A/N: Hey guys. So here it is!

R&R!

Chapter One

Max POV

"Where the hell is my money, Dylan." I demanded, furiously, releasing my killer glare that made dudes piss their pants.

"Max, Max, Max." Dylan answered, slowly shaking his head left and right. "The mission is our first priority, you know that. Then you can have the damn cash."

"You fucking listen to me, ass hole." I ordered, sternly, "I don't remember you telling me any of this crap. So, hand. Over. The. Money."

"Now, now, Maxie Girl." He began in a voice a parent would use when correcting a child. God that freaking dog can't take a hint, now, can he? "This is the most simplest mission of all your assignments. No sicko scientists to get in your way, no teachers and policemen and what not. It's too easy. In fact, I'm thinking you should be more grateful for this task, Maxie. The guy's a freaking high school sophomore. I expect more from you."

"I don't give a crap! You swore – "

"And now I swear you'll get the money after you fucking kill him!" Dylan answered, finally loosing his cool.

"Screw you." I muttered. "Get me the damn ticket to Miami."

"Already done. Your leaving in. . ." He shook his sleeve up and out of the way, to find his totally unaffordable and unearned solid gold watch. "Like, four hours." He finished.

I grunted and answered with nothing more than a good old, "Go to hell."

"I'll request a room next to yours when I get there," He answered sarcastically. Ass.

Three hours later and I was on my way. To the air port, that is. Dylan arranged for a meet-up with one of his dearest criminal friends when I would arrive in Miami, so I didn't have to slug all my weapons along the way. Besides, I ain't going to jail.

It was almost two thirty in the afternoon. Take off was told to be at three. Finally, I made it to the plane.

"That will be seat C3, Miss." The flight attendant assured me as she handed me back my ticket.

"Thanks," I answered timidly and made my way to the seat.

"Attention flight passengers, attention" Said a manly voice from some speakers around the plane. "Please settle down in your seats and buckle up. We will be taking air in approximately five minutes, or so. The doors will be closing, now. Thank you for choosing Sky-Life as your number one." Odd greeting, huh? Yeah. Sky-Life totally sucks ass. I mean, my back is already cramping! God, it's been, what? Like Three minutes? Damn.

The plane doors soon slid closed with a click. In five minutes, we were already taking off. My ears popped several times. Ugh, don't you just hate that? It felt like my right ear was clogged with tissue paper, while my left ear was too high on volume. I took some gum out of my pouch. I'd heard it unclogs the ears. Might as well try it.

Well, the gum wasn't exactly working it's so called "magic". But hey, this ain't a joy ride. Bored as hell, I reached for my Ipod and earphones, before taking a glance at the built in little TV screen, in the middle of the plane isle.

Guess what was on? Criminal Minds. Oh, awesome. Ever heard of that show? Anyway, the title says it all. Don't they realize we're, like, we're on a plane here? And it's just perfect, playing this particular show while they got their own Little Assassin here on the loose, sent to kill some dude, Nickolas Collins.

I pulled up my hoodie up and kept my head down.

You see, I'm famous. Not the way you'd wish, though. Not the "OMG! YOUR MAXIMUM RIDE! I LOVE YOU!" sorta way. More like the, "OMG! YOU'RE THE ASSASSIN GIRL FROM THE NEWS! I HATE YOU!" In a scared-to-death-tone kinda way. So yeah. I've been on the News frequently enough. Never caught strait up and face-to-face, but still, caught in blurry photographs and foggy videos. The world basically hates my guts. And I don't give a shit. So sitting here, in this so very comfortable seat – note the sarcasm – and trying to hide my identity of a well known assassin, I'm doing good. You could say.

To block out the freaking, stupid TV, I plugged my earphones in and chose a random song.

The tune crept into my head as I recognized the beat.

Oh wow. My life is so fucking weird. Assassin by John Meyer. Perfect, eh?

But even though it's totally ironic and fitting, at the same time it's the total opposite of my life and situation. 'Cause just like every other damn song in the whole damn world, it was a love song.

And who the hell falls in love with an assassin?

Anyway. . .

I work in the dead of night
When the roads are quiet, no one is around
To track my moves, racing the yellow lights
To find the gate is open, she's waiting in the room
I just step on through

See, ironic. . . so far.

You get in, you get done and then you get gone
You never leave a trace, or show your face, you get gone
Should've turned around and left before the sun came up again
But the sun came up again

I've been caught. Not personally, though. Like I said, blurry photographs and foggy videos.

