Chapter 240 Assassin's Doubt

Chapter 240 Assassin's Doubt
Colin POV

"Good reflexes!" called the man who had shouted my name in warning.

I smiled but said nothing, brushing dirt from my shoulder with practiced nonchalance. My heart was racing, though not from the near miss. In my line of work, dodging death had become routine. What unsettled me was how close I'd come to blowing my cover with an instinctive counterattack.

Mrs. Booth—Diana—hurried toward me, concern evident in her eyes. "Are you alright? Were you hurt?"

The genuine worry in her voice caught me off guard. I stood there, momentarily stunned by her sincerity. This wasn't the reaction of someone who deserved to be in my crosshairs.

Another worker stepped in. "He's fine, Mrs. Booth. Got the reflexes of a cat, this one."

I snapped back to reality. "Just lucky, I guess. No harm done."

"Please be careful, all of you," Diana cautioned. "Those flower pots are heavier than they look. We don't need any accidents."

She smiled once more before walking away, continuing her afternoon garden stroll. I watched her retreating figure, a strange hollowness forming in my chest.

This was the monster Marisa had described? The woman who was supposedly so cruel and manipulative that she deserved to die?

I'd been in this business long enough to recognize evil. I'd eliminated loan sharks who broke children's fingers to motivate their parents. I'd taken out gang leaders who trafficked teenagers. Those targets helped me sleep at night.

But Diana seemed different. The opposite of what I'd been told.

My life hadn't exactly followed a traditional path. Abandoned at six, I learned to survive on the streets—hungry one day, starving the next. I wasn't particularly smart or charming, but I was quick, and I could fight. By twelve, I could take down boys twice my size. By sixteen, I'd caught the attention of the Kelley crew, who trained me to be their enforcer.

When rival gangs decimated the Kelleys in a bloody turf war, I was left with nothing but my particular skill set.

I tried going straight. But background checks always revealed my juvenile record and gang connections. No one wanted to take a chance on me.

So I did the only thing I could: I became a gun for hire, not for cartels or crime families, but for ordinary people with extraordinary problems. Mostly, I dealt with dangerous individuals that the law couldn't touch—abusers protected by money or connections, fraudsters who'd destroyed lives. I told myself I was providing a service. Cleaning up society's margins.

At least until this job.

One month ago, Marisa had approached me through a mutual contact. She wanted Diana eliminated.

I took half the payment upfront—$100,000—and promised results. Money had been tight lately, and the sum was too substantial to refuse.

That assumption had led to my first attempt. A clean shot through a window should have ended it quickly. But at the last second, Bradley had moved in front of his wife, taking the bullet meant for her.

I'd never failed before. It rattled me, professionally and personally. When I called Marisa to report, she'd been livid, demanding I finish the job or forfeit payment.

For weeks after, Diana stayed at the heavily guarded Booth estate, making another attempt impossible. Then came the news that they'd caught "the shooter." I knew better—the police had found a convenient scapegoat. But the reduced vigilance created an opening. When I heard the Booths were planning Martha's birthday celebration, I saw my opportunity.

Getting hired as temporary staff was laughably easy. The event company needed strong backs for setup, no questions asked. Within days, I was inside, observing the family dynamics while arranging tables and hanging decorations.

However, the accident that just happened had shown me Diana's gentle side. What could she possibly have done to make my employer hate her so deeply?

The nearby maid's voice interrupted my thoughts. "You're staring at Mrs. Booth."

I turned, composing my face into casual interest. "Just admiring. She's quite beautiful."

The maid nodded approvingly. "Beautiful inside and out. Never seen someone with such a good heart, especially after all she's been through."

"What do you mean?"

"Poor dear was blinded saving Mrs. Martha. Then someone tried to kill her at their wedding! And just last month, Mr. Booth took a bullet protecting her." She shook her head sadly. "Some people are just jealous of goodness, I suppose."

I felt sick. The bullet I had fired.

"I should get back to work," I mumbled, turning away.

That evening, I sat in my rented room, staring at my burner phone. I'd never questioned a client before. It wasn't my business. But this felt wrong.

I dialed Marisa's number.

"What?" she answered sharply.

"I've been watching Mrs. Booth," I said carefully. "She doesn't seem like the type to harm others. Why exactly do you want her eliminated?"

The silence stretched for several seconds.

"Are you questioning me?" Marisa finally responded, voice dangerously low.

"Just trying to understand the situation better."

"She's a gold-digging manipulator," Marisa spat. "She came from nothing, seduced Bradley, and turned his whole family against me. She destroyed everything I had."

She came from nothing. Just like me.

"Her background—"

"Is irrelevant," Marisa cut in. "You're not paid to ask questions. You're paid to do a job. A job you've already failed at once. Do it soon, or I'll find someone more competent."

She hung up.

I lay back on the cheap motel bed, conflicted. Could I really kill someone who seemed so innocent? Whose only crime might be coming from the wrong background and marrying into wealth?

But if I backed out now, Marisa would hire someone else—someone who wouldn't hesitate. And I needed money.

Reluctantly, I made my decision. I'd finish this one last job, then get out of the business for good.

The day of Martha's birthday arrived. I blended seamlessly with the staff. As darkness fell, I implemented my plan—a simple electrical malfunction that plunged the mansion into darkness.

With my thermal imaging goggles, I moved confidently through the chaos. I spotted Diana immediately, separated from the others, calling frantically for her children in the darkness.

I triggered the mechanism I'd rigged earlier. The massive chandelier above her creaked, its support cable severed. In seconds, it would crash down, killing her instantly. A tragic accident during a power outage. Untraceable.

But as the chandelier began its deadly descent, Diana turned slightly, and I glimpsed something on her neck—a crescent-shaped birthmark just below her hairline.

A jolt of recognition hit me. It couldn't be...

There was no time to think. Acting purely on instinct, I lunged forward, shoving Diana aside as the chandelier crashed down. Searing pain lanced through my side as glass shards sliced into my flesh. I bit back a scream.

Diana was safe. I could make out her confused but unharmed form.

I slipped away before anyone could question my presence, pressing my hand against the bleeding wounds in my side.

This job was officially over. Marisa would have to find another assassin.