Chapter 187: Unmasked

[Music: Baby Outlaw By Elle King]

I inserted the flash drive into the slot, taking a measured breath as I waited for the footage to appear.

I don’t know what the fuck I was doing, and the last thing I wanted was to trust Julius, but for this I had to. Zade was keeping something from me—something about the accident that he didn’t want me to know about.

I had to figure out what it was.

I can’t live my life while I know a part of me is missing. It was the same reason why I was hellbent on uncovering the Syndicate, knowing Annabeth might be a part of them.

"Come on..." I muttered, and the footage came up static at first before it cleared out.

I caught the date at the lower end. Exactly two years ago.

The footage showed the road at night. This area was relatively deserted, with only a few cars passing by. Then I saw it... a car I recognized.

My car. The same one I had since college.

My vision blurred momentarily as a piercing headache came, so I rubbed my temples, averting the pain and concentrating on the footage.

The car... It was speeding. If anyone had told me that I’d drive in such a way, I wouldn’t have believed them.

"Why am I driving so recklessly?" I murmured to myself, trying to make sense of it.

I was the one who always scolded Zade about speed, not the other way around. I don’t for a single second believe that I was the one driving that car.

It was thoughtless... and—!

I gasped when an oncoming truck suddenly collided with it, and the footage went static.

With shaky hands, I covered my mouth in horror, staring at the static for what seemed like over a minute.

Why does this look... deliberate?

I heard a sharp click that echoed through the room, and I turned sharply to a woman, dressed stylishly in a mixed white and black gown that flowed out effortlessly.

"What are—who are you?"

"With that expression you look like you’ve seen a ghost." She pointed a silenced pistol at me, and I forgot to breathe for a moment.

"Is everything alright, madam?"

Madam?

She took off her mask and the air got stolen from my lungs.

No... this can’t be happening right now... this can’t be—!

I rasped, taking a step back in shock. "C-Cynthia?"

She smirked broadly. "Surprised to see me?"

"What are you... what... you..." I stuttered, overwhelmed, a hot burn curling my chest.

"Shocked? I get it really... when you see Cynthia, you see a bright young woman who is sweet, kind, and cares for her little siblings." She chuckled. "Unfortunately, that was an alias. I had to have some life aside from this. That’s the only way I could blend in."

"It was you..." I said in a whisper, feeling a thousand pierces to my heart. "You’re the hitman."

"The one and only... Stinger."

"You killed my father, and you tried to kill me!"

"Shhh..." she coaxed. "Keep your voice down, will you? I don’t want your uncle storming in. He’s quite taken over by that call, and preoccupied, enough for me to put a bullet through your skull."

"Are you gonna kill me?" I asked sternly, feeling more betrayed than scared.

Cynthia was the first real friend I had in years ever since I lost my sister and my fallout with Clara.

It started with how scared she was about what Zade was gonna do to her if I didn’t comply with his wishes.

I had always felt compelled to protect her because she was this sweet and innocent girl, the things I once was, and in a way she reminded me of my old self.

She cared for Boba and Coco so sweetly and loved spending time with them. She cooked me meals, and I cooked with her; we even shared recipes, but I guess all that was all an act.

This was the real Cynthia standing in front of me. A hitman from the undercity who was after me.

And she was gonna kill me. I’ll be damned if I let that happen.

"Well, the sooner my bank is wired the remaining money the better, so yes, Anastasia, I’m going to kill you. Sorry it had to get to this. You should have died that day at the funeral, but your husband is an overprotective bastard, isn’t he? He took a bullet for you."

"W-Why?" I hated the way my voice cracked, but I couldn’t help it.

"The reason anyone becomes a hitman." She shrugged as though it was obvious, but it wasn’t for me.

This may be the usual for her, and God knows how many times she had worked her way into a household to keep up her alias and betrayed them like nothing.

Pointing a gun at your friend was just a whole new level of betrayal, especially when you didn’t know they were capable of such a thing.

