The Past Comes Back

I have no clue about where this is going to go. Maybe it will just be a one-off. Maybe it will turn into a series. If it does become a series, there are a few different ways it could go. One, it becomes a series about the main character continuing her life as a former assassin on the run. Maybe she falls back into the life and returns to her former career. Maybe I delve into the future lives of her victims that aren't killed. One intriguing thought is if she meets up with Melissa and Julia from

Invincible

for a few adventures. Like I said, lots of options. For now, I seem to have a burning desire (hopefully not something I picked up from one of my hookups that will cause me six weeks of antibiotics) to write about what happened to Maria and her two children. That will most likely end up in the non-consent category. You will understand that if you decide to continue reading.

Disclaimers:

All persons depicted in any sexual environment are over the age of 18.

Death and violence are a big theme in this story, but I have tried to keep the graphic details out.

There are a few scenes of BDSM.

There is no incest in this story. That may not be the case in future stories, but not this one.

Not a whole lot of graphic sex in this story.

The Past:

We were in his office making out on his couch. He had my top undone and was fondling my tits. Distraction. As I leaned in to plant a kiss on him, he didn't realize that my right hand had pulled away from his head, or if he did realize it, he probably thought that I was just relocating it to his dick. Naked tits are a great distraction. With my tongue halfway down his throat, I positioned my hand. I broke the kiss and pulled back to look him in the eye just as I shoved the shiv into the base of his skull. There was an instant look of shock before the lights went out in his eyes. With the contract fulfilled, it was time to make a mess. I had no idea who wanted him dead or why. It was none of my business. All that mattered was that he died. They also wanted a message sent. I had no idea what the message was supposed to be, or who the message was supposed to go to. Not my problem.

I pulled the two 9MM Sigs out of my briefcase, screwed on the silencers, and moved to the door to the reception area. I shook my head in wonder as they never even bothered to search me, my briefcase, or my handbag. Amateurs. Still, who expects a 23-year-old beautiful recent college graduate wearing a Vera Wang skirt-suit and Christian Louboutin heels of being a stone cold hitwoman?

So, I'm a23-year-old woman, as I just said. Yes, I recently graduated college. I'm 5'8" tall, shoulder length red hair (except I am currently wearing a blonde wig), Weigh 115 pounds, and have a nice set of B-cup breasts. I was currently wearing blue colored contacts to hide my green eyes and some VERY expensive facial prosthetics as well. I always wear them for a hit. Being identified by a random passer-by or a security camera somewhere is never a good idea. Obviously, I'm not going to describe what I really look like. I also added some extra padding around my waist and hips to make it look like I was heavier than I actually am. Also to disguise my body shape.

I opened the door and began shooting as soon as I stepped through the doorway. None of the four goons even managed to get their guns out before they died. Message sent. I left the receptionist alive. I figured her for just another girl that was working there and not part of the asshole's inner circle. I did tie her to her chair, though. After policing my brass and ensuring that I left nothing behind, I stowed my guns and the shiv back into my briefcase, picked up my purse and left the office. The elevators have security cameras, so I took the stairs down to the lobby and exited the building. I walked two blocks to the strip mall parking lot and got into my 'work' car. It was an older Honda. In my profession, you don't want to call attention to yourself by driving something that stands out. I drove to the hotel I was staying at. I needed to get out of this disguise, shower, and have a drink.

As the hot water was spraying down on me, I reflected back to how I got here. I've always been what is known as a sociopath. I have very little empathy and a very bad temper. You hurt me or someone that I actually care about, and I will make you pay dearly for that. I killed my first man when I was 16-years old. I had to wait for the bastard to be paroled from prison. He kidnapped and molested my best friend when we were 5-years-old. I saw him give her candy, then put her in his van and drive away. I ran home and told my daddy what happened, and he immediately called the police. With the information I was able to give them, I managed to remember three of the numbers on the license plate, they were able to find him within a few hours at his house. My friend was still alive, but she had to go through therapy for years after that and was never really the same.

