I never ask why a client wants someone eliminated. Still, I have to admit. Something felt off about this contract. It felt too personal. The client doesn’t usually care how I off their victim. This time,
they gave explicit instructions. I didn’t know why they wanted Lynn dead, but she must have seriously pissed someone off to deserve such a horrifyingly gruesome demise. Still, when you accept the hit, you
follow the client’s instructions and see it through.
I staked out the target’s location about an hour before I was to do the hit. The thermal scope confirmed that Lynn was alone in her secluded home in the woods. I waited until almost midnight to approach
the target, who’d spent the last twenty minutes standing next to the fireplace in what appeared to be her living room. Picking the back door’s lock, I slipped inside and moved silently down the hall toward
the candle-lit living room. From the shadows, I saw Lynn standing by the warmth of the fireplace, dressed in revealing red lace and satin lingerie with matching high heels, holding a glass of wine. Her back
to me as I crept silently closer.
Lynn must have sensed my presence and turned toward me. Her eyes widened in terror at seeing my black-clad form and that razor-sharp knife held in my black latex-gloved hand. Before she could react, I
stepped close and pressed the knife’s blade against her throat, “Don’t say a word. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll relieve you of that wine glass.”
Setting the half-empty glass on the fireplace mantle, “Slowly turn around and bring your hands together behind your back. Careful now. I wouldn’t want you to slit your own throat by accident.”
Withdrawing a cable tie from my jacket pocket, I sheathed my knife and tightened the cable tie painfully tight around Lynn’s wrists. A second cable tie followed around her elbows, drawing them painfully back
until they touched.
Drawing the knife from its sheath, I pressed the blade against the side of Lynn’s throat, “Down on your knees.”
Sinking to her knees, “What will you do to me?”
Pressing the knife’s blade slightly more firmly against her throat, “I won’t warn you again. Now be quiet.”
With Lynn on her knees, I took a knee in front of her, and two more cable ties quickly followed, tightly strapping her ankles back against her thighs. Pausing to force her knees further apart, I pressed the
tip of the knife’s blade firmly against Lynn’s abdomen an inch below her sternum and slipped the knife deep into her guts as a delightful cry of agony escaped her luscious red lips.
After staring in horror at the knife handle sticking out of her belly, Lynn’s eyes slowly came up to meet my own. Holding the knife’s hilt firmly against her abdomen, I paused to revel in the delightful look
of pain and disbelief in her tear-filled eyes as I slowly twisted that blade within her guts. Then, I viciously pulled the knife downward, mutilating Lynn’s insides as the razor-sharp blade effortlessly opened
her belly from her sternum down to her crotch. Standing to avoid the initial obscene explosion of blood and gore spilling out of the ruins of Lynn’s belly, I watched for several minutes as her blood and
mutilated entrails continued to spill onto the living room’s hardwood floor.
I knew from experience that Lynn was nearing the end, so it surprised me when she looked up and met my eyes. Despite the unbearable pain she had to be suffering, she seemed almost calm as she struggled to whisper,
“Thank you. I left a briefcase with the second half of your fee on the table in the foyer.” Moments later, Lynn fainted, collapsing onto her side as the steady flow of blood and mutilated intestines out of her
ruined belly began to slow. Reaching down, I checked her pulse, but she was already gone.
Noticing for the first time the complete absence of presents under Lynn’s Christmas tree, I suddenly realized that shameless masochistic bitch had played me into fulfilling her darkest masochistic Christmas wish.
She’d played the detail-obsessed client and the doomed damsel in distress to the hilt.
Even as a professional hitman, I felt a profound sense of respect for Lynn, but I still took her briefcase full of money when I left. Merry Christmas, Lynn...