(no subject)
Author: veiledndarkness
Title: The Hit
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The mission is given, the task is set. The moment before the fight.
Warnings: Usual disclaimer. Not mine, I can't afford them anyway. This is from a different perspective. Thought I'd give it a try.
x-posted
*
Edward studied the gaudy paintings that lined the walls of Victor Sweet’s home. His upper lip curled slightly. ‘Flashy and gaudy,’ he smirked to himself.
He patted his jacket pocket once to assure his nerves. The nervousness never fully went away, no matter how long he’d been ‘taking care’ of things for Sweet. In the moments before each kill, Edward would look back and reflect on his choice.
He never doubted that if he didn’t do this, somebody else would be right behind him, waiting to take over.
“Kill or be killed,” he softly mocked Sweet’s motto. As if it was all that simple. He cleared his throat impatiently, eager to leave the tacky house and get away from the endless ‘yes men’ who waited in ever corner.
After a seemingly endless wait, one of Sweet’s men came closer to Edward and nodded slightly. Edward tipped his head in acknowledgement. He pushed past the other man, fingering the outline of his pocket reflexively.
He waited again in silence until Victor pushed the far too young looking prostitute back from his lap, using her skimpy top to wipe himself off. Edward held back the urge to spit, his disgust and irritation at Victor’s actions rising quickly.
He despised the inhuman way that Victor treated the people around him, like he constantly had something to prove. ‘Or like a cranky four year old having a tantrum,’ he thought sourly.
Victor stared up at him, a lazy grin on his face. “What’ve you got for me?” he drawled.
Edward dug out his camera and tossed it to Victor, who caught it with one hand. He scanned through the photos, laughing occasionally.
“Oh look, big bad Bobby Mercer came back for his Mama. How sweet,” he crooned nastily.
Edward fought the urge to roll his eyes. Victor went quiet as he flipped through the most recent photos. He tapped the camera thoughtfully and sighed softly.
“That one there. Which one is he?” he asked suddenly.
Edward leaned forward and caught a glimpse of the photo. He blinked once before answering. “That’s the youngest, Jack’s his name,” he said a moment later.
Victor looked at the photo some more before snorting loudly. “The Mama and the Baby, how fitting,” he said, chuckling dryly.
Edward felt a sudden chill on his neck. Victor prattled on unaware of the dark look that passed Edward’s face.
“Shame though, he looks like he’d be fun to break. Such a pretty boy,” he mused as he tossed the camera back to Edward. Victor smiled, his face a horrible parody of happiness.
“Take him down. Send a message to Bobby Mercer to back off. Who knows? Maybe he’ll listen this time,” Victor sneered, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.
Edward shivered slightly. He saw an image of Bobby looming over him, his gun shoved in his face, a look of rage, of a fury that went bone deep and the tears that streaked down his cheeks. He nodded abruptly, resisting the urge to cross himself just then.
“You got it,” he muttered.
Victor sat forward then, his hands crossed, his face firm.
“Don’t fuck it up,” he advised quietly. Edward heard the warning behind his words.
Edward nodded jerkily before leaving the room, his fingers shaking. He looked around the house once more before he let the door slam behind him.
*
Title: The Hit
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The mission is given, the task is set. The moment before the fight.
Warnings: Usual disclaimer. Not mine, I can't afford them anyway. This is from a different perspective. Thought I'd give it a try.
x-posted
*
Edward studied the gaudy paintings that lined the walls of Victor Sweet’s home. His upper lip curled slightly. ‘Flashy and gaudy,’ he smirked to himself.
He patted his jacket pocket once to assure his nerves. The nervousness never fully went away, no matter how long he’d been ‘taking care’ of things for Sweet. In the moments before each kill, Edward would look back and reflect on his choice.
He never doubted that if he didn’t do this, somebody else would be right behind him, waiting to take over.
“Kill or be killed,” he softly mocked Sweet’s motto. As if it was all that simple. He cleared his throat impatiently, eager to leave the tacky house and get away from the endless ‘yes men’ who waited in ever corner.
After a seemingly endless wait, one of Sweet’s men came closer to Edward and nodded slightly. Edward tipped his head in acknowledgement. He pushed past the other man, fingering the outline of his pocket reflexively.
He waited again in silence until Victor pushed the far too young looking prostitute back from his lap, using her skimpy top to wipe himself off. Edward held back the urge to spit, his disgust and irritation at Victor’s actions rising quickly.
He despised the inhuman way that Victor treated the people around him, like he constantly had something to prove. ‘Or like a cranky four year old having a tantrum,’ he thought sourly.
Victor stared up at him, a lazy grin on his face. “What’ve you got for me?” he drawled.
Edward dug out his camera and tossed it to Victor, who caught it with one hand. He scanned through the photos, laughing occasionally.
“Oh look, big bad Bobby Mercer came back for his Mama. How sweet,” he crooned nastily.
Edward fought the urge to roll his eyes. Victor went quiet as he flipped through the most recent photos. He tapped the camera thoughtfully and sighed softly.
“That one there. Which one is he?” he asked suddenly.
Edward leaned forward and caught a glimpse of the photo. He blinked once before answering. “That’s the youngest, Jack’s his name,” he said a moment later.
Victor looked at the photo some more before snorting loudly. “The Mama and the Baby, how fitting,” he said, chuckling dryly.
Edward felt a sudden chill on his neck. Victor prattled on unaware of the dark look that passed Edward’s face.
“Shame though, he looks like he’d be fun to break. Such a pretty boy,” he mused as he tossed the camera back to Edward. Victor smiled, his face a horrible parody of happiness.
“Take him down. Send a message to Bobby Mercer to back off. Who knows? Maybe he’ll listen this time,” Victor sneered, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.
Edward shivered slightly. He saw an image of Bobby looming over him, his gun shoved in his face, a look of rage, of a fury that went bone deep and the tears that streaked down his cheeks. He nodded abruptly, resisting the urge to cross himself just then.
“You got it,” he muttered.
Victor sat forward then, his hands crossed, his face firm.
“Don’t fuck it up,” he advised quietly. Edward heard the warning behind his words.
Edward nodded jerkily before leaving the room, his fingers shaking. He looked around the house once more before he let the door slam behind him.
*