California, USA
******
The street exuded a quiet elegance, its silence not born of neglect but of reverence; like a graveyard, not of sorrow, but of serenity, preserved by the wealth and discretion of those who called it home.
Perhaps it was simply the hour of day, when most residents were tucked away in offices or behind estate gates, that lent the street its uncanny stillness. There were no sounds of children, no distant hum of conversation. Only the manicured lawns, trimmed to perfection, hinted at life behind the identical white houses lining either side of the road.
Even the speed bumps, spaced at polite intervals, seemed less like safety measures and more like quiet reminders: here, haste was unbecoming.
Andy glanced at his wristwatch for the umpteenth time as he slouched in the driver's seat of his black BMW SUV. He adjusted his position, feeling a slight strain on his spine and backside. Leaning sideways, he gazed at the piercing eyes of the dark-complexioned man staring back at him in the side mirror. His appearance, like that of a Scandinavian Viking warrior from the medieval age—rugged, imposing, and covered almost entirely by a full beard—was enough to send shivers down his own spine. Every inch of his scalp was shaved clean, and a scar slashed through his left eyebrow, faint but enough to add a little charm to his features.
The silence was broken by the distant hum of an approaching vehicle. Andy's eager eyes snapped to the rearview mirror.
A white Mercedes Benz convertible came into view, and Andy hissed out in a sharp breath. He shook his head, his gaze fixed on the open-roof vehicle cruising by. The two women inside were lost in their own world, belting out the lyrics of "Love Story" by Taylor Swift, blasting from the stereo, their carefree voices grated on his nerves. As the vehicle drove past, his eyes lingered on it, watching as it navigated the speed bump and continued down the street.
He slumped back into his seat, his gaze drifting back to the house across the street – the residence of his target. He'd been staking out the place for three hours, and the inactivity was eating away at him. Waiting was anathema to him; he was a man of action, not patience. Hell, he hated the very word "wait."
This was a departure from his usual line of work, which was taking lives. As a seasoned cold-blooded assassin, he typically targeted high-profile VIPs. His services were in high demand, and his reputation preceded him. He never knew his clients, and they never knew him. All contact and payment went through a handler from the assassin network.
At first, he had declined this job, considering it beneath his skillset. However, the lucrative offer – five times what he usually earned for a clean kill – proved too enticing to resist. His mission was straightforward: intimidate the target, deliver a message, and leave a lasting impression.
The client had provided minimal information: the target's name, address, vehicle details, and a vague physical description. A male.
The promise of easy money just to beat someone up—something he enjoyed—had drawn him in, but the waiting game was starting to test his patience. His stomach growled, protesting the lack of food. He recalled the pizza in the trunk, but resisted the temptation.
His eyes lazily drifted back to the rearview mirror when he heard the vibrating sound of an engine approaching from behind. A red sedan.
Andy's lips curled into a sardonic grin. Finally, his wait was over.
He watched as the red car pulled into the driveway of the house and jolted to a stop. Two young men, no older than eighteen, exited the front seats. Two more guys, about the same age, exited the back door.
The four boys moved cautiously, glancing around as if expecting someone to spot them. Something about their behavior didn't sit right with Andy. It was like they were about to do something they didn't want anyone to know about.
Andy remained calm even as one of the guys squinted at his vehicle. He knew they couldn't see him through the tinted windows of his car.
As Andy watched, two of the boys opened the trunk of the red sedan and pulled out a struggling figure, whose hands and legs were bound with strong ropes. The face was covered by a cloth bag, but Andy could tell by the figure's clothing that it was a young lady. Dressed in a fancy blue gown, she appeared to be a teenager herself, likely older or younger than her captors. The two boys struggled as they carried her into the house, her body wriggling against their grip. The driver whispered something to the last of his accomplice before rushing inside. The last of the gang stood guard, keeping watch in front of the house.
