Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Was she worth it? ❯ Winter ( Chapter 2 )

I was surprised when people asked me to continue this ^^;;; It was fun anyway and I'll put together a middle chapter to make it a three-shot =)

This one's for the girls (and guy) at The Hentai Breadbags.

 

DISCLAIMER: This is an original story with original characters, yeah, I pulled all the names right out of my ass. With the exception of the name Artemis Entreri, who happens to be an assassin in many books written by R.A Salvatore. The name belongs to him.

 

I'll shut up now…

 

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It was cold. It was raining. It was winter. Fucking winter.

 

Water poured from the rooftops into the dark, narrow alleyway, hitting the lids of metal bins and soaking cardboard boxes among other everyday trash. The flow of water carried an empty aluminum can into the gutter by the road. It rinsed down the puddle of blood pooling at his feet.

 

With a damp rag he wiped the blade of his dagger of choice and sheathed it in its holster at his hip. He gave the dead body at his feat a final glance with cold, empty eyes, never feeling any guilt. He turned his back to his most recent `job' and left the alleyway.

 

The wind blew unhindered and the rain felt like hundreds of tiny freezing pinpricks on his face. He lifted the collar of his black coat to shield what he could and briskly made his way to his final destination of the evening. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, his teeth were chattering and puffs of smoke came from his mouth with every breath. I hate winter.

 

Artemis Entreri was a bad person. The kind of person that wouldn't do anything for anyone unless that certain anyone did something for him. He may not have been a bad person at heart, but Entreri was a bad person because of what he did every day. He was a thief, an assassin, and he was damn good at his jobs. His services came at a high price.

 

Entreri had always been good at chess. He understood the roles of each piece very well, understood which sacrifices could be afforded and which couldn't. Each piece on a chessboard plays a different role but Entreri knew that, ultimately, they all protect the king. The king is the one who will give the rewards to the pieces that succeed in doing his bidding. The king is not the most powerful piece, but the king has the most money.

 

In this game of life, very few people know their place. The oldest, wisest man may not have a clue. Very few people.

 

Artemis Entreri wasn't a fool. He knew his place. He was a pawn on this chessboard and must always obey his superiors. Pfft. Yeah, right.

 

Who the fuck says we're playing chess?

 

As you could have guessed, Entreri didn't have a very good childhood. He had lived apart from the world with his parents and his only friend had been his father's fast approaching fist. His last memory of his mother wa—Shut up.

 

He had reached his destination.

 

His brisk walk having broken into a jog some time during his trip, Entreri had been earlier than expected. A day earlier. Guess it wasn't the jog.

 

He dumped his drenched coat on the floor and arrogantly began to strut his way down the many hallways to the master bedroom of the huge building.

 

The owner of this estate was an extremely wealthy man. It was so heavily decorated with priceless artworks that it put the Louvre to shame. Rich perfume seemed to permeate in the air, plush, red carpet flowed down marble stairs… all that jazz. For a single old man, Entreri thought an entire bastion a tad too big and inappropriate. He's probably compensating for something.

 

Along with his affection toward historical antiques, the owner of this establishment had a unique affection toward organized crime.

 

His name was Montblanc de Claud, also known as Mr. De Claud and The Boss. Mr. De Claud was the head honcho, the king on the chessboard, and he had been enjoying a peaceful, undisturbed sleep.

 

Huge twin mahogany doors slammed open, groaning at the abuse. Light spilled into the master bedroom and Entreri made his entrance clear.

 

“Wakey, wakey!”

 

After some loud grumbling, Mr. De Claud raised reluctantly from his king size, four-poster bead. His beady eyes gleamed. He was angry.

 

“What… the hell?” The reputable crime king tried his best to stay calm. His voice was weak and hoarse and his hair was a mess.

 

“I'm done with Alexanders, I need my next job.” Simple as that.

 

“You woke me up for that? Get… out.” This was insane. The old man was about to snap. “I'll give it to you tomorrow.”

