The HiT Series

by Margaret McHeyzer

  “I was? You never told me that.” Ophelia looks more and more confused.

  “You were bounced around from foster home to foster home before your grandfather discovered he even had a daughter. He came to America to find Natalia, but he couldn’t. She had totally disappeared. What he did find out was he had two granddaughters, you and Anna.”

  “Why didn’t he claim us and take us with him?” Ophelia asks.

  All valid questions, and all need to be answered.

  “He missed out on finding Anna by mere hours, but he did find you and paid me big money to make sure we adopted you.”

  “Why you?”

  “He couldn’t care for you, either of you, because of the line of work he’s in.”

  “And what line would that be?” Ophelia’s eyebrows shoot up and she looks at her father with anger. I can imagine how she feels.

  “I’ll get to that.”

  “And what do you mean, he missed out on finding Anna by mere hours?” Ophelia interrupts Henchman.

  “Anna’s father was killed and she was kidnapped from her home when she was fifteen.”

  Ophelia gasps and a hand comes up to her throat. “I’m so sorry, you must have been terrified,” she says, looking toward me.

  “It’s not what you think, Ophelia. Let him finish the story,” I say as I point the gun at Henchman and nod for him to continue.

  “We’ve been your parents and legal guardians ever since he found you, though your grandfather has always kept a watchful eye on you both. He told us, at that stage, he didn’t want you to follow the path of his family. But he also wanted us to discourage you from becoming a cop.”

  “Ohhhh.” A private understanding dawns as she averts her eyes. Her mind is turning all this new information over and obviously, she’s replaying all the conversations she’s ever had with her parents about becoming a cop.

  Henchman gives her a few moments so she can absorb what’s being said.

  I tap Henchman with my foot and indicate with a nod that he should continue the story.

  “Your mother went on to attack a man while she was high on dope. Her payment was a baggie of cocaine in exchange for killing him. She attacked him with only a spoon. She wasn’t strong enough to take him on and he overpowered her. But he saw potential in her, so he took her home, cleaned her up, and trained her.”

  “Trained to be what?” Ophelia asks.

  Henchman looks at me.

  “An assassin,” I say, taking over the story.

  “What?” she asks, shakily. Evidently she’s choosing not to believe me, based on incredulous expression on her face.

  “An assassin,” I confirm.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Not at all,” Ben interjects.

  “Then how the hell does all this tie in together? You,” she points to Ben, “and us?” She points to me, Henchman, and herself.

  “There’s more to the story,” Henchman adds.

  “My father was killed the day I turned fifteen by two men sent to take me. I was being kidnapped because of my skills.”

  “What skills does a fifteen year old possess?” Ophelia asks.

  “Proficiency with weapons. I had and still have a flair for guns. I’ve always had an accurate aim. The best in the world. You probably already of know me, but by a different name.”

  “Which is?”

  “My given name is Anna Brookes.” I hold onto the name I’m sure she’s heard many a time in her life.

  “Anna Brookes?” Ophelia looks down at the floor, blinking fairly fast as her mouth thins out and her eyes narrow, almost squinting. She must be thinking where she’s heard my name before. “As in Henry Brookes?” She looks up at me, understanding dawning.

  I nod in confirmation.

  “The girl with the golden aim.”

  I nod again.

  “But you died?”

  “Clearly not.”

  “Then what happened to you?”

  “I went into training. I disappeared for a while and when I came back into society, I had re-invented myself as someone else.”

  “Who?”

  My eyes flick to Ben, he knows exactly what I’m asking him to do – to be ready for her reaction, but not to hurt her. I turn my head and look at Henchman. He too is waiting for the moment the word slips past my lips.

  I can see his breathing starting to speed up, and bites on the inside of his cheek as his hands wring together tightly.

  “Who?” Ophelia asks again, and her voice has a small quiver, like she’s expecting the worst news.

  And I’m just about to deliver it.

  “Who?” she almost whispers now. It’s like she knows exactly who I am, but won’t believe it without confirmation.

  Here goes… and then I have to ask her not to get involved with our grandfather.

  This is going to be fun – not.

  “15,” is the single word I say.

  The room is silent for the longest moment.

  Until one large gasp of breath.

  Anna

  “15,” Ophelia says, on a sigh. There’s an accepting, dismal quality to her voice. “15,” she says again, barely breathing it. Her gaze falls to the floor again as her mouth pops open. She’s just trying to wrap her mind around the terrifying information she just heard.

  “15,” I repeat with authority.

  “You’re an assassin.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re known all around the world.”

  “Yes.”

  “You took out a target at one-point-six miles.”

  “One-point-eight.” I correct her.

  “One-point-eight?” She looks up at me, frazzled, unaccepting and confused.

  “Roman Murphy.”

  “Roman Murphy? As in Natalia Murphy?”

  “As in Natalia Murphy’s father-in-law.”

  The questions and answers flow quickly between Ophelia and me. She’s sharp. But still she’s unsure of what she’s hearing.

  Information overload.

  “You killed Roman Murphy. But why?”