Andy grin widened. His target was an older teenager. He didn't see any of them as a real threat. He wondering what they were planning to do with the girl. Gen Z Children of nowadays! Well, the wait had been worth it, and one thing was certain—he was going to enjoy this job.
He put on a red baseball cap and a windbreaker with a pizza logo on the back and side pocket. Then he covered his hands with a pair of thick leather gloves. He slowly got out of the car and headed for the trunk.
The young watchman trembled in shock as he spotted Andy across the street. He definitely hadn't expected anyone to be in the BMW. Andy ignored the boy's unease and opened the trunk. He took out a flat, square carton of pizza and a file, then crossed to the other side of the road toward the house. He smiled politely as he approached, his six-foot-six frame towering over the boy.
"What do you want?" the boy asked rudely, though fear was clearly written on his face.
"Pizza delivery for Ryan," Andy replied, his tone calm and unbothered.
"Ryan didn't order pizza."
"Are you sure? Isn't this House No. 23, Pure Av—"
"I said no one ordered pizza here."
"But I hav—"
"Fuck off, man!" The boy raised his voice, trying very hard to sound tough. His hands clenched at his sides, and his eyes darted around nervously. He was doing everything he could to mask his fear, but it was clear that he was intimidated.
"See, I don't have time for this," Andy started. "The house address says No. 23"—he raised the file in his hand to the boy's view—"but if you or this Ryan aren't 'interested in the package, just sign here, and I'll be out of your way." He extended a pen toward the boy.
"Who signs for a pizza delivery?" the boy sarcastically asked.
"Company's new policy," Andy replied.
The boy hesitated for a moment before reluctantly collecting the pen and file from Andy.
"Sign here... and here," Andy said, stepping closer and pointing at two underlined spaces on the file. His left hand held the pizza, while his right hand quickly disappeared into his pocket and discreetly returned with a taser.
A sudden jolt sent the boy convulsing, collapsing to the ground.
Andy quickly dragged the convulsing body to the side of the red car, close to the open garage where no passerby could see it. He inspected the surroundings before proceeding into the house.
He entered the living room, observed the interior for a moment, dropped the pizza on the center table, and headed toward the adjoining door. He stepped into the lobby and stopped at the door of the second room, where short screams, struggling, and scuffling were coming from. He knocked on the door twice.
The noise inside the room faded out, replaced by muffled sound of screams.
"Jerry, is that you?" someone asked from inside the room, but Andy remained quiet, knowing their curiosity would get the better of them.
Then Andy heard footsteps approaching the door, and he took two steps back.
As soon as he saw the door handle turn downward, he slammed the door open with the sole of his foot, knocking whoever was behind it to the floor. The door went ajar, and Andy walked into the room.
His sudden arrival stunned the group. The guy who had fallen to the floor quickly crawled to the side, his eyes darting wildly between the newcomer and his accomplices. On the bed, the gang's leader loomed over the girl, a knife pressed against her throat. Her once-elegant gown now hung in tatters, and her eyes, red and puffy from crying, pleaded for help. Beside the bed, a third member of the gang stood frozen, a camera still clutched in his hand.
Andy smirked. The scene was ominous, the intent clear.
The air was heavy with tension, the group's sinister plans foiled by the unexpected interruption.
"Ryan," Andy called out, his voice calm and directed at no one in particular.
"Yes, who is asking?" The leader sneered, pointing his knife at Andy.
"Can we talk in private?" Andy asked with a grin.
"Who the fuck are you!" Ryan burst out.
From the corner of an eye, Andy caught a glimpse of the gang member on the floor springing up. With a fierce battle cry, he launched himself at Andy, fist flying toward his face. Andy sidestepped the attack with ease, his body twirling fluidly to face his assailant. In a swift, precise motion, he delivered a devastating uppercut to the boy's jaw. The boy's head jolted backwards as he crashed to the floor. He collided against the wall, rolling around, groaning and wincing in agony.