In truth, Melissa was not a true sociopath. She had been diagnosed at an early age as having Asperger's Syndrome. This condition is a highly functioning form of autism. Typically, this condition leaves the people with it incapable of normal human interactions. They can form certain bonds with a select few people, but normal human interactions are beyond their understanding. This was the case with Melissa. Her lack of social skills led to only a couple of real friendships, but there was a lot of bullying from others as well when her true friends were not around to protect her. A deep rage began to form within her as each episode of bullying happened. Melissa knew better than to strike back at her bullies, though. One other aspect of her condition is the ability to focus on a problem. People with Asperger's Syndrome usually show higher than normal IQs. This is because of their ability to focus on their interests. It is thought that Albert Einstein had Asperger's Syndrome, and that was what made him the genius that he was. In Melissa's case, she knew that any retaliation that she undertook would come back to her and ruin the plans that she had to go to college and make a life for herself. Yes, high school sucked, but she still managed to graduate at the top of her class and get enough scholarships to get into the college of her choice with the degree that she wanted.

Benny Burns was the starting quarterback at James Monrow High School. Coincidentally, that was the same high school that Melissa attended and graduated from. Benny had received a good scholarship to play for a Big 12 college. Unfortunately, Benny was arrested a week before he was to report to the college with 20-pounds of fentanyl laced drugs in the trunk of his car. Three years earlier, he had testified that Mellissa had willingly stripped off her clothes and posed for several bondage photos for the team. Instead of going to college, Benny spent the next 10 years as a ward of the state.

Clarance Thomas, (no relation to the Supreme Court Justice)

It was a week after he had been released. I had been watching him and figured out his schedule. On the night that I acted, I dressed up in my skimpiest outfit and a pair of ridiculously high heels, snuck out of the house, and drove to the bar he liked to frequent. I waited for him to come out, then stood on the sidewalk pretending to be a hooker. It worked. Of course, he didn't recognize me after all those years. He made the offer, and I accepted. I followed him to his car in the parking lot. We got into the back seat. He took his dick out of his pants. My right hand was inside my purse. I grabbed his dick with my left hand and leaned forward, as if I were actually going to give him a blowjob. When he closed his eyes in anticipation, I struck. I pulled the knife out of my purse, pulled up on his dick, then severed it completely off at the base. As he opened his mouth to scream, I shoved the severed dick in his mouth, then held my hand over his mouth to silence his screaming. It only took a couple of minutes for him to blead out.

I got out of his car, got back into my car and drove over to a dark corner of the parking lot. I quickly changed clothes into a more modest outfit. I drove over to a park, gathered up the bloody clothes, and tossed them I to a trash barrel. I sprayed almost an entire bottle of lighter fluid on them and dropped a lit match into the barrel. I then drove home and went to bed. Surprisingly, I slept very well all night. No bad dreams or anything. His murder went unsolved, but given the scum he was, the police really didn't try that hard. By the time I turned 18 and graduated high school, I had killed three more people.

It was my freshman year of college that things changed. I had rushed a sorority and got in. One weekend during the Spring semester, a frat boy had drugged and raped one of my sorority sisters. I let him pick me up from a club and take me out to the lake. An ice pick to the base of his skull as he was distracted by my tits took care of the problem. A few large rocks tied to the body and dumped in the lake ensured that he wouldn't be found. I put on a pair of gloves and drove his car to a bad area of town. I left it there unlocked and with the keys in the ignition.

A week later, I was studying in the library when this dude sat down across the table from me.

"Damn. You're good. Ever think of doing it professionally?"

"Doing what professionally?" I asked.

"Killing people. If you know what you're doing and know how to get the information, there is a hell of a lot of money in it." He answered.

"What makes you think that I have the slightest interest in killing people?"

