Ruthless.

I want to start writing a novel, something that will actually go somewhere. I need as much criticism as I can get. Thank you (:

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The wind danced through her hair, tousling at her long brown locks before settling itself around her like a blanket. A feel of hostility lingered through her blood as she rose from her position, bare feet pressing against the cool morning grass. Time was running out, slipping through her fingers before she even had a chance to process her thoughts. The cool metal of a .45 caliber gun was the only thing keeping her sane at this time, calming her nerves.

She laid her body back in the tall grass, eyelids pressed together tightly. As the tip of the gun pressed to her temple, she inhaled slowly, refusing to let her breath out. So this is how it feels. She thought silently to herself. The moment of suspense as the loaded gun was ready to strike at any minute made her heart race, pulse quickening before she straightened her back, lowering the gun.

The right to pull the trigger was her only desire, but she was too weak—too naïve to compensate her emotions for the honor, to be the best. It was all too surreal for her fathom, the power she held in her hands. Every moment, every last breath had motivated her to this moment, but she couldn’t do it—she wasn’t ready.

Faster than the speed of light, a bullet just missed her head; her senses were rejuvenated as she sprung to her feet, eyes infuriated. “Take no prisoners, huh Ren?” His arrogant, cocky voice spoke. Something broke through her, causing her hand to involuntarily reach for the gun. It took a mere second before the pistol was pressed against his chest, her jaw taunting the boy.

“You wouldn’t.” He stated simply, smirk forming on his plush lips.

“You don’t know that, you don’t know what I would do…” She paused, finger wrapping tightly around the trigger. “What I wouldn’t.”

“I think I do.” The smirk was pulling at his face, causing tension to stir between the two. An annoyed Ren was quickly growing infuriating with each passing moment. “After all, I know you better than you know yourself.” His words were artificial, practiced—something out of a movie, not reality.

Ren pulled the gun from his flesh, eyes boring holes through his. That same stupid smirk was present, no sign of retraction on his part. He was a character, that was obvious. He acted like a typical teenage jerk, all to keep an image, and it worked to his advantages... sometimes.

“Dad’s surely going to be impressed.” The sarcasm was thick in his voice, playing on his face.

“Mace, you’re an ass.” The brunette said harshly, throwing the silver pistol to the ground before pushing past him in haste. He used her anger as energy to feed off, it was sick and deranged—the two words to describe Mace in perfection.

“At least I’m not a baby.” He mocked her tone, voice very childish as he provoked his younger sister into agony. He picked the pistol up off the ground, fingers smoothing over the metal. “Watch.” He began, gripping the pistol in his hand aiming far off into the distant until a loud noise ripped through the air, the bullet landing directly into the bark of a distant tree.

“What is so hard about that? Really, Ren—tell me, because I just don’t get it.”

Something lingered in his voice, disappointment, perhaps? That was all Ren ever was. Born into a family of cold-hearted, ruthless assassins she was the outcast, something no one could even process. Both teenagers were raised in an unconventional environment, not the ideal situation for any child. In a sense, they were born backwards. Everything that ethics sad was wrong, they learned to be right. They never opened a textbook a day in their lives but knowledge seemed to flood through them, absorbing everything like a sponge.

It seems cliché, an entire family of villains trained to do nothing more than kill—ruined by their child who is unwilling to accommodate to a life of evil. But it wasn’t really like that, not really. Ren wanted nothing more than to kill, the idea of it all gave her a rush, but the moment the gun was placed in her hand… everything changed. The pistol calmed her, gave her power—but that was as for as it went, she just couldn’t pull the trigger. Evil, the word didn’t quite come to standard with what they were really doing. After all, they weren’t really villains exuding acts of violence left and right for their own sheer enjoyment, they were appointed to this position; hand chosen do to their unremarkable determination.

Evil is what they are stopping, modern everyday criminals that commit felonies and continue their lives as if they were normal, whatever that is. Underlying the FBI, is the governments own team of assassins, the ones who eliminate the bad guys. Any records of these select families are burned the moment they are chosen, as far as anyone is concerned—they don’t exist.

It was that detail that seemed to bother Ren the most, she didn’t exist—she was worth absolutely nothing to the population of the world. She would never fit a statistic, a stereotype…things that some people loathe, but Ren craved it, she wanted a life—a real one. But this was all she had, and she needed to make it work.

As easily as they’re erased from the population, they can just as easily be physically eliminated. The government has no use for slacking assassins, so with the same gun they are given—they’re killed with.

Ren was running out of time, time she couldn’t afford.