 

“You know, you really need to get new bodyguards, I practically pranced in through the front door and no-one stopped me.” Entreri smirked at the feat. He made it through twenty security systems and passed the guard's chambers and made it to The Boss' bedroom unnoticed. Okay, so he hadn't exactly strutted down the halls, and he certainly hadn't pranced. He hadn't used a door, either.

 

“Get OUT!!!”

 

Entreri made his escape and the mahogany doors slammed behind him, metal knockers banging against the expensive wood. Asshole.

 

He had until morning. Still some time to kill. Entreri decided to pay the guards a visit, so he headed towards their quarters. The guards' quarter wasn't exactly a guards' quarter, technically it was an entire wing of the mansion, and they weren't exactly guards. They were the seedy men that practically ran Montblanc de Claud's company, they were advisors, rich men, the men that found out who needed killing, what needed stealing and who wanted it done. The mercenaries and thieves were among them. Entreri's competition. He knew all of these men. They were assholes.

 

Among them however was a man named Jacks Baxter, a sort of friend of Entreri's. An ordinary onlooker would see the two talking openly together as childhood buddies. Someone who knew the pair would see them discussing the last kill. The last stolen diamond, the last shipment of cocaine. They weren't friends, just two people in the same situation.

 

Crossing on his way to the east wing, Entreri took the time to appreciate the artworks adorning Mr. De Claud's walls. He took the time to remember how he had stolen some of them from rich, hard working families and educational museums.

 

He made it to the tall doors that marked the entrance to the main hall of the east wing. It was this hall and its adjoining rooms where everyone who didn't have anything to do sat around, gambling with the others, fucking prostitutes, playing chess, whatever they may please. At that moment, it had been the former. Ten men sat at a round table smoking and playing poker, betting money, weapons, and jobs.

 

The first one to acknowledge Entreri's entrance was Logan Gain, a noted weapons maker and supplier. He was a middle aged man, scarred from battles and the harshness of the industry.

 

“Well, would you look who came back early? Eager for another one eh, little boy?” The large, bearded weapons master laughed with a cigarette in his mouth and whisky heavy on his breath.

 

“Shut up and give me a smoke.” Entreri had been dying for one for hours.

 

Laughter erupted among the drunken men as Entreri took a seat and snatched a cigarette and a light from a neighbor. Jacks Baxter spoke between laughs.

 

“How could I have forgotten? You still aren't allowed to buy any!?” He was gasping for air and tears formed in his eyes.

 

“The widol boi can't buy porn either!” came from Marcus Klees, across the table.

 

Entreri mockingly laughed along with a glint in his eyes, pulled out his dagger in a flash and effectively pinned the right hand of Marcus Klees to the poker table with an impossibly well aimed and timed throw.

 

Blood seeped from the whining man's hand onto the fine green material, staining it forever. The only sound heard was the grunting and banging of an infuriated Marcus Klees. The men were silent. They knew their place.

Anyone who saw Entreri would tell you that he was a handsome man; he has a lean muscular build, high cheekbones and a perfectly shaped jaw. His victims however, had they lived to tell the tale, would only tell you about his eyes. Stone grey eyes hollow of emotion. Eyes that promised volumes of pain and suffering.

 

The men at the table could feel the piercing gaze of Entreri's eyes. They must have hit a sore spot. Assholes.

 

No, Entreri couldn't buy his own smokes, as much as he wanted to. He could steal them, but he wasn't one to steal from a convenience store. Too easy. It was against the law for Entreri to buy smokes, alcohol, anything of the sort.

 

Artemis Entreri was a 17 year old boy.

 

Yet all the powerful men at that table were afraid. They weren't his friends. They knew what he could do. None of them wanted to spend their last moments of life staring into the terrifying eyes of Artemis Entreri.

 

The group retired to their respective rooms for the night and Marcus Klees tended to his stabbed hand.

 

Entreri lay in his bed, facing the bare ceiling. He didn't expect to fall asleep. He hadn't had a single decent sleep in five years. The seemingly permanent gray under his eyes was proof of his insomniac tendencies.

