Ryder R. Hood

Just as Little Red Riding Hood entered the wood, a wolf met her. Red Riding Hood did not know what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of him.

~Brothers Grimm

Ryder took a deep breath as she approached the run-down cabin on the edge of the woods. The dilapidated building looked close to collapsing in on itself. A majority of the windows were bashed in, leaving jagged glass outlines in the window frames, and the roof resembled more of an inverted half-circle than the erect triangle it should have been. The yard was strewn with rotting who-knew-what and soggy papers, and the tiny clumps of greenery struggling to survive gave off a sick yellow tinge. The trees from the nearby forest hung over the house ominously, as if their branches planned to snatch up the tiny structure and viciously devour it.

The place looked shady, no doubt about it.

But then again, Ryder’s world revolved in the shadows.

Her combat boots squelched in the mud as she made her way to the front door, which was, to no surprise, also warped and battered. Oddly, it was painted a dark crimson, which was peeling off in sections at a time. It didn’t have a ringer, door knocker, or even a knob, so she raised one gloved hand to knock. Before her knuckles could strike the wood, the door swung open. A young man lurked just within the shadows of what looked like an equally ruined household.

Ryder took a step back and observed her contact calmly. He was definitely taller than she’d imagined, his lean body towering over her small frame by such a degree that his dark, greasy hair nearly touched the top of the door frame. He was dressed for travel, with military boots, loose pants, a military field jacket, and a knapsack slung over one shoulder. His irises were a golden-green color, almost like that of a canine. He could have been attractive, if not for the harsh red scar that wound from beneath his right eye down to his jawline. Ryder raised an eyebrow. Must’ve been some fight.

The corners of his mouth quirked up as he stuck out a hand. His nails were long and sharp, curling towards his fingertips like claws.

“Ryder?” he inquired, his voice low and dark.

Ryder nodded and gripped his hand in a shake, then quickly shoved up his sleeve with her other. On his wrist was the tattoo of a crimson hooded cape, the symbol of Ryder’s organization. She relaxed, reassured of this man’s loyalties. The tattoo was extremely painful to receive, using the member’s own blood as the dye. Only those truly dedicated to the cause possessed one.

“Wolfe,” she said, pulling up her own sleeve to show him her identical tattoo.

He grinned, his sharp canines gleaming through the shadows.

“That’s me, ma’am. How may I assist you today?”

Ryder spun on her heel and began sliding back through the mud around the back of Wolfe’s cabin, towards the forest. A chill autumn breeze was in the air, and the sun was sending its last tendrils of red light over the horizon. They would have the cover of the night.

Ryder smirked when she heard Wolfe scrambling to follow her, knowing that she wasn’t one for patience. He seemed tough enough, but he also needed this job. The state of his house was enough evidence for that.

“You’re an assassin, aren’t you?” she asked, watching Wolfe finally fall into step beside her as they approached the forest line.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I need you to take someone out.”

***

Wolfe adjusted his bag straps as Ryder explained his mission. The fog of the forest was so dense that Ryder could only tell Wolfe was still there by the glow of his yellow eyes.

“The target is a woman who happens to be my grandmother,” Ryder began flatly.

Wolfe’s eyes snapped up, surprise flashing across his features. Obviously, he was new to the fact that family feuds led to the most violence in the crime world. Or perhaps in any world.

“The apple never falls too far from the tree,” Ryder said, waving his concern away. A large cardinal flapped past, exploding out of the mist, seemingly from nowhere. Wolfe glared at the scarlet bird as it flew away, as if accusing it for his unfortunate line of work.

“She’s been taking advantage of me for years. Scamming me for weapons and such, growing her own business. Soon she’ll become serious competition. I need her gone.”

“It will be done,” Wolfe said softly. He hesitated before asking, “Do you have any preferences on how?”

Ryder pondered this for a minute. Her grandmother was no weakling. She wouldn’t go down without a fight, but Ryder wanted her to feel every bit of the pain that she had caused her granddaughter. She wanted it to be personal.

“I want her to know it was me,” Ryder said slowly, thinking. “My grandmother...she will pretend to be frail and innocent. Do not believe her. She will do anything to survive, and if she does, well...”

Wolfe nodded in understanding. Ryder’s eyes swept the marred side of his face, most likely caused by someone who refused to go peacefully into death. But Wolfe was still around, so he had to have succeeded in the end.

The word was, in fact, that he always succeeded. And that’s why he was here.

“Weapon choice?” Wolfe asked, shifting his knapsack.

“Knife or gun, really. Whichever you prefer.”

Wolfe smoothly pulled a thin handgun out of his waistband, then handed it to Ryder with the barrel facing himself. A sign of trust.

“Glock 17 alright? They’re very reliable.”

“Perfect.”

Ryder returned the weapon, and the two lapsed into silence. The only sounds were the pair’s heavy breathing in the humid air, and the howl of the wind filtering through the trees.

Soon, the two could see a Victorian house emerge from the gloom. The intricate decorations hung out over the darkened windows like jagged teeth. The red bricks had faded over time to a dull copper, making the house’s exterior eerily resemble the shade of dried blood. Which was what Ryder hoped would soon exist within the home, as well.

