Tuesday, November 7, 2017

Gentleman's Holiday Ch One #blogstory

Hey! So I was pushing around some flash fiction ideas for The Valespian Pact but I really wanted to write a holiday-ish story. Considering my stories around holidays aren't typical, I don't write many. This is a contemporary story and will probably be a smutfest in a few places. I'm writing for fun and nothing else. I'm also writing it by the seat of my pants so only God  knows where it is going to go because I only have the most vaguest of ideas. 

With that said, let's see where this goes!

Gentleman's Holiday

Chapter One – Retirement

Kief. Lance. Locke. Gage. Garrett.

Choosing a new name took more time than he thought it would. As a contract killer, he never expected he would be able to retire. People like him usually were retired by someone else, permanently. But here he was, contemplating a new name to go along with his new identity, one that he hoped he could keep for the rest of him life. Foolishly hopeful, he guessed, considering his blood-tinged past.

At the age of nine, his uncle Paul killed his father and took over his mother's welfare, fortune and all, sending him overseas to a boarding school. Except there was no boarding school, only one old assassin who owed Paul a favor. For the next several years, he was taught how kill quickly, efficiently, and anonymously. He became the Gentleman, Gent for short, the dog his uncle sent after those who barred the path to what Paul wanted. Almost a year ago, he orchestrated the downfall of Paul and his empire, as well as arranging 'Gent's' death.

Who he had once been was now gone and buried. In truth, his mother's son had died all those years ago when he was put on a plane to Europe. Now with Paul and those connected to him serving prison time, Gent disappeared. He had identities stashed all over the United States in case he needed to run, but for the first time since his family had been torn apart he was free. Or as free as he could be because there was always a chance that he would eventually be found.

Cooper. Deane. Quade. Hunter… no.

So he sat in his cabin in the mountains, sipping a cup of coffee as he looked out over the road leading to his house, and contemplated a name. For years he'd worked hard to blend in with the crowds, to stand out only to misdirect whoever watched. Being recognizable, distinguished, brought death so he avoided being set apart all his life. It helped that everything about his appearance was average, forgettable. But he wanted a name that could be everything that he wasn't. His new chosen profession almost demanded it. As soon as he made a decision and sent the email, he would have a legitimate identity.

Trey. Zane. Shane. Slade. Stone. Wade. Wyatt. Jasper.

Frustratingly, he couldn't choose and it wasn't like he could call a friend for advice. People like him didn't have friends. He didn't even have acquaintances because he couldn't allow anyone to get close for any reason. Especially since he had always planned on disappearing. No one to leave behind and no one to identify him. "Always have an exit plan," my mentor had once told me. "And expect it be bloody." As for the people in my Paul's employ who'd seen Gent from time to time, the majority of them were dead. He'd cleaned house as Paul's empire fell. Heart attacks, car accidents, gang related shootings, robbery, and some just disappeared. From the day Paul had tore him from his life and family, it had always been them against Gent. There could not have been no other outcome if he wanted to be free.

Surnames? Autry. Roarke. Snow. Cortese. Cassy. Rayner. Trigg.

Placing the coffee mug in the sink, he left the kitchen to the back hall that lead to his studio. Sound proofing foam covered all four walls. Instruments of every kind were tucked into their stands and cases. The notes on my most recent idea was strewn across the surface of the grand piano. As soon as he chose a name then he could submit his finished work to an agent. He didn't think about the absurdity of a retired assassin becoming a song writer. He had tested the waters of the song business a couple of years ago under a different ID and the results were promising. Besides, even though he could have a name that would shine, he could still hide in the shadows, writing songs here without needing to bring people into his life. So easy to disappear that way.

Trevor. Emery. Cody. Sealey. Fahey. Revell. Chance. Seldon. Whittaker. Sutherland.

He opened my laptop, going to the site on the dark net that he knew well. As soon as he chose a name he would have his new identity in about twenty-four hours. He thought he had it and used a sheet of paper to write the name several times. Smiling, he typed the name into the boxes provided and transferred the requested amount for payment.

Hello, Zane Snow Cortese.

Unexpectedly, when he hit submit, a slice of terror shot through him. What was he doing? He had to be delusional to think that he could walk away from being an assassin. There weren't happy-ever-afters for people like him. The sensation of the walls closing in caused his heart to skip a beat or four. He surged to my feet, the urge to snatch his grab-bag on the way out the door was almost overwhelming. He was going to get himself killed over a pipe dream. Putting down roots, no matter how shallow could be the end of him.

Instead of leaving, he sat at the piano and played one exercise after another until his heart no longer raced and his breathing slowed. He was tired of running. Exhausted with hiding, He had a chance to be normal for once. He wasn't going to talk himself out of the possibility of having a life, a real life. One where people in town saw him and said hello. One where he could have a date that didn't involve a mark.



Thank you for stopping by and reading!!

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