So this is the third chapter!
I'm actually really happy with the amount of follows and favorites this story has been getting. It's always really nice to know that people are interested in your work and genuinely like it. I'm also really happy about some of the feedback I've been getting for this story. The next update will be coming sometime around next weekend. This weekend for me has been extremely busy, and isn't going to get any less hectic, so this is when the update is coming, as this is the only bit of free time I've had since Wednesday night. Other than that, there's nothing to say other then everybody who reviews or favorites or follows is amazing.
Read and review!
Max stalks through the streets, quiet and stealthy. Homeless people stare at her a bit as she passes, but other than that she attracts no attention.
Well, she thinks she attracts no attention.
Somewhere in between the land that the gangs control and the land that is dominated by tourists, a young man steps up to her. His eyes flit constantly between Max and their surroundings, as if he's afraid something is going to pop out of the dark. His clothes are dirty and worn down. Everything about him screams 'street kid'.
"Hey," he greets quietly as he steps up to her. "You're the lady from the bar, right? The one that just killed Boss?"
Immediately, Max pulls the gun out of her waistband and has it trained on the boy's forehead. She has no time to deal with this right now. But she does hope that the boy knows how stupid he'd be to try to attack her, especially over something as stupid as the death of Jason St. McCloud. Revenge is stupid; it makes you careless and gets you killed.
"Whoa!" he shouts, backing away with his hands raised. "I ain't looking for trouble! I just want to talk!"
Max doesn't react at all. Her eyes stay trained on the target, as does her gun. "Then talk."
The boy sighs. "You're looking for Nick Martinez, right?" Max says nothing. "Well, if you are, I think I can help you."
Interest sparks inside of her. He may be lying, trying to get her guard to fall, but if he does know something then she needs him to spill his guts. But still, she says nothing. The gun doesn't waver.
"A year or so back, me and my brother were out on the street," he begins, his eyes flitting uncertainly between the gun and Max, "and this guy comes flying in, knocked me out. He killed my brother." The boy's voice quiets a bit. "I figured out it was because some rich bitch didn't like how her husband bought meth from my brother. She got some goddamn killer to take him out, as if that would help her husband's drug addiction," he scoffs as he relives the story in his mind.
"Get to the point," Max hisses, her eyes narrowing a bit.
"I also figured out where the guy lives, but there is no way in hell I'm goin' to try anything with him. From what I've seen, he'd kill me just like that," at the end of his sentence, the boy snaps his finger to demonstrate what he means.
"Give me the address," Max spits.
The boy nearly smiles. "And you'll kill him?"
Max nods.
Slowly, the boy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pen. Max nearly pulls the trigger on him, but manages to restrain herself. "I can write it on your hand or something."
One of Max's eyebrows rise as she snorts. He really thinks she will let him touch her? She literally just killed this guy's boss. Instead, she releases one hand from her hold on the gun and reaches into her coat pocket. A few gum wrappers had been dropped carelessly inside, and she hands one to the boy. "Write it there."
He does as he's told, and speaks one last time before he leaves, "Kill that bastard."
"I will," Max mutters to the boy's retreating figure before continuing back to her bike. Her thoughts travel as she walks. So it sounds like Nicholas Martinez became an assassin. It's surprising, but not shell shocking. Most people in her line of work either learn about the job from a parent, or evolve from the gangs. It isn't difficult to believe that Nicholas ended up as a killer.
But she dismisses those thoughts when she finally reaches her bike. She climbs on, kicks starts it, and smiles as the bike roars to life. Then she drives, ready to complete her job.
MAXIMUM RIDE
Fang lies awake and alone on his king sized bed. It's the first time in a while he's actually been alone. Usually he brings home a girl. It's a nice distraction from his life. But tonight he's alone, and there are no snores of a girl to distract him. All he can do is think. And of course, he thinks about Maximum Ride.
She hasn't found him yet. It's been a day and he's still alive. Thank God. No matter how attracted he is to that woman, he still has the sense to be terrified. Anybody would be terrified if they had Maximum Ride coming to kill them. It's the sensible thing to be.
But still he thinks of her in the wrong way. He thinks of kissing her. He thinks of holding her. Which is stupid, because he should be thinking of killing her. If he wants to live into his elderly years, that's what he has to do. But of course, he's the epitome for perverted assholes. His freaking sex drive is thinking more than he is, and it's a matter of life and death. He's a perverted, stupid, all around sucky asshole.
And he's still thinking about Maximum's eyes!
Frustrated, he groans and throws a punch at the wall. A nice, fist shaped hole is left in the plaster. Fang shakes his hand as he sighs. Goddammit, now he has to fix that wall.
Slowly, he stands and goes to bandage his bruised knuckles. At least the pain is distracting from the thoughts he can't seem to get rid of.
And when the pain subsides, it leaves him thinking a little bit more clearly. Well, he's definitely still thinking about Max's figure, but that's in the corners of his mind. He managed to shut off his perversion when he punched the wall. Now, he's concentrating on staying alive. And to stay alive, he needs information.
Dressing quickly, he leaves his apartment for the first time since he had discovered somebody was coming to kill him. If he wants any chance of surviving, he needs to know everything there is to know about Maximum Ride.
MAXIMUM RIDE
It's five in the morning. Max treads through the streets, holding back yawns as she goes. She shouldn't be this tired. She goes longer than this without sleeping daily. But fatigue is still invading her senses and making her want to curl up in a ball and start snoring on the sidewalk.