  “He was the man who sent his goons to kill my father and take me. The best assassin is one with no family.”

  “Roman Murphy sent men to kill your father and take you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you killed his men.”

  “Yes.”

  “And then killed Roman Murphy.”

  “Thirteen years later, but yes.”

  “How does our mother play into this?”

  Now it’s my turn to feel the cold air cut through to my bones. I’m not ashamed of killing her, but that’s before I knew I had a sister. I still would’ve done it, without any twinges of conscience. But if I’d known about her, I would have told Ophelia about it prior to shooting her.

  “She was sent to kill Ben,” I say, dancing around the situation, not really wanting to, but knowing I have to.

  “Why?”

  “It all goes back to Ethan Martelli, whose real name was Anthony Mancini, Jr. He and his father had a cocaine refining plant running just outside of St. Cloud. The Mancini’s killed Ben’s parents as a warning, but he didn’t recognize the warning or take the bribe that was offered to him to look the other way, so I was hired to kill him.”

  “Obviously, you didn’t kill him.” She throws her thumb up over shoulder, indicating Ben.

  “Clearly. But Anthony Sr., Ethan’s father, hired a secondary assassin from Hunter, Inc.”

  “Natalia,” Ophelia says as it dawns on her.

  “Natalia,” I confirm.

  “This can’t be all, there must be more.”

  “There is. Because I took out the two men Roman Murphy sent, he put a bounty on my head and increased it every year. When I killed Roman, it had reached $10 million. Lincoln continued the bounty. So after I discovered it was Natalia who shot Ben, I got in contact with Lincoln, who was now the new head of Hunter, Inc. after his father died, and approached him about eliminating the bounty.”
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  “Who was Natalia’s husband, Lincoln, right? Because he was with her at the ballet, both of them assassinated in a private box.”

  “Yes,” I say, letting Ophelia think about the situation. I hope she’s smart enough to put it all together.

  “I found a picture of Natalia when I was called to their house to investigate. Of course I found nothing to indicate why they would’ve been killed.”

  “That was more personal than professional.” I sit back, watching both her and her father.

  Her reactions are slow, but her face morphs from questioning, to understanding, to anger.

  “You killed them?” she asks me. There’s hope in her voice that I’m going to say no.

  “Yes.”

  “Because of the bounty.”

  “Partly.”

  “Because Natalia shot Ben.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you love Ben.”

  “Yes.”

  She sits back in her seat. Her shoulders slump forward and she hangs her head, her chin on her chest.

  I can see this is tearing her up. She must be fighting with her own inner demons about what to do here.

  Will she try to arrest me or let me go?

  “There are a few other things you need to know,” Henchman says to his daughter as he leans across and rests his hand on her knee. It’s a gentle, fatherly gesture, one I can’t remember Henry ever doing. A simple, yet protective, parental action.

  “What’s that?” she asks without lifting her head. She screws her eyes closed tightly, and I can imagine just how she’s feeling right now.

  I’m dark and she’s light.

  I’m evil and she’s pure.

  I’m black and she’s white.

  But right now, she’s being told she’s the only drop of water, being suffocated by filthy, corrupted oil.

  “I’m not a security guard at the mall.”

  “Of course you’re not.” She lets out a humorless laugh as she lifts her head and looks at her father.

  “I work for your Uncle Dmitri.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Security, but…” Henchman stalls before saying anything else.

  “But?” Ophelia pushes.

  “Dmitri is also your grandfather.”

  “What?” she asks, completely stunned. Ophelia rakes a hand through her hair, then over her eyes. “I need a fucking drink.” She stands but Ben stops her from going anywhere. “Are you shitting me right now? My entire world has been one big, fat, fucking lie, and you aren’t going to let me get a drink?”

  “Go with her, Ben,” I say, “but bring the bottle.” I think we’re all going to need it.

  Seeing as there’s still more to come.

  Ophelia and Ben walk out of the room but are back within seconds, with her holding a bottle of unopened Jack.

  Seems, we all have the same taste in the whiskey.

  Ophelia unscrews the top and takes a huge swig from the bottle before handing it to me.

  I take a drink and pass the bottle back to Ophelia. There’s more of this intricate tale to tell Ophelia, and I think she’s going to need it more than anyone else.

  “Please tell me there’s nothing left to tell,” she pleads as she takes the bottle of Jack off the coffee table. No one answers, leaving Ophelia to infer from the silence there’s more to tell.

  “Just to get all this straight, and please correct me if I’m wrong, but this is what I understand from what’s been said. You and I are sisters, by the same mother who you killed because she was hired to kill him.” She points at Ben.

  “Yep,” I answer because she’s looking to me for answers and not her father.

  “My uncle is actually my grandfather, who paid you and Mom big money to adopt me and get me out of the foster care system,” she asks Henchman.

  “Yes,” he answers in a dead, monotone voice.

  She turns back to me. “You’re an assassin, and not just anyone, but you’re 15. The one person in the world who can take a target out from over a mile-and-a-half away.”

  “Yep.”

  “And you expect me not to arrest you.”

