This was a fast update, considering I only recieved, like, THREE REVIEWS for the last freaking chapter!
Well, a huge thanks to everyone who did review :) I'd appreciate some more though.
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Chapter Five
Fang POV
Turns out Dylan's freaking genius plan was to 'fake love' the murdering bitch. And my answer to that?
"Hell no." Did he not get the whole "she fucking murdered my parents" part? I'm not wasting any time with a whore like that, unless I'm killing her. But, to Dylan, I apparently wasn't able to just kill her. I had to go through this whole lovey-dovey shit, first, then kill her.
As I said before, hell no.
"You're not getting it, Fang! She's a trained fighter! She's 'The Assassin'! She'll have you murdered within seconds of your attempt." Dylan yelled at me, still over the phone. "She'll kill you first, and you'll have no chance."
Well, when you put it that way. . . "No."
"Fang. Stop being the stubborn ass you are, and fucking listen to me." How reassuring of him. "You don't know who's life she's planning to steal next. You'll never know. Don't take chances when their not in your favor." He finished.
Thinking it over, I began to understand his point. If his plan turned out the way it was supposed to, she'd fall for me, "desperately in love" as he put it. My opening would come, and I'd kill her without any slight suspicion at all.
Except for one itty-bitty problem.
He said I'd have to "love" her for at least a month. That's one entire month of hell for ya. Boy, am I exited.
I sighed into the receiver. It was my only option. "Fine." I spat, not wanting to sound defeated. "And how do I get a hold of her?" I asked.
"I've got all her information, and now, you will, too." He told me. What a stalker. "I'll send it to your email; I already got it." Of course he had it. "Just take her number for now: 778-4421. And for her location; right now she's at the Marriott Hotel, near your house, in Miami. Room 311. Do with it what you will. I expect a first date by tonight." He told me.
"What? Tonight? Your crazy. I need. . . at least a few days-"
"Hey, the day's still young," He cut me off. "You'll get it done." He said it like it was no big deal.
Then the line went dead.
And I was off to the Marriott Hotel of Miami Florida. Where awaited my victim.
Max POV
I'd made it to my room on the third floor, once agin. What the hell was I gonna do, now?
Kill him, of course.
Well, I had to kill him.
But he saved my life. How could I kill this Collins dude if he saved my life? Isn't that, like, some sort of wicked sin? Well, yeah, killing would definitely be a sin; but killing the person who saved you from a horrible and painful death? It was wrong on too many levels.
And I'm not supposed to feel remorse. No guilt, no second thoughts, no nothing. It was unnatural for me to actually care about this kind of crap. I'm TheAssassin. I kill. I'm numb to all pain, and all that junk. It's not fair that I'm suddenly feeling bad about killing this guy. I had to do it.
What would Dylan do if I didn't kill him? Kill me? Fire me? Rape me, hurt me?
See, that's the problem. I'll never know what Dylan will do to me in the end. If he attempted to kill me, he'd be dead first, and he knew that.
But he always had other ways I could have never thought possible.
Like that night. The night I swore to never speak a damn word about ever again. Why, you ask? Because I'm scared. Yeah, you heard me right. Maximum Ride, The Assassin is scared. Scared of what Dylan will have to say to me about it; the incident. Everything from why, to how and what the hell his intentions were on that unthinkable night.
I didn't know if I wanted the answer to any of it. But, then again. . .
There were three light taps on my hotel door. Since it was probably room service, I ignored it, and went back to turn on the incredibly cool plasma TV set. Hey, when you come from almost nothing, this was awesome.
Four more knocks. "Ugh! Just leave me alone," I groaned, throwing one of the gorgeous, crisp white hotel pillows at the door, creating a slight thudagainst the door.
"Uh, Max. . . ?" Shit, that voice could melt chocolate.
And, shit, that voice belonged to Collins.
I cleared my throat, attempting a manly tone, and replied, "This is. . . Gregory." My voice cracked, and sounded really gay. Let him assume puberty, or whatever; he should know. And where did Gregory come from? Seriously? Who the hell names their son Gregory?
. . . Abusive parents that believe there child deserves hell on earth?
"Could you open the door please, um, Gregory?" I swallowed back my laughs, but a small girlish giggle accidentilly escaped my lips. Crap! How smooth.Poor Gregory; Fang's probably assuming he's some dirty man-whore, or something along those lines.
And since when do I giggle?
"Um, no?" Sure.
"Why?" That freaking voice of his could drive a girl crazy.
"'Cause I'm in the bathroom. . ." I tried in the same tone.
"You sound pretty close to the door, though, Gregory." He answered. I could hear the smirk in his words.
"Uh, yeah." What the hell was I supposed to say? I have to kill this guy, remember? Ugh. I just need some time, like, a few hours- days even, just to get my act back together–
"So can I come in?" He asked, breaking my train of thought.
"No!" I yelled, my voice more "me like". But sadly, I was stupid enough to leave the door unlocked and he'd already flung it open, to reveal anyone butGregory.
"Crap," I muttered under my breath.
Then awkward silence.
And more silence.
Then some more.
And then. . . "Where's Gregory?" Collins finally asked.
"He, um, left." Yeah, let's go with that.
"Mhmm," He muttered, a smile barely playing against his lips.
So yeah, now for the confusion and questions: Why the hell was he here? More importantly, how the hell was he here? How did he find me? Stalker? Maybe. Freaky-ass weirdo? Sure. But, why? We just sorta met a couple hours ago- If you disregard our little encounter three years back- when I barged out of my closet-hiding-spot. . . in his room. . .
So he probably had the same dawning questions about me.
Let's go with a simple one, "And your're here because. . . ?" I started.
"Well, I had a few questions, myself." He stated. Okay. I waited for him to go on. "You," He started. "Your the girl I saved three years ago."
"Yeah." Don't look at me like that! I didn't know what else to freaking say!
"And today you magically appeared out of my closet." He went on. Well, of course I did.
"Yeah." Brilliant.
"And I'd like to get to know you better, Maximum Ride." Holly crap. Save me!
This was so dang weird. I was sent here to Miami to kill this guy. Then I realized he saved my life, like, three years ago. And from the person who sentme to kill him! And now, he's basically about to ask me out? Or am I taking in the wrong signs? Well, the one and only time I'd been asked out on a "date" or so, was when I was fifteen and in high school. His name was Luis Meyers. And I didn't even go, so, as you can see I have very little experience on this subject.
So, of course I ask, "And that means?"
"I wanna take you out." He said, still standing in the doorway, still looking really good. And still waiting for my answer.
"You wanna. . . take me out?" I said, confused. He just nodded. "Like . . . like a date." I sated. He responded with another nod.
This wasn't weird at all, right? Everyone gets asked out on dates.
But not if your an ASSASSIN, and your getting asked out by the person your supposed to kill.
"Okay." I finally responded, surprised at myself.
I have no idea why I just did that.
I watched as a small smile crept over his features. His damn hot features, that is. But I noticed that the smile wasn't one of satisfaction, or happiness, or whatever a smile usually was like after they just scored a date.
It was almost. . . evil.
OMG! What's gonna happen next?
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