Chapter 1

"Have you ever been having a good time, and then suddenly life kicks your jewels in and takes all your lunch money?"

It's cold on the rooftop tonight. Purple neon glows up from the city streets, criminal stats and bounties blinking on the closest Jumbotron. Ambulance sirens echo.

"Could've stopped you at 'having a good time'." Nick takes a drag from his cigarette.

Eurion adjusts the C14 Timberwolf pressing into his shoulder. "You remember the other ones?"

"Other what?"

"The sirens. Fire, Police."

Nick sniffs, wipes his nose on his sleeve. "Nah. They went out when I was twelve or something."

Fiddling with his new scope, Eurion looks through it, trying for a clear view into the apartment office six blocks down.

"He better show. I've got two weeks pay riding on this."

Smoke puffs out of Nick's mouth. "If she's there, he will. Sucker's whipped."

Nick’s short. Skinny. Never combs his mop of black hair. A twenty-six-year-old walking advertisement for anemia, he used to dream of making it in the underground music production industry. Used to play piano and guitar, too, before he broke two of his fingers; or before his instruments turned to ash in the fire that killed his parents, anyway.

The scope clears.

“She's there.” Eurion shifts his weight. “Brunette, blue dress. Innocent-looking.”

“No mistress is ever a saint.”

It's not a slow process, but Eurion finds himself itching to get it over with, looking forward to the moment he locks his sniper rifle up for the night and gets a good meal in his stomach. Of course, he needs money for that. Three nights of leftover baked beans is too much for anyone.

A suit walks into his sight.

“Target found.”

“Pinstripes?”

“And the green tie, yup.”

Nick blows a smoke ring. “Whenever you're ready then, junior.”

Eurion watches the man approach his lover. He rests his finger on the trigger, waiting for the woman to move forward. She holds up her hand, saying something.

“Calling it off,” Eurion says. “Definitely not his night.”

He tightens his finger.

It's too far away to hear the glass of the windows shattering, the woman screaming and ducking behind a desk. It's too far to hear the man’s blood spray against the wall.

It's not too far to feel the coolness of Eurion’s rifle.

There was no kick. No shot from him. No click of the trigger.

“Shit!” He slams his fist on the ledge of the roof.

Nick sits forward. “We gotta go. Whoever made that shot is closer to the body, there's no chance to claim it.”

Gritting his teeth, Eurion gathers his gear, unloading his timberwolf and slinging it across his back. He loads a Glock 17. Nick stands guard, pistol already loaded, and spits his cigarette stub to the ground.

“Let's go.”