  “There’s that, but there’s one more thing we need to talk about,” I say as I hold my hand out for the bottle of Jack.

  “Oh, I can’t imagine this can get any worse, so please, go ahead,” she says sarcastically, starting to understand the full implications of what’s already been said.

  “Dmitri isn’t exactly who he says he is,” Henchman says.

  “After everything you’ve said to me, this isn’t a surprise.”

  “You and I are descended from Russian mobsters. We’re in line to head up the Bratva,” I tell her.

  “Well this is truly fucked,” she says as she expels a huge breath of air. “Fucked doesn’t even come close to covering it.”

  She’s actually taking this well, all considered. Much better than I expected. Maybe because Ben and I have guns on them and she really can’t react.

  I take a chance and lower my weapon, placing it beside my leg. Henchman looks at the gun, then at me, assessing. There’s no way he’d be quick enough to go for it, and he realizes if he tries, I’ll take away Ophelia’s adoptive father, too.

  “Ben,” I say, getting his attention, motioning for him to lower the gun.

  He lowers his weapon, but keeps it in his hand, at his side, tapping the barrel against his thigh.

  “Why did you do that?” Ophelia asks as jerks her chin toward my lowered gun.

  “Because I can kill you both before you even rise from your seats. But I don’t want to do that. I want us to discuss the Russian Mob.” I place my hand on the gun, reiterating my speed will definitely outweigh hers.

  “You shouldn’t interfere,” Henchman growls at me with a sideways glare. I ignore him.

  “Dmitri expects us to take over. Given the circumstances, our communication must be completely free and open.”

  “At least wait for Dmitri,” Henchman interrupts, trying to convince me.

  I look at him and feel my eyes narrowing into a ‘shut the fuck up’ warning.

  “Why are we expected to take over? Why doesn’t Uncle…” She clears her throat, “I mean grandfather…” She stops again. “Or whoever the fuck he is, why doesn’t he run it?”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh, “Because it appears he doesn’t have the balls or the stomach I have to make decisions and pull the trigger.”

  “What does that even mean?” she asks.

  “Ophelia, I can kill, easily. I can torture, without remorse. I can watch a man bleed out and die slowly, all without even blinking. Our grandfather was never the head of the mob. His sister was. She acted under the name of Siyalov Yakovich, though our grandfather stood as the face of Bratva because the chauvinists wouldn’t have accepted a woman as boss.”

  “Wait!” Ophelia looks to her father. “Aunt Sofia was Siyalov Yakovich? She died only a few years back from cancer.”

  “Yes,” her father says.

  “But she was so gentle and loving. I adored her.”

  “And she adored you too, but she wasn’t happy how you went into the FBI.”

  “And now Dmitri expects Anna and I will run it?”

  “He expects me to run it, and wants you to stand beside me. Together. He hopes we’ll present a united front, and show no fear.”

  “I’m FBI. I’m struggling with not arresting each and every one of you right now as it is. How am I supposed to stand beside you while you give orders to kill?”

  “That’s the thing, Ophelia. I don’t want it either. Ben and I don’t want such a large presence in the underworld any longer. We want to take a step back and just live, but without having to look over our shoulders for the rest of our lives.”

  “I can’t guarantee that,” Ophelia says as she shrugs.

  “What part?”

  “That I won’t chase you until I catch you. You killed my mother.”

  “Our mother, and for good reason.”

&n
bsp; “You’ve killed people for money.”

  “A lot of people and for a lot of money.”

  “You’re freely admitting to it.”

  “Because you’re my sister and I know you won’t use that against me.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Now I know you’re back in Minnesota I’ll find you and arrest you.”

  “That’s not even a threat, Ophelia. There’s absolutely no conviction in your voice, the delivery is weak, and I know you won’t do that.”

  “You don’t know me that well.”

  “We share the same bloodline. We’re both killers. You may be doing it on the right side of the law; I’ve never crossed into that territory. But I do know we’re the same, and you won’t arrest me.” There’s not one single iota, one shard of evidence to back me up, but I know she would never turn me in.

  There’s already a connection between us, one she can fight or one she can accept. But either way, the line between good and evil is drawn in the sand. Ophelia is clearly on one side, while I live on the other.

  “I’ll always be looking for you,” she says, though I can tell she doesn’t mean it.

  “I’ll leave you a way to get in touch with me.”

  “I’ll just turn it over to the FBI.”

  “No, you won’t. You’ll lay awake at night wondering why the hell you keep the number in your memory, but you’ll never turn me in.”

  “I need to arrest Ben.”

  “But you won’t.”

  The room is once again filled with an extremely cold silence.

  No one speaks. Everything rests with Ophelia. The choice of her next words will seal her fate, either way. I won’t kill her. I can’t. But I can knock her out and be halfway across the state before she even wakes up.

  “Ophelia won’t turn you in,” Henchman finally speaks up.

  All eyes are on him. He sits tall in his chair, shoulders back and chin lifted, proud and noble.

  “She won’t say a word. I can see the love in her eyes for you already. And that’s something I’ve never seen from her, not even for her mother or me.”