?" I quavered.

At the sound of my question, a groan came from the unmoving woman.

He aimed his gun again. "Not yet."

Before he could fire I jumped around him. I pressed my body into his, not letting him get any closer to her. "It's bad enough you shot her. You can't kill her too."

"Yes, I can." He said trying to step around me.

"Have you ever heard of karma?" I moved with him, refusing to give him a clear shot. "She's a real bitch you don't want to mess with."

"I don't believe in karma." He glared at me. "And the bartender tried to kill you."

"So did you, but I don't want you dead."

"If I don't kill her, she will tell her employer what happened. I won't be able to lie and say that I killed you. They will send more assassins after you."

"We can deal with that when the time comes."

"What do you mean we will deal with it?" He glared. "How am I being dragged into your mess?"

I looked pointedly at the assassin. "You shot her."

He groaned loudly, his eyes focusing on something on the floor behind me before he let out a curse and faced me again. "If I did help you, we still wouldn't be dealing with anything because I'm the only one that can do anything."

"I helped." I defended.

"You ran away." He accused. His voice starting to rise.

"I went to get your gun." I jutted my hip. "You are welcome by the day."

"I was fine on my own."

"Yeah, try telling that to my grandma's table." I pointed to the hundred-year-old table my grandmother had loved more than her children. The table was now in pieces with bullet holes covering it.

"It was necessary." He justified.

I glared at him more. "Try telling that to my grandma."

"I think she will understand if I tell her I was being shot at by an assassin."

"Have fun with that because she is dead."

"Then why would she care?"

"She would be rolling in her grave if she heard you," I yelled. My pale skin giving my anger away easily. "That damn table is the only thing I have left from her."

He stopped and stared at me. "She left you this house."

I pursed my lips. "Well, I mean yeah, but-" I cut myself off. "How do you know that?"

He shrugged his shoulders casually. "I googled you."

I groaned loudly. "Not this again."

"It doesn't matter. We need to have a different conversation." He changed the topic quickly, swiping his hand over the gun. "First rule to guns. Don't throw them."

"I was giving it to you."

"That does not make it okay. You don't throw a gun." He repeated. "You shoot it."

"I don't know how to shoot a gun," I yelled at him. "Besides, you were the one that needed it."

"Do you know how dangerous that was?"

"It's fine." I waved my hand. "I was in softball. I know how to throw a gun."

"What kind of softball coach teaches you how to throw a gun?"

"A good one," I said in a duh tone.

He spoke slowly, looking me intensely in the eyes. "We. Don't. Throw. Guns."

Sirens interrupted us.

We looked out the window, flashing lights could be seen at a distance.

"We have to go."

"What? Why? The police are finally coming." I said. "Though it would have been nice if they showed up when you first threw me down the stairs."

"You pushed me first."

"You were on top of me."

"I was trying to stop you from hitting me."

"I was trying to stop you from killing me."

"But did I?" He asked smugly.

"No, because you suck at assassinating."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm having an off day."

I raised a brow. "Are you sure you're not just off?"

"This is getting us nowhere." He looked to the sirens that were getting louder. "We don't have much time."

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards the front door.

The back door was blocked by a dying bartending assassin.

"What about the police? They can help us." I told him, trying to wiggle out of his grip.

"I'm an assassin and your house is a bloodbath. The police won't help us." He told me annoyed, not letting me go.

I dug my feet into the ground. "Well, we don't tell them what you do for a living. We just tell them that it was self-defence. And we're not even lying."

He kept pulling me away, not even fazed by my fight. "Everyone knows how corrupt this city is. The cops will kill you before you even step into the station."

"Don't you think you're a little paranoid?" I pointed out.

He turned around pulling me so we were facing each other. "I am trying to save your life. You are making this very difficult."

"So sorry," I rolled my eyes.

Dexter Smith looked cool and calm, but intensity radiated from him. "The second those cops see you, they are going to kill you."

"You might still kill me."

He rolled his eyes. "If I was going to kill you, you would be dead."

"Really? That's the line you're going with?" I scoffed. "A little cheesy don't you think? Besides you couldn't even kill me the first time."

He yanked me out the door with a little more force than necessary.

My one foot tangled with the other, making me stumble behind him.

I jumped. "I have to get my wallet."

I tried to run inside, but his grip pulled me back. "We don't have time."

"What about my money? My phone?" I insisted. "What about my shoes?"

I was still in one pink sock for crying out loud.

"We don't have time." He gritted.

I ripped my hand out of his hold. Running into the house.

I floundered to the floor beside the sofa. I grabbed the most necessary object I could find. My pink baseball bat.

"Vanessa. Now." Dexter Smith shouted, glaring between me and the flashing lights.

"It's Nessa," I shouted running back to him.

I crossed the doorframe, passing Dexter Smith.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him raise his gun. Pointing it across my living room.

I hit him lightly with the baseball bat before he could pull the trigger. "Don't even think about it."

"You're going to regret that." He glared at me.

"What kind of person is okay with people being murdered?"

He didn't answer. He dug his hand in his pocket and pulled something small from it, throwing it into the house. Before I could get a good look, he slammed the door shut and started running.

We ran across the porch. With athletic grace, he hauled himself over the shaky railing jumping off. The shadows of my neighbour's house kept him hidden while he landed.

I didn't waste time as I carefully crawled over the railing.

Police cars passed my neighbour's house.

I jumped.

I was only in the air for a second when I felt his arms grab me around the waist.

My arms instinctively grabbed his neck for balance as my legs wrapped around his waist.

I peeked one eye open. Our noses were almost touching as I clung to him. Our breaths mingled on the chilly night. We were so close if I chose to, I could examine the exact shade of his eyes.

He raised his brows. "You done?"

I looked around. Police officers rushed out of their cars only a few feet from us. They were so busy breaking into my house they didn't notice the two shadows that hid beside it.

I nodded my head. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks."

I climbed off of him and patted him on the chest in thanks.

He rolled his eyes but grabbed my hand. We made a beeline for the backyard.

~~~~~
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