[Cherik] Bolito – Prologue

0 – Killer

Wesley

Killing aroused Wesley as much as sex.

Perhaps, even more. Sex had to be with the right people – Wesley admitted deep down he was rather old-fashioned – but killing… well, killing didn’t.

Wesley wouldn’t deny he was every bit a psychopath.

Born to be a killer – bad. Born to enjoy being a killer – worse.

With a playful smirk that didn’t quite match his boyish features, Wesley gave a nudge to the gun in his right hand. The gesture was fairly teasing in nature, except the muzzle of his gun was kissing the other man’s left temple.

The man didn’t flinch, bracing himself against Wesley’s deliberate taunt. He had guts; Wesley was pretty fond of him.

“Why do you want to kill him?”

Perhaps he took Wesley’s sudden interest in conversing as a chance to escape with his life, the man swallowed dryly and opened his mouth.

“Someone wants him dead.”

His answer was brief and to the point. Wesley nodded.

A hired killer. Much like himself. The only difference was…

“Do you like killing?”

“What?”

“Do you like killing him?”

Wesley was barely able to contain his laughter at the look the other man was giving him.

“That means no, right? Well, too bad, I’ll have to kill you and I’ll fucking enjoy it.”

“Have we met before?”

“Nope,” Wesley grinned, giving the man a show of his perfect white teeth. “First time seeing your unattractive face.”

“Did I kill someone you knew?”

“Nope,” his grin became wry chuckles. “I killed most those I knew.”

He was satisfied when he felt the man flinch.

“Does someone want me dead?”

The man was being rational, Wesley could tell. Unfortunately he was dealing with some sort of a maniac.

“Wrong again. In fact I’ll get no penny out of ganking your sorry ass.”

The other assassin had but a moment to stare at Wesley with disbelief before he swiftly removed the muzzle from the man’s temple to press it into his mouth.

Blood and brain matter splashed over the horrible graffiti on the wall. It could be a good thing now that they would have a reason to erase it, the eyesore. Wesley amused himself with the thought while cleaning bits of blood and brain off his hands and face. He didn’t mind the persistent odor; the stickiness was what really bugged him – one of the two reasons why he loathed jelly. The other was his eavesdropping two cops joking how his mother’s face looked like ‘bad jelly’ after she had had acid poured over it.

Once he was done, Wesley glanced down at the corpse at his feet. His face, or what was remained of it, kind of looked liked jelly now – bad jelly.

“I killed you because I wanted you dead. Simple as that.”

He spared the corpse no other glance as he sauntered leisurely out of the dark alleyway.

“…and because I want him to live.”

This was the third. He wondered how many more would come.

Not that he minded blowing a few more asses to hell.

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