As she walks, she tries to convince herself that she doesn't need to sleep. She has a lead. She should follow it, at least try to see if it pans out. But all she can think about is going home and falling asleep.
"He'll still be there in later," she murmurs to herself as she finally reaches the nearly empty street that holds her house. She just needs four hours and then she'll be ready to go. Just a nap.
She collapses onto the couch as soon as she walks in. Yawning, she manages to kick her shoes and jeans off and pull a blanket over her before blacking out.
She wakes up sometime around lunch. A sigh floats from her lips when she sees the time. It's four hours after her planned wake up time. She cannot afford to be sloppy right now, especially not in something as simple as her sleeping schedule.
Like a cat, she rolls off of the couch and onto the floor, and dresses quickly. In just a few minutes, she's ready to go again. That doesn't mean she's excited about getting back on her motorcycle. Her butt is still sore from her long drive last night.
A groan slips from her lips as she slides back onto the bike. Trying to ignore her soreness, she starts the bike and begins to drive. The gum wrapper with the address is gripped tightly in her hand. She glances down at it every few minutes, even though she's already memorized the address. 338 Bank Street, Room 217.
Carefully, she weaves through the roads. They're busy, and more than a few taxi drives flip her off. Being used to it, she ignores it. If these people know how easy it would be for her to turn and pick them off as she drove away, they'd keep their mitts off of the horns.
It doesn't take her long to arrive at the address. When she does, she quietly parks her bike and trots into the building. She doesn't stop to think about the flashy neighborhood she's in, or how people wearing fur coats look at her leather jacket and beat up combat boots with disgust. All she has to do is finish the mission. That needs to be the only thing on her mind.
But as soon as she enters the building, thoughts abandon her.
She's standing in a ginormous lobby. Everything she looks at seems to be lined with gold, or painted golden, or just blatantly made of gold. Obnoxiously rich people loiter around the room, curling their lips in disgust when she walks in. She pays them no mind. It's all she can do not to openly gape at her surroundings. How does anybody afford to live in a place made of gold?
Well, she could, if she didn't give most of her money away. But she always ends up giving the money from most of her jobs to charity, only keeping what she needs to live comfortably. A different charity receives the money each time. Her last case's rewards went to the children in Africa. Before that the cash was dedicated to cancer research. Around the beginning of spring last year, Max spent three cases worth of money on leukemia and lymphoma treatments for children. This was because she had to kill a man whose daughter was cursed with the disease. Sure, that sounds awful, but the man did beat his daughter, and his wife did ask for it.
For a minute, she catches herself wondering if she should keep some of the money and try to live in decadence. But then she catches another one of the glares being sent her way and she dismisses that thought entirely.
After a few moments of gawking, Max continues through the building. She walks up two flights of stairs, preparing herself the whole way up. She needs to be ready for whatever is thrown her way. There's no way to know for sure what's going to be behind the door. It could be her target, if the boy who had given her the information was trustworthy. Or, it could be an old woman with Alzheimer's. It could be a little boy who's more interested in trains than the strange woman knocking on the door. If the boy she had spoken to was lying, then she could walk into an ambush from his gang.
These thoughts are what prompt her to slip her knife into her hand from her sleeve, and to move her free hand so that it rests on the gun tucked into her waistband.
When she arrives at room 217, she only waits a second before knocking.
Scuffling is heard from inside, and then she hears the sound of a body pressing up against the door. Whoever is inside must be making use of the peephole. Max simply steps to the side to avoid being seen.
"Who's there?" a deep, distinctly male voice calls out.
After the voice speaks, Max is sure she hears the sound of a gun being clicked off of safety.
That's why she kicks the door in.
"Shit!" the same voice shouts as soon as Max steps into the room.
She raises her gun immediately, keeping it trained on the man who stands on the opposite of the room. He holds a gun, too, she notes. Great, a standoff. That's just what Max needs right now.
Neither person moves. Max slowly takes in the man's appearance, only to be startled when she recognizes him. This is the man that harassed her in the bar. Seriously, she must have awful luck. Why does she have to meet this asshole again?
But then she catches his eyes. They're so dark she can't make out the pupils. Onyx orbs stare right back at her, so guarded they look like they hold no emotion at all. Even though the boy in the picture showed his emotions through his eyes, and this man looks like he's never felt anything at all, Max can tell that they're the same. There's just something about them. Something that can't be mistaken for anything else. This man is her target.
"Nicholas Martinez?" she questions, tightening her grip on the gun.
His eyes remain the same, no emotion, but the upper corner of his lip lifts into a smirk. "Nobody has called me that in a long time."
Max is about to pull the trigger when he speaks again.
"And you're Maximum Ride."
Max nearly snorts. Is he really trying to talk his way out of this?
"You're the girl that everybody wants to know about," he continues, sounding extremely calm despite the situation. "You're the girl who was so difficult to find out about."
Max opens her mouth to speak, but he beats her to it, "You're Maxine Rider."
Stopping dead, Max's mouth falls open. How does he know her real name? She goes to pull the trigger, just to stop him from speaking anymore, but she can't manage to do it. She's too scared. Just the mere mention of her name sent everything from her past flashing back to her.
Pictures of him fly into mind, along with her parents and that night. Suddenly, her breathing is heavy, and she almost forgets to hold the gun up.
All it took was three words to break Maximum Ride.