"Well, there is that frat boy from last week. By the way, they will never find him, and his car was already in a chop shop before you were even a mile away. That intrigued me, so I did some investigating. You were so cold when you killed him that I figured that he wasn't your first one. I looked into your background and discovered that there are four more dead bodies that had some sort of connection to you. Nothing directly that could even remotely tie you to their murders, but it is interesting that you had some random connection to them. It's more peripheral. They hurt someone that you know kind of thing. It could all be some coincidence, but I doubt it."

"SO, what do you want from me?" I asked.

"That's up to you, but if you're interested, I could show you how to get contracts and help train you up a bit more to keep from getting yourself killed or arrested. There's a hell of a lot of money out there for the right people."

"Aren't you afraid that I will be your competition and take contracts away from you?"

"Nah. There are so many contracts out there that there is plenty to go around. Besides, it's getting close to time for me to think about retiring. If you try to do this for too long, you wind up either dead or in prison."

So began my career as a hitwoman.

I finished my shower and turned on the news. The top story was the murders in the office. Sure enough, there was a security camera photo of me. I wasn't so much worried about that, since I looked completely different now. What was problematic is that there was also a security camera video of my car, complete with the license plate. Damn. I wasn't planning on dumping it until tomorrow. All it would take is one patrol car to a random drive through of the parking structure, and they would be on my trail. A quick phone call to a contact, and a half an hour later, the Honda was covered and on a flatbed on its way to a chop shop. This was too close.

This had been my 30

th

contract. I was graduating next week, so it would be a good time to disappear. There are really no good ways to 'retire' from this profession. You are either caught and sent to prison, killed by a rival or as revenge from one of your hits, or maybe killed by your mark's bodyguards. Trying to just walk away will get a contract out on you. You have too much information to simply be allowed to walk away free. You became a liability.

Mark (not his real name, obviously), the dude that got me into this line of work explained all that to me. I had fake IDs, and everything that I always used for my 'work'. I also always went in disguise, never showing what I actually looked like. I had about $10 million in hidden offshore banks, so I decided it was time to get out. I called up another acquaintance and booked my travel. The next morning, I checked out of the hotel. There were a couple of police officers in the lobby holding pictures and looking at all the guests as they walked through. I caught a taxi to the airport. He let me off at the domestic terminal. As soon as he was out of sight, I turned and walked over to the private terminal. There, I met my contact, and, using my fake ID, had him escort me to the private plane that I would be taking. The plane took me to another airport 200 miles away from my real destination. I rented a car with another fake ID and drove back to my apartment. I turned the car back in the next day and had a friend pick me up and drive me home. I was free.

15-years later:

I was wandering up and down the aisles of the grocery store, doing the weekly shopping. I got a really weird feeling that I hadn't had in over 5-years. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Someone was watching me. OK, let me clarify that. People are always watching me. When you look like I do, especially with the way I work out to keep in shape, you tend to get a lot of attention. Especially now that my titties have grown in size from having three children. This was different. This feeling was more that someone was actually studying me, as if I was under surveillance. It was a completely different feeling.

I stopped halfway down the next aisle and pretended to study the difference between two different cans of soup. A minute later, an older couple rounded the aisle and saw that I had stopped. They also stopped and began looking at the different brands of coffee beans. It didn't look natural. It looked like it was simply contrived to give them an excuse to stop and wait. I continued with my shopping, keeping a casual eye on them and looking for anyone else suspicious. I finished my shopping and paid for my purchases. They were in the checkout lane two over from me. I hadn't noticed anyone else that worried me. I pushed my cart out the door and down the parking lot. I kept my right hand in my purse with a firm grip on my 9mm. I had just started to load my groceries into the trunk of my '70 Chevelle SS 454, when a voice stopped me.

"O'Malley's. 15-minutes." The hoarse whisper said.

"I have ice-cream and perishables that I need to put away first." I responded.

"Let it melt. DO NOT show them where you live."

I finished loading the groceries into the trunk, pushed the cart out of the way, got in, and fired the beast up. When I pulled out of the parking lot, I noticed them in a Toyota econobox three cars behind me. It was the perfect surveillance car, because it looked just like the thousands of other econoboxes out there. It would be easy to lose them.