"The name on the wall," I said, keeping my voice as strong as possible. "Who told you about that name?"

Cynthia fixed me with an apologetic expression but still maintained her amusement. "I’m sorry, but I work swiftly, and the more time I spend here, the less efficient I become."

She held the pistol with two hands. "Don’t worry, I’m gonna make it quick. For what it’s worth, I did consider you a friend. I loved Boba and Coco too, and I’m gonna miss those cute fur babies."

I clenched my fist tightly.

"Any last words?"

"Who sent you?" I asked.

I needed to reach for my gun, but to do it, I needed to stall as best as I could. She’s a fucking hitman and certainly not the enemy I planned to face tonight.

Whatever happens, she was gonna gain the upper hand, but not if I caught her off guard. She probably had no idea that I was armed

"Was it the Syndicate?" I questioned once again. "It was them, wasn’t it? Who else would be capable of paying you enough to betray the Salvero household?"

"My, my, it seems madam is quite informed."

"Don’t call me that," I said through clenched teeth. "You don’t get to call me that anymore."

She pouted. "I’ve always called you madam; what’s so different now?"

"The difference is... I don’t consider you a friend anymore. You’re an enemy."

Cynthia rolled her eyes, and I tossed the laptop at that momentary discomposure.

She didn’t see this coming, and for a split second her eyes widened, but she quickly dodged, and the device smashed against the wall, coming apart.

I seized that moment, dropped to one knee, and grabbed my gun from my thigh garter and pulled the trigger.

"Fuck!" I cursed when the bullet punctured the wall instead.

"Not much of a shooter are you, madam?" She raised her gun, and I quickly dived behind the chesterfield chairs, the bullets puncturing into it, and even I knew that wasn’t going to hold on for long.

"I don’t have time to waste," she growled, frustrated.

I peeked, and she fired, but I ducked in time. I gotta think of something because the closer she got the more upper hand she’d get!

I glanced toward the other chair, an idea kicking in. Without wasting any more time or thought, I kicked the chair hard enough for it to scrape across the floor, creating the impression that I’d moved there. A few muffled shots followed.

She took the bait!

I crawled the other way, just enough to catch sight of her, and pulled the trigger.

"Ugh!"

The bullet punctured her leg, and she dropped to her knees.

I rose to my feet and walked toward her, and used the back of my hand to smack her on the face.

"I bet you weren’t expecting that. The biggest mistake you made was underestimating me."

I smacked her again, but she tackled me to the ground, and my gun slipped from my grip. Before she had the chance to shoot me, I squeezed against the leg I had shot, earning a painful yelp from her.

She hit me in the face, and pain exploded, throbbing so loudly that I lost my hearing for a moment.

But I quickly regained my bearings, gripping her hands as we struggled against each other, turning it into a fierce tug-of-war. I held on tightly as I could while she was determined to shoot me.

A muffled shot sliced through the air, and we both froze.

Slowly, Cynthia leveled her gaze and saw her white bodice dyed red before she looked at me in shock.

Somehow I had tilted the gun amid our struggle, and when she pulled the trigger, she was shot instead.

With a growl, I pushed her off me and crawled away, pausing to catch my breath.

I looked at Cynthia, blood pooling at her lips as she choked. I watched without moving a beat until she took her last breath.

A heavy silence took over, but the music from the ballroom filtered in, reminding me where I was.

It was as though my body and mind had finally had a grip. Everything had happened so fast, and survival was the only thing on my mind.

I acted on raw instinct. I could have died. That could have been me with a bullet to the chest.

I tossed the gun somewhere, took off my mask, and ran my hands through my hair.

I was shaking, so fucking much that I couldn’t keep my hands steady.

"Get a grip..." I muttered, but I was far from doing that.

Then I chuckled, seemingly the only thing I could do at this moment.

Suddenly, the doorknob rattled before the door jolted rapidly as though being kicked and that alone jump-started my nerves.

I quickly pushed to my feet, grabbed the gun, and pointed, waiting for the sorry fucker that was about to come through that door.