Andy swiveled to face the others, his gaze sweeping the room. The gang member with the camera cowered, his body racked with violent shivers as fear consumed him.
"I'm only here for Ryan, so the rest of you can excuse yourselves."
The camera guy's immediately ran for the door, abandoning his post. The would-be attacker, still writhing in agony, scrambled out of the room on all fours.
The young lady attempted to flee, but Ryan's grip was swift and merciless. He gave her a resounding slap, seized her by the neck, slamming her back onto the bed, and held her hostage.
Andy edged closer, his eyes locked on the girl who was already weeping, consumed by fear. Ryan pressed the knife against the her throat, and a thin line of blood appeared, making her face contort in pain and terror.
Ryan's voice trembled with desperation. "You come any closer, and I'll kill her! I swear, I'll slit her throat!"
Andy's expression remained nonchalant, his shoulders shrugging in a careless gesture.
"Okay, but hurry up with it." He strolled over to an armchair, settled in, and crossed his legs, his eyes never leaving Ryan's face.
He assumed Ryan lacked the resolve to carry out his threat, but he didn't care about the girl's fate either. Sympathy was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"Make it snappy, I'll wait for you," Andy added, his grin dripping with sadistic amusement.
Ryan's eyes widened in shock, his mind struggling to comprehend Andy's behavior. He couldn't fathom how this scary-looking man could be so carefree, yet devilishly cold at the same time. Ryan sensed he was in grave danger, and his instincts screamed at him to flee.
Seizing the opportunity, he shoved the girl aside and leapt off the bed, dashing toward the open door. Andy, anticipating this move, swiftly stepped forward, blocking Ryan's path. The girl hastily covered her exposed body with the duvet, her eyes frozen with fear.
Ryan brandished the knife wildly, its blade glinting in the dim light. Andy's gaze never wavered, his eyes locked on Ryan's, as he awaited his next move.
"Do you know who my dad is?" Ryan sneered, his voice laced with venom. "He'll destroy your fucking life!"
Andy's expression remained unfazed, a chuckle escaping his lips. "I don't care."
Ryan lunged at Andy with the knife, but Andy dodged the attack with ease, leaping backward just in time. With lightning-quick reflexes, he kicked the knife out of Ryan's hand, sending it clattering across the floor. A thunderous slap followed, and Ryan's head jerked sideways. He stumbled, his legs buckling beneath him.
Andy seized him by the collar, yanking him up and slamming him against the wall. Then punch after punch rained down on Ryan's face, each blow landing with precision and brutality.
When Andy finally relented, Ryan's face was a gruesome mess. His left eye was swollen shut, the skin beneath his right eye bulging outward in a reddish-black, swollen mass. His nose was broken, and his lips dripped blood from a deep, jagged cut.
Ryan's body felt like lead, every movement an agonizing effort. His blurred vision swam in and out of focus as he struggled to stay conscious. Escape was now a distant, unattainable dream.
Andy squatted beside him, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and contempt.
"Your dad has managed to upset some very powerful people while they were all playing a power game. They no long want to play with him. Now, can you be a darling and pass a message to him?" He paused, studying Ryan's features. "He has ten days to withdraw from the California Governorship race. If he doesn't, he'll receive a package containing seven fingers—four from your hand and three from your mother's. Are we clear?"
Ryan's lips trembled, but no words escaped. Andy took his silence as affirmation. "I'll take that as a yes... Oh, and I almost forgot! I brought pizza for everyone."
Andy stood up, his gaze drifting to the girl on the bed. She looked away in fear as their eyes met. Andy could see the tremor in her eyes, not just from his presence, but the deep-rooted fear of the memory that still clung to her, the threat that had almost consumed her, now haunting every glance she cast.
"You're one pretty, lucky girl," He said.
He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. As he passed through the living room, he stopped at the center table, opened the pizza box, and took a slice. "Hmmm! Yum-yum!" he exclaimed, savoring the taste.