I pulled out onto the road with a roar and screaming tires. The freeway onramp was half a block away. I fishtailed onto the onramp when I powershifted into second gear. I hit third gear halfway up the o ramp. I was doing over a hundred miles an hour before I shifted into fourth gear. I was doing 140 when I hit the exit 5-miles down the road. They were nowhere in sight. A few random turns later, and I parked behind the bar out of sight from the road. I walked in through the back and located him sitting in a secluded booth at the back corner of the bar.

'Mark' was obviously older, but he looked even older than he should have. He faked his death in order to get out, and he had been in hiding ever since. I slid into the booth across from him.

"OK. Why are you here, who are they, and how the fuck did anyone even find me?" I asked.

"You have a contract out on you. In fact, the contract is out on your entire family. I don't know how they found you, but I found out that they had accepted the contract, so I followed them. You've changed a bit, but I recognized you immediately. Remember that I already knew what you really looked like from our first meeting."

"Who put the contract out and why?"

"It was the receptionist from your last job. It turns out that she is his sister. She didn't have anything to do with his business at the time, but she took over after you killed him. This is vengeance, pure and simple. She already had the guy that put out the original contract on him killed. Now, she is coming after you."

"Fuck. Doesn't she understand that it was purely business and nothing personal?"

"Apparently, it is personal to her."

"How the fuck did she even find me? I covered my tracks pretty well. It's been 15 years, and suddenly this pops up? WTF Homer?"

"I have no idea how they managed to track you but track you they did. Thankfully, they just got here and don't know where you live yet. They were probably hoping to follow you home to get more information on you and your family."

"OK. That's at least helpful. I have a plan in place in case something like this ever comes up. I need to make a phone call now."

He answered on the second ring. "Hey Babe." He said as he answered the phone call.

"Safety Blitz." Was my only response.

"FUCK!" I heard before the line went dead.

I handed my phone to 'Mark' and told him to attach it to the frame of a West bound Semi. I saw the familiar Toyota drive by slowly. I left through the back door and ran my black box over my car. I handed Mark the GPS tracker and had him attach it to the same semi as my phone, I tossed all the perishable groceries from my trunk into the dumpster behind the bar. I watched as they slowly began driving through the parking lot, searching for my car. I waited until they were at the far end before I fired up the beast and pulled out of the parking lot. I needed to let them follow me, but not too close. I also needed to kill some time. I knew that by now, my husband had picked up the kids from school and was on the way to the remote cabin that we owned through a vague subchapter S corporation that conveniently lacked our names on any of the documentation. It was a 20-hour drive away and high up in the mountains, but he also had my best friend with him to share the driving. Yeah, the relationship was complicated. They used credit cards for the corporation, so they couldn't be tracked financially. Whenever they needed to get out of the vehicle, they always wore COVID face masks and dark glasses to disguise their faces. Security cameras at gas stations would be useless. Paranoid much? Probably, but just because you are paranoid doesn't mean that they really aren't out to get you.

I needed to deal with the two assassins on my tail before heading out to meet my husband and kids. From the quick glances that I got at the grocery store, they looked to be an average couple in their late 40's. I knew that those looks could be deceiving. After all, I had worn similar disguises myself. Besides that, I only got a couple of quick glances at them.

Having had an extremely lucrative career as a hitman, I had built up enough money in foreign bank accounts to do pretty much whatever I wanted. One thing that I wanted was a nice investment income that wouldn't be looked at too hard by the authorities. When I 'retired' from my previous career, I purchased several warehouses across the state. One of those warehouses, I used for my personal uses. Of course, that was all done through various LLCs and Sub-chapter S corporations.

I made sure that they were far enough back that they weren't right on my tail and gave me time to get ready for them, but close enough to see me pull into the raised door, then watch it close after I pulled the Chevelle inside. Yes, I wanted them to know where I was. It was time to stop running and start retaliation. I was careful to make it look like I didn't know that I was being followed.