 

“You still awake?” The voice came from a bed nearby. Entreri shared a room with Jacks. Neither of them was ever at De Claud's manor long enough between jobs so they didn't need their own rooms. Neither of them seemed to have a problem with sharing, either. Jacks was an older man, had just turned 25. He wasn't exactly attractive, but, somehow, extremely popular with the ladies. Go figure.

 

“Of course you are.” Jacks let out a sigh. “Think you'll get something interesting tomorrow? The Boss wants to send me to fucking Russia. Like I don't get enough cold here.”

 

Entreri wasn't listening. He could hear words but he wasn't really listening. He was staring out the window at the pouring rain. It would snow the next day. Jacks was still talking.

 

“Oi, are you listening?” He looked over to his colleague and noticed where his attention lay. The room was dark, but the large window let in light from an outside street lamp. The light was distorted by the rain, but it was enough.

 

“Baxter,” Entreri gaze still lingered on the window as he spoke. “What happens when the snow melts?”

 

Jacks was taken aback by Entreri's unexpected question. It had been very unlike the young assassin. Jacks thought about the changes in his `friend's persona over the past year or so. He lashed out more often, he didn't speak as much. He asked questions like `what happens when the snow melts'. He could tell Entreri was being serious, and he didn't feel like earning a hole in the palm of his hand.

 

“Well, when snow melts, it turns to water. What kind of question is that?”

 

He offered no response and, eventually, Jacks fell asleep. Entreri just lay in bed. He checked the time; two hours before sunrise. He lay in his bed to wait.

 

His vision was foggy, but he could see his mother; he could smell tears, blood. His hands were shaking. They wouldn't stop shaking. There was a painful lump caught in his throat. It was raw from crying, sobbing, screaming. He was at his knees before his mother, lying dead in a pool of her own blood. It was everywhere. He lifted his shaking hands; her blood was dripping off his hands. He looked down at the shards of a broken mirror; her blood was splattered across his face. It was everywhere. Don't leave me.

 

Artemis Entreri shot up in his bed, eyes wide, panting. Bright light shone through the large window. Morning. Shit.

 

Jacks had already made his way to the briefing, he wouldn't, for anything in the world, try to wake up an Artemis Entreri.

 

They had all gathered in a large conference room reserved for this purpose; this was where they all got their information. Who needed killing, what needed stealing and who wanted it done.

 

Entreri rushed into the room in time and took his seat.

 

“Good morning.” It was the well rested version of Montblanc de Claud who spoke, throwing a glare at his late night visitor. “Time to get back to business. An informant told me that a detective has been snooping around my pier, he's onto something and my next shipment is coming in tomorrow. Someone will get rid of him.”

 

Entreri knew De Claud wouldn't give him the job, it would be an insult. Child's play. It went to a lesser mercenary and De Claude turned to Entreri.

 

“Here is the information you proved so eager to get.” A servant handed Entreri the papers, more information than usual. “you're going to Tokyo.” His voice held power, his say was final. He's sending me to kill some rice muncher?

 

Entreri huffed and shuffled through his papers, not one for filing and official business crap, he could tell that this was an important person. He found the profile he was looking for. A woman?

 

He had killed many women before. They were usually very rich, they had messed with the wrong people, or their husbands had messed with the wrong people. It was never a problem, it just had extra benefits. He would fuck them, and then put a bullet in their head. Simple as that.

 

He had a closer read of the profile of his target and for the first time, read the profile twice. She wasn't a woman, she was a girl. Barely older than he was. That doesn't matter.

 

The business was done with, and the meeting adjourned. De Claud glanced over at his youngest pawn and knew he had put the job into good hands. It was an important case, and he wanted perfect results. If you want someone dead, if you want to send someone that would make the target's end a certainty, you send Artemis Entreri.

 

He was still reading over the fine details in the paperwork. He was to leave for Narita airport that very night.

 

Maruyama Chidori…

 

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A/N: That's a bit better length-wise. But let's not forget quality over quantity. This chapter was harder to write, I caught myself just sitting there staring at the crap on my desk when I couldn't think of anything >.O

R&R please ^^

I'd really like to know whatcha'll think =)