Personal Protection
My name is Milo Ribaldi, sometimes I really love my job. Today for instance, I peer through my Nightforce optic at a spandex clad beauty with long flowing dark hair. The optic is sitting on a .300 Blackout rifle, with a 16 inch barrel. A lot of gun nuts shit on the .300 blackout but, when you need to be quiet, nothing can beat it. Usually, when my sights align on a subject, they are destined for a very short life. I have been a contract killer for a decade, killing for the Italian Mafia near Buffalo New York. I specialize in longer shots that leave little or no evidence. Today, however, was different. My boss, Carlo (the Hammer) Salvatore, had an unusual job for me. Instead of putting a bullet through a stool Pigeon, I would be used to protect his daughter Tanya. A rival in the Russian Mob had put a hit out on Carlo and his immediate family. We had gotten word that a contract had been given to a Russian hitter named Alexander. He was very good at his job, and I deemed the threat to be quite credible.
Through the scope Tanya Salvatore walked her Malamut Baxter through Delaware Park. It was a beautiful day and the sun sparkled on the park lake. Black spandex pants held her athletic rounded ass and her perky breasts were barely contained in the tight black top. Her toned stomach was completely exposed, exposing a piercing through her belly button. Her hair was black and flowing and gleamed in the sun. I could feel my cock stiffen looking at her, and that does not happen often in my job.
I scanned the park within range of Tanya. In the immediate area I scanned about a dozen people, none looked particularly dangerous. Camouflage covered my body and I was hidden in a small patch of woods on the West end of the park. For two hours, I waited, familiar with Tanya's predictable routine of walking her dog in the morning. My rifle was loaded with 190 grain lehigh defense expanding subsonic rounds. The round was very effective and acted more like a broadhead than a normal hollow point bullet. 300 yards was well within range with this setup. On the front of the rifle a Rugged Razor suppressor would silence the report down to a pop. I loaded the rounds myself at my reloading bench in my small house. I have never, and will never, trust factory ammunition.
A man walked his dog, a Yellow Labrador, in Tanya's direction. He looked vaguely familiar, and the alarm bells began to ring in my head. The man had a beard and was wearing a hat and it was very difficult to tell if it was Alexander the Russian. He was smiling as he approached Tanya, and nothing appeared threatening. The only thing that gave him away was that he walked with a bit more purpose than most civilians.
I checked the turrets on my rifle, adjusting a few clicks in elevation for the 250-yard range. Suddenly, Alexander whipped out a vicious looking combat knife, dropped his dog's leash and charged directly at Tanya. I lined up the crosshairs, squeezed the trigger, and heard the pop of the suppressed rifle. The round struck Alexander in the left hip cutting through flesh and bone. He went down hard. I grabbed my rifle and took off towards Tanya. Sprinting with everything I had the distance was covered in 15 seconds.
As I approached, Tanya recognized me, and I told her, "Tanya, get back!"
Alexander had pulled out a small Makarov pistol and was taking aim at Tanya. I aimed my rifle and took another shot. This time, the bullet hit true. A small hole appeared in Alexander's cheek; the round expanded as designed blowing Alexander's brains out of the back of his head. Blood stained the grass for a yard behind the fresh corpse.
I put my arms around Tanya and told her, "it's alright, we have to get out of here right now."
She held me tight and stammered, "Milo, you saved my fuckin life."
I coaxed her into moving and we ran from the park. Tanya was very athletic and had little trouble keeping up with me. We quickly arrived at my black Chevy Traverse that I had parked a couple blocks away. I let her Malamut Baxter into the back seat, opened the driver's door and gunned the engine. Tanya threw herself into the passenger seat. The Traverse accelerated; I wanted to create as much distance as possible from the scene.
