Demon Don woke up the the sound of something annoyingly loud.

What in this fucked up world dares disrupt his sleep?

"Fuck!"

He grunted loudly as he slapped the alarm clock beside his bed and it fell on the hard ground with shattering sound.

Poor alarm cock.

He cussed.

But surprisingly, the noise didn't stop.

It turned out it wasn't the poor alarm clock that had disrupted his rarely but good sleep, his cellphone had.

"Damn!

Such an annoying prick." He cussed as he unplugged his cellphone from where he had been charging it.

It was Boris, his acquaintance, calling.

"Crackhead."

Why would he be calling him at this hour?

He swiped the receive icon.

"Hey, sorry I woke you ass from sleep but and hit just came on and I need you down in the base tomorrow morning." The man told him.

"Fucking dick head." He cussed the man under his breathe, adjusting himself properly on the bed.

"Ya talking to me?" The man asked him,

He grunts a no and asked what was he hit that was worth waking his ass up from bed.

"Scug called.

An unexpected hit killed Mr Rodriguez....

Come down the base and I'll give you all the shitty details." The man told him.

He grunted and okay and hung up before the man would say another word.

This was supposed to be in rest period.

He'd just returned from a two days hit trip he'd gone for to Vladovin.

He'd gone to hunt one Dimitri Rover...whatever his goddamned surname was.

He was paid by a woman whose son had been killed by Dimitri and the woman had paid him to go finish the bastard that killed her son.

He was planning on taking tomorrow to himself entire but seems the crackhead won't allow him to.

Having been disturbed from his sleep and knowing he won't be able to get that back even if he wished for it.

He decided to go down and get himself some liquor.

He did go downstairs but unfortunately for him, he'd no liquor left in his refrigerator.

What in the devil's name happened to them?

Then he remembered.

He'd drunk the last of them four days ago before he'd left for Vladovin.

He went back upstairs and looked out through his window.

It was dark as the color black outside, exactly how he like it.

He went to his wardrobe and pulled out a black vest and a black hooded leather jacket which he wore on the black jeans he'd on.

Slid his boot on and did his lace and zipper, sitting on the bed.

He picked his wallet and his gun.

The Graz Burya 9mm, KGB custom made with custom silencer.

He has loads of them in his ammunition collection and they were specially made for him.

He took a blade which he slid inside booty and the gun, he kept in it's holster.

He picked his car key and headed downstairs.

His house is a rundown beaten old duplex he'd inherited from his old man before the man had passed away passed away.

It was deep in the woods, because of the nature of their business.

His old man and him had had no need for neighbors, so they'd moved down here.

Coming out of it, he walked to his black SUV jeep which was parked beside the house, he opened it and got in

He ignited the engine and drove through the woods, headed into town.

It took him about five minutes to get into town and he pulled into an old bar.

Countless times in the past, he'd visited the bar with his late old man.

They'd spent a lot of time there.

He turned off the car engine and made his way out of the car, looking as cold as ever.

Even though it was late into the night, Tortilla Jacks was still opened and quite a good number of people were outside.

People he doesn't associate with. They were dangerous and wild. Men who love to make noises. Men who go after the wild crowd. He never associate with them and they dread him.

He made his way past them and went into the bar.

He walked straight to the barstool and sat down,

"A carton of liquor." He told the guy who was serving drinks to the people around.

Charles or whatever the fuck his name was.

"Okay."

While he pulled out a few dollars bills from his wallet,

The guy handed the carton to him and he gave him his pay.

"Dovin came by today." The guy spoke up before he could leave and he won't have the guts to go up to him later.

Everyone both small and mighty dreaded him.

His look was enough could scare shit outta them.

"Said he got some good stuff and asked if you wanted some."

The guy informed him,

"Tell him to pull the line himself."

And with those words, he left the place.

Ever since his old man died, he hadn't felt the need to spend time there. He gets his drinks in bulk and leave even before anyone would say hi or ask him anything.

Of course, they knew best not to.

He was headed to his car when he noticed someone was spying on him.

Acting like he never noticed a thing, he walked to the trunk of the car and pretended to open it.

He saw the person's shadow and from it he could tell the bastard was wearing a hoodie.

He came back to his car and was about opening it when he felt the person's presence behind him.

Sneaky bastard.

He thought to himself but didn't turn.

The next thing he felt was a cold metal against his neck.

The bastard was pointing a gun at him.

The bastard had guts to point a gun at him.

How delusional is he, to think he would succumb just because he'd a gun pointed to his neck?

Even without turning to see what make of gun it was, he could tell it was a pistol.

A fucking .45 Colt.

Poor bastard with a poor arm.

"Gimme all those dosh or else, your head would be rol---"

As quiet as it came, only the bastard's groans could be heard afterwards.

He'd shot him in his thigh and the bastard was holding it, his face a grotesque mask of pain.

" I have you your shot.

The next time you'll play such games with me, you might not survive it." He warned the man and walked to his car.

Before the bastard could say fuck, he was inside the car and the door was slammed shut.

He ignited the engine and drove off.

Getting home, he carried the carton inside.

Went to the kitchen and kept the carton on the counter, then went back to the poorly furnished living room and closed the door.

He went back to the kitchen, emptied the bottles inside it and stacked them in the refrigerator.

Then he left them to cool.

He came to the living room and turned on his old box of his TV.

He sat on one of the old couch there and pulled out his cigarette pack.

He pulled out one stick of the cigarette and stick in between in his lips.

He lit it up with a lighter, inhaled the nicotine and puffed out the smokes.

His mind wandered to the hit Boris had told him about.

Mr Rodriguez is dead.

