Assassin's Heart - Ch1

(Quick Note: It's been a long time, but I'm finally here to share something I'm attempting to write. Don't expect greatness, but also this story is kinda my pride and joy, so it would be great if you could read it! I would love some suggestions and feedback because I want to make it better. Also, if you haven't already, read the short Lovely Assassin Letters I have published because those lead up to this book! Now, thank you for your time, please enjoy!

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     "Eighteen-year-old Amanda Daelyn Charlotte—daughter of actor Ricky Charlotte—mysteriously vanished last Friday night, leaving her wealthy parents and life behind. Reports say that her bedroom in the Charlotte mansion was completely destroyed and missing a few items, but as of this morning there is no confirmation that a kidnapping took place...”

     Amanda heaved a sigh and yanked out her earbuds by the cord. The news stations announced her disappearance, but never acknowledged when Blake left last year, she thought with a frown. She adjusted the heavy backpack on her shoulder. Then again, her dad was a famous actor, and Blake’s dad was a police officer who disowned him.

     She walked out of the airport in London and felt an immediate adrenaline rush. She actually made it! From that moment on, she was on her own, free as a bird, and determined as one could be. But Amanda wasn’t here to see the sights—she was here to avenge Blake Thornton’s death. A girl on a mission to get revenge on the people that killed her best friend, and the boy she was in love with.

     Suddenly she was yanked back into the present as she ran face-first into somebody’s shoulder. “Oh—sorry!” she exclaimed to the tall man she had accidentally crashed into. He just gave her a sour look and hurried away.

     When he was out of earshot, she stuck out her bottom lip and huffed, “Rude.” But instead of dwelling on it any longer, she swiped a strand of blonde curly hair that was loose from her ponytail out of her face, and pressed forward.

     Amanda made her way slowly across town, taking buses and cabs and sometimes walking for a few blocks. Blake had taken a huge risk leaking his address to her, but now she was insanely grateful that he had. Otherwise, she would’ve had no idea where to look for his apartment.

     To her knowledge, these apartments were always completely rented out by assassins. Now that was a bone-chilling thought; walking into a building full of trained killers who could end your life before you had the chance to even scream.

     She could see why Blake had been hesitant to tell her about his work.

     But Amanda didn’t feel as scared as she suspected she would be when she found herself at the front of a tall stone building. In fact, she felt a sense of comfort. Blake had been there roughly three and a half weeks ago. It was a bittersweet thought.

     She scanned the building. Was she going to get attacked and killed if she went through the front door? Were there alarm systems or booby traps? She shook her head and felt her nervous jitters increase. She didn’t want to find out.

     Thinking, she looked around. It was a fairly dull, dark street despite all the people hurrying past in brightly colored clothing. It made sense for such a tucked away, dingy place to be the location of an assassin apartment. Amanda suddenly felt as if she stuck out like a sore thumb—wearing high heeled black boots and a leather trench coat while everyone else wore jackets, jeans, and sneakers. There wasn’t much variety or individuality on this particular street, and it made the fashionable side of her cringe.

     Something in the dark alley behind her caught her eye. It was a side door for the apartment building, with boxes and trash cans almost completely shielding it from view. Amanda remembered all those lectures from her mother—“Never go into dark alleyways, hon’. That’s simply common sense, my love! But especially never go alone—horrible things happen to women who dilly-dally in the darker parts of the city . . .”

     She ignored her instincts and better judgment, forcing herself into the alley. Sorry, Mom.

     Mice scampered out from behind some of the old soggy boxes stacked up, and a scrawny black cat that had been hiding further down the space between the two stone buildings snatched the rodent with its claws. She tried not to think about what those two animals could represent in her situation.

     She almost cried out in frustration when she tried the handle and it was locked. It made sense that she couldn't just stroll right into an apartment full of killers, but that didn't make her any less bitter. She backed up until she was almost touching the wall of another building, and scanning the apartment for another way.

     Her heart sank as she saw the indent in the wall where two large commercial dumpsters sat filled to the brim with mostly trash from fast food. Please be wrong, she thought as she walked over to them. Once she was next to the garbage bins, she looked up and groaned. Just above the piles of trash was a relatively wide garbage chute. You have got to be kidding me.

     With a sigh, she hoisted herself up into the dumpster and immediately gagged and covered her nose. She didn’t want to know what the squishy thing she’d just stepped in was, and she tried not to get too upset over the destruction of a good pair of shoes. Amanda looked up again, put her hands into the chute, and launched herself up.

     She nearly yelped as adrenaline pumped through her veins and she slammed her feet and back against the metal sides of the chute to keep herself in. Her hands shook as she kept them flat on the walls on either side of her, and with a pathetic glance upwards, she began to shimmy upwards in the most dignified manner possible.

     Her breathing seemed ten times as loud as normal, and she could definitely hear her heart pounding in her chest. Time seemed to go by so slowly that it could’ve been going backwards. Had it been thirty seconds? Thirty minutes? There was no way of telling from inside the darkness that smelled like absolute crap. She nearly threw up about five times as her hand would brush something that definitely wasn’t metal. It was uncomfortable and painful slowly going up the chute, and she was just starting to feel claustrophobic and panicked when she reached the top. Immediately she pushed open the hatch and threw herself onto the cold wooden floorboards.

     Amanda instantly hopped to her feet and looked around wildly, brushing herself off. She found herself in a…strangely typical looking apartment hallway with doors on both sides and an elevator right next to her at the end. No weapons lying around. No dead bodies on the floor. No assassins waiting to tie her up and stab her. Just some house plants and cheap chandeliers. Once she was sure she was alone, she let out a quiet yet strangled breath. Amazing. She hadn’t died yet.

     For a moment she was unsure of where to go next, but then she closed her eyes as a memory of one of the many conversations she’d had with Blake resurfaced. Thirteen, she thought, breathing in slowly to calm her racing heart. Blake stayed in room thirteen because that was his favorite number.

     Looking at the room numbers she was surrounded with, she realized she needed to go down one floor. She scurried over to the elevator and pressed the down button, which glowed yellow as soon as she lifted her finger.

     The air was still and cold, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she waited for the elevator. Everything inside of her screamed, GO BACK! But she just told her brain to stop being an idiot, and walked into the empty elevator as the doors screeeeeched open.

      The doors closed and her stomach dropped a little as the elevator went down. The only way Amanda kept from shaking wildly was by holding onto the metal bar for dear life. Fly Me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra played on a speaker overhead, and a small part of her wanted to smash that speaker to bits. But the other part was amused by the calm song in this kind of place.

     She pressed herself to the wall of the elevator as the doors opened again, and then cautiously peaked out. With furrowed brows, she walked into the empty hallway and began looking at the door numbers. She winced every time the wooden floorboards creaked, and wanted to have a serious conversation with these assassins about the ominous dim lighting.

     The whole apartment was dead silent besides her breathing and seemed to be completely deserted, but Amanda knew better—and that didn’t help her nerves or the adrenaline she was running on at this point. She squinted trying to look for Blake’s room—room 6, 7, 8…

     What was she hoping to find, though? Possibly some sort of clue about whether the serial killer or his organization had killed him. Maybe a trinket she could remember him by. Honestly, she wasn’t sure. But she would know when she saw it.

     And she wouldn’t leave until she found something.

     Finally, she saw the room she was searching for a few feet ahead of her. A million thoughts whirled inside her head and she shoved her trembling hands into the pockets of her trench coat. This was it. Whatever happened, she was one step closer to avenging Blake.

     She stopped in front of the apartment room with a silver 13 on the front, and hesitated only a moment to steel her nerves before timidly placing her hand onto the knob.