Yes, my dad knows I'm a mercenary. Shoot, he's the one who helped raise me to be this way. Before my mom was my mom, my uncles, aunts, parents, and the rest of her family were killers. You can say that it was a legacy of sorts. Our family heirloom, in fact was a revolver from the 30's, which by the way, was only used once. My dad, though, was the only living male in our family and thus was in charge of finding a sponsor for me.
That would be Dwali.
For years, all my time was spent with Dwali. He trained be to be ruthless, merciless, and trained me in the art of sarcastic yet murderous one-liners. (Trust me; the one-liners are critical in order to achieve the ultimate cocky kill) He was the best of the best, the craziest of the crazy, and the most feared man in all the free world. Until he was shot by some wannabe who snuck up on him and tried to kill him. Unfortunately for him, all he succeeded in doing was putting a bullet in Dwali's arm. Needless to say, that guy is now scattered all around America, if you're picking up what I'm putting down. But, despite the man's untimely demise, Dwali's fear factor dropped to below the center of the earth. Rule numero uno is to never let someone sneak up on you. I was a little ashamed for him.
Then he was killed.
I lost every ounce of respect for him that day. Rule number 0, above all the other rules, is to never, and I mean, NEVER, let someone get close to you. For goodness's sake! There was a bruise where the gun had been! I couldn't even go to his funeral because I was so humiliated to be one of his…students. But anyway, now I'm under the authority of a creepy yet suave Russian dude named Mikael. He's ten years older than me (making him 27) but in the two months after Dwali was killed, he built his empire from scratch and recruited kids like me. There was no way he could have avoided becoming big-time with that kind of rep. He barely talks which ups his mystery points. Plus, he has this olive skin that makes his spiky black hair look oh, so fine. In spite of all of that, ole boy is a businessman. You screw with this cat, and its curtains. Which is why I wish he would kill my punk father, who was weak, spineless, and so unnecessary, it's ridiculous. I know it sounds cruel, but in m profession, I have to be.
Kill or be killed is our motto.
Anyway, my dad had made a vow when my mom "died". He couldn't marry, or even date for the required 3-5 years. It's been 2 ½ years, but even so, disobedience is equivalent to death. I'm going to tell Mikael, of course, but just so my dad doesn't get his brain blown out just yet. I'm going to bargain for something that only I can offer.
A/N: sorry for the short chapters. Senior year has been crazy. But since it took so long, I'm doing a double update :)