He had expected that the bastard would die so quick.

Being a mafia lord and a drug syndicate ain't it all.

Once he was sent to protection the man cause a threat was made to his life and that was when he got to know the man is a son of prick, nothing better than his father.

Both father and son are foxes, sly, cunning and known for unpredictable nature.

The man had back stabbed his own friend, outsmarted him and took the biz the man had almost concluded with some clients from Italy to ship some stuffs to Asia.

He then knew the man ain't going to last longer than his father with the way he was going.

He knew sooner or later, his ass would be lying six feet under the earth and sure, he predicted right.

It ain't up to a year now and the bastard is dead.

But if the man is dead then why is Boris calling him up.

He ain't a cop neither is he a detective to know who'd brought the bastard down,

His job is to kill and not find the killer.

So why does Boris needs him?

Maybe he has to remind the bastard that he doesn't clean up people shit.

If he needs someone to clean up the shit, he knows the thread to pull.

He shouldn't go disturbing every living being cause of a hit that would obviously won't pay well.

After almost two hours, he'd almost finished the packet of Kent, he stood up from the couch and walked to the kitchen and got two bottles of the liquor and a glass.

Bringing them to the living room, he pulled out the old wooden coffee table and began helping himself to the drinks.

The next morning, he rolled up at the Base Ten very early.

Even Boris was surprised he was that early. He hardly shows up on a call early.

The only place he believes he has to be early on, is where he has a target to take down.

"Drove outta that boondocks of a town early." Boris joked, when Don came out of his truck, walking towards him.

Don didn't find his remarks funny, thus didn't smile one bit, not even a grimace.

Boris wasn't surprised one bit. Don hardly smiled.

Not in ten years had Boris seen Don smile.

The devil riding him seems to have a cracked up his jaw, he can't move it and if he ever is to smile, his face might get disfigured.

Don might be dangrously handsome, but no one seems to notice that fact...except the whores he'd fucked up.

Boris had hooked up one before and ask her how it was like, fucking Don and she'd replied with a smile,

"I couldn't even take him whole.

That man is a sexy devil with the bigger of the devil between his legs."

And he'd believed that.

The man is one huge lumberjack of a man. All six foot nine, broad and thick as a wall.

Obviously, the devil betwixt his legs would possess a fair share of his lumberjack and maculine structured body.

"What is the new hit?" Don asked the man straight away, ignoring the man's funny remarks.

Boris knew not to say anything than jump to business mode.

"Let go to my office." He told Don and the man followed him like a lurking shadow.

"Sit." He told Don when they got to his small but expensively furbished cubicle of an office.

"So tell me, what's the hit?" Don asked the man, taking away his black lensed glasses as he sat down on one of the leather seats positioned in front of the man hardwood table.

"Like I'd told you last night, Mr Rodriguez was found dead in his home office yesterday...."

"Knew the crackhead sonbitch prick was going to die sooner or later." He mouthed, looking away from Boris.

"You said?" Boris asked him,

"No nothing

So shoot, what's the hit?

I don't clean up shit, ya know."

"I know, but this time, it ain't shit cleaning. It's something way bigger and better than shit cleaning." Boris told him while Don waited for him to spill the bean.

"The Agency needs someone to protect the children of Mr Rodriguez and I told 'em rednecks about ya." Boris relayed to him, tapping his fingers on the table.

Don was less excited and more aggravated.

Like WTF!

"To protect the children of the man that can't spell his life right....." He sighed and now, focused his gaze on the man across him.

"See Boris, I don't protect people.

I kill, I eliminate, I assassinate and do everything in the goddamned dictionary book that has to do with getting rid of people whore unlucky to be my target.

Even the fucking flying insects and the crawling reptiles knows that and you're no different.

You know my fucking line of work, so why bunk my ass in another?" Don asked him angrily.

Boris sought for a way to make the man agree.

Don is the perfect asshole for this job even as much as he regrets it, there's no one who can take care of those kids and take them to wherever theyre taking them to, if not the man seated across him now.

He wouldn't even trust himself to do justice to the job.

"C'mon Don, it ain't no permanent job.

It's just a temporary stuff, about a few days and you're off duty.

The agency is taking them to a civilization scrubbed down far in the West, something they callit ehm...

I can't remember the name but it's a few days travel by land." Boris explained to him, trying to sound very convinced.

However, Don still wasn't taking the man's explanation to heart.

Why would Boris set him on a job like this one?

This ain't his line of business and he wasn't gonna talk it.

"C'mon Don, do it.

Rich kids maybe females and I've heard they got the better sex ever."

Don didn't find it funny one bit.

Maybe or maybe not he might get to fuck one of them but actually, this isn't his line of business and....

Boris interrupted his thoughts,

"It's nothing to think about Don, take it as a leave, an holiday if you see it as such.

I guess his kids won't be as much of a pain in the ass like their father.

A syndicate who couldn't protect his ass from getting killed....

Hmph!"

Don rolled his eyes,

"Okay." He told the man,

"You mean it?" Boris asked,

"Yeah. It's not like I have a goddamned choice." He groaned.

Boris brought out some papers,

"You've gotta sign this." He said, pushing the paper over to him.

"What are these?" Don asked, equally pissed.

"Santion papers. I know you very well, you might want to change your mind later on cause you're an asshole most times."

Don took the papers from Boris and read it thoroughly.

Thank God he's literate,

His old man had forced him to go to school, said he wasn't lucky enough to go, but he wants his son to get the privilege of going.

After reading the T's and C's of the contract and he was okay with it, he took the pen Boris had offered him and signed the contract, while Boris smiled inwardly.

He was gonna be getting paid handsomely for this.