Her heart leaped in anticipation and giddiness. It was finally happening. She would remove her horrid relative from the living, once and for all. Wolfe would take her out, and she’d be free.

This was one of the best days of her life.

Wolfe paused, staring at the house, analyzing it. His yellow eyes failed to blink as he scanned every detail of the house, searching for signs of life.

“Does she have guards?” he asked quietly.

“She has two guarding her bedroom door, one patrols the bottom floor. I’d suggest the windows,” Ryder said with dark glee. “That window there leads to her room.” She pointed.

“Thank you,” he said, tucking the Glock back into his waistband. Checking that his bag was on tight, Wolfe then turned to look at Ryder. His scar shone pink in the dim moonlight, and his dark hair swept over his pale forehead.

“I’ll need payment before I go in. It’s my policy.”

Ryder grimaced, not pleased with this change in terms. “A full payment? I thought that the deal was half and half.”

“No money, no job.”

He was a stubborn one. Ryder could see in his eyes that he wasn’t going to back down, so she weighed the circumstances. Wolfe was known to be one of the best assassins, even if he was new. From how he had taken this job so professionally, she felt that she could trust him to carry it out.

And she wanted her grandmother dead, so very badly.

“Fine,” she snarled, digging in her own bag viciously. Pressing the gold coins in his hand so that the edges dug into his palm, Ryder watched, seething, as Wolfe calmly tucked them into a small cloth bag.

He began to turn to go towards the house, but Ryder stopped him by grabbing his shoulder. Wolfe turned, his eyes cold.

Ryder shoved a finger into his chest, and hissed, “You’ll kill her. If you take my money and let her live, I’ll find you. I’ll rip you apart.”

Wolfe tilted his chin and met her glare cooly, his golden eyes glinting in amusement. They stared at one another for a beat, and Wolfe parted his lips.

“Anything else, ma’am?” he whispered, his canines gleaming as a small smile spread over his face. His tongue ran over his teeth, slowly, deliberately.

Ryder took a step back, disgust flowering in her stomach. They were all the same. How foolish she had been to throw her money away like that. There were never guarantees in her line of work.

“Let her know I sent you. Let those words be the last thing she hears,” Ryder spat, turning her back on the young man. She stared into the dark forest as she commanded him, “Now, go.”

The whine of the wind through the dead branches of the forest was all that met her ears as she waited for his acknowledgement. When Ryder turned her head to demand what the fool was waiting around for now, she saw that Wolfe’s lean figure was still hovering nearby, his eyes wide and unblinking. Motionless.

A shudder ran down Ryder’s spine, and she whirled around, stepping away.

“What are you doing? Get in there!” she ordered, trying to hide the terror the young man had suddenly struck into her heart. Why was he still here? Why did he look like that?

His gaze was fixed on her like a ravenous dog.

Wolfe slowly swung his knapsack off of his shoulder, in no hurry at all. He untied the top and reached inside, his unearthly gaze never leaving her. His hand lifted from the bag, something long and thin clutched in his clawed fingers.

Ryder’s eyes widened in horror as she realized what the object was.

Wolfe’s mouth split into a grin, but it was far more sinister this time. He cocked his head as Ryder began to stumble backwards. The young man followed at an even, relaxed pace, amused by her fear.

“Yes. Your grandmother told me that she preferred the knife.”

Ryder froze, panic slashing through her chest, her mind seeming to move like molasses. “My grandmother?” she spluttered furiously. “But...but I hired you!”

“Yes,” Wolfe purred, stroking the blade as he continued to creep forward. Soon he was close enough that his warm breath brushed Ryder’s collarbone. “But so did she.”

Ryder’s back hit the trunk of a thick tree with a jolt. Her breaths exploded from her mouth in ragged gasps. She was trapped.

“It’s funny how things work out sometimes,” Wolfe said, delicately pressing the knife’s edge against Ryder’s throat. “I’ll just kill you both, I suppose.”

Ryder swallowed painfully, mind whirring. Her hand crept to her own knife sheath at her hip. Maybe she could get Wolfe in the armpit, down him so she could run away...

But as she raised her own weapon, Wolfe bashed her wrist against the tree trunk, and her only hope of salvation dropped to the forest floor. And the sudden movement forced the blade at her throat to dig in, ever so slightly...

Ryder choked out a cry of pain as warm blood inched its way down her neck, the pain searing to her temples. Wolfe tilted his head, his golden eyes boring into her skull. With his free hand, he brushed his fingertips over her skin, over her blood.

Ryder’s eyes fluttered closed with panic and disgust when he licked the crimson from his hand, the red shining bright on his lips. All Ryder could see was red. His red tattoo, a mockery of loyalty she had trusted. His red lips, lapping up her lifeblood. The red Victorian house, where her enemy was probably watching her failure at this moment.

And lastly, Wolfe’s red-tinged scar that seemed to mock her in the pale moonlight. He may have managed to escape death once, but oh, she would not.

Ryder felt her throat constricting, her limbs weakening. This was it. All of her work, for nothing.

Wolfe smiled one last time, and tightened his grip on the handle of the knife.

“Who’s afraid of the big bad Wolfe?”