Enter the morning light
To find the day is burning the curtains and the wine
In a little white room
Though I'm not alone, her head is heavy on me
She's sleeping like a child
What could I do

My thoughts on this: WTH?

You get in, you get done and then you get gone
You never leave a trace, or show your face, you get gone
Should've turned around and left before the sun came up again
But the sun came up again

I was a killer, was the best they'd ever seen

TOTALLY.

I'd steal your heart before you ever heard a thing
I'm an assassin and I had a job to do
Little did I know that girl was an assassin too

Uh, getting' the romance aspect in over here. That just sorta ruined it.

Suddenly I'm in over my head and I can hardly breathe
Suddenly I'm floating over her bed and I feel everything
Suddenly I know exactly what I did, but I can not move a thing
And suddenly I know exactly what I've done
And what it's gonna mean to me, mean to me

I'm gone

I was a killer, was the best they'd ever seen
I'd steal your heart before you ever heard a thing
I'm an assassin and I had a job to do
Little did I know that girl was an assassin too

She's an assassin
She's an assassin
She's an assassin
She's an assassin and she had a job to do

Uh, okay. Enough of that crap. I pulled off my earphones and threw the stinking Ipod back into my bag.

Then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Crap, crap crap.

"Hello, Miss, can I help you with anything?" Asked some pretty flight attendant, sweetly. I let out a heavy sigh of relief.

"N-no. I'm good." I answered looking down.

"Um, sorry to bother you," she started before walking away, "But you seem so familiar. . . Have I seen you before?"

"Beats me." I answered holding my breath.

"Oh. Well. Excuse me, call if anything is needed." She added, and she left smiling and confused.

Well, shit. I really gotta work on my cover.

"Attention, attention, passengers. We will be landing shortly. Please make sure your fastened in and tight. Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed flying with us!" Said that speaker man, once again.

Enjoyed my ass.

Well, to sum up on the whole landing scene, there was another round of ear popping, some nausea, and finally, we were on the precious ground, known as earth. Earth rocks, by the way, 'cause that was just plain heck.

We all fled the hell hole and I made my way to retrieve my bag. After I got them, I went outside to find that my criminal ride was set and waiting.

"Maximum Ride?" Asked the driver in a rough tone. He had various tattoos spread here and their on his skin, and a few piercings; the type of "normal" looking bad-guys you'd encounter nowadays.

"That would be moi," I answered, pulling myself into the passenger seat and swinging the door to a slam-shut.

"Dyl said you'd be hot." He muttered in a confirming tone, sneaking a side glance at me.

"Fuck you." I said, and flipped him the bird.

"Whoa. Potty mouth!" The dude exclaimed.

"Yo, haughty boy, wanna shut the hell up? Or would you prefer some kick ass?" I asked, annoyed with the son-of-a-gun jab.

"Hey, babe. Calm down, I'm just here for the job." He said, as we pulled into a deserted area, behind some apartment buildings. There stood an old and tattered house among the trashy crap area.

"Name?" I asked Mr. Tattoo.

"Ari." He answered. Huh, so demented names are in style, now?

"And watchya got for me, here, Ari?" I asked, deviously.

"Got the guns, daggers, pocket knives, and some occasional bombs of my liking." He stated. "Take your pick. Or take it all." He added.

"Grab me a bag. I'm taking the whole stash." I answered and he did as I told him.

After we finished loading the car, Ari dropped me off at some Hotel in Miami. It was pretty sweet, I gotta say.

"Thanks," I muttered, to Ari, and he was gone, leaving me with a crumpled piece of paper given to him by Dylan.

After I checked in, I made my way to my room on the third floor. I looked around the beige painted walls, free-falling golden curtains and beautifully printed, down comforters. There was a forty-five inched Plasma flat screen facing the king-sized bed. And even the carpet felt extra soft and fluffy. All in what the call a "Studio Room". Nice.

I slumped down on the soft and amazingly comfortable bed – compared to those God awful flight seats – and rummaged in my pocket for that crumpled paper Ari had given me.

It read, in Dylan's perfect script (you'd think it'd be chicken scratch, considering his record):

Nicholas Collins:

Cell #: 664-8932

Address: NE 53rd St.

Then, in all those dramatic caps letters, that scare us terribly so, it said:

KILL HIM.

Oh, well, imagine that?

AH! Okay, so their you have it. NOW REVIEW FOR A SOONER UPDATE!

Love ya'll,

A.O.L. & Hannah