We arrived home at exactly 6 p.m.
Strangely enough, our sister Jhea didn't seem bothered. She was in her mid-teens, with long, curly red hair that spilled down her back. Barely four feet tall, but full of quiet observation, like someone who had seen more than her age allowed.
She opened the door and let us in without a word—not even asking where we had been. She knew well enough. We were assassins. We'd gone out for a kill that morning and were just now returning. Normally, our jobs didn't take more than six hours.
Today took ten.
She gave us a quick scan, her eyes landing on our bruises and dried blood.
"What the hell happened?" she asked—not out of concern, but courtesy.
I dragged myself to the sofa and collapsed. Our home was modest, smaller than most assassins' lairs, but I liked it that way. Low profile. That was my call. Drek wanted something grander, but I didn't want suspicious eyes on us.
"Just get me a cup of iced tea," I muttered.
Drek nodded, flopping onto the couch beside me.
Jhea rolled her eyes but headed for the kitchen.
As I sat, my tired gaze drifted—and froze.
There it was. The goddamn safe. It sat on the center table, gleaming like a shadowy relic, black metal reflecting the ceiling light in a disturbing way.
So Mokel wasn't a complete idiot after all.
I'd suspected it—the way he gave up the password too easily, the strange emptiness of the building. Now I was sure. The alarm had been set… silently. And it hadn't rung inside the building—it rang in the police station. That's why they came so fast. Mokel may have been desperate, but he wasn't dumb. And Drek? He'd acted before I could finish thinking.
I didn't even want to look at the safe. But we had to deal with what came next.
"How do we split the money?" I asked calmly.
Drek said nothing.
I leaned forward, grabbed the safe with a sharp snap, and dropped it on my lap.
"The fuck are you doing?" Drek shot up, reaching out. I smacked his hands away.
"You didn't answer," I said with a mocking smirk. "So I assumed I take everything."
"You asshole! Give me the damn money!" he shouted, eyes flaring.
I started counting. My fingers slid over the crisp, neatly wrapped bundles—twenty wraps, forty thousand in each. That was eight hundred grand. We were only paid six hundred thousand. The rest? Drek had clearly helped himself.
Click.
I turned slowly. Drek was pointing his aluminum pistol straight at my face. I stared down the barrel, unfazed.
He would really kill me over this.
"You're gonna shoot me over cash?" I asked, scoffing.
"I wouldn't mind," he said coldly. "And it's not just 'cash'. It's eight hundred thousand dollars. You know our pay was six hundred. This is more. Now hand it over before I blow your head off."
I glanced around. I could take him. The safe was bulletproof—easy to use as a shield. One move, and I'd have his gun. But I waited.
"Uhm…"
We both turned. Jhea stood halfway into the room, holding two cups of iced tea. Her eyes were wide, locked on the gun, and the open safe filled with money.
"What's going on?" she asked, voice unsteady.
I smiled at her. "Nothing, Jhea. Just a greedy brat causing trouble." Jhea stared at the fazed at the amount and the fact that her brothers were about to kill themselves was really scary in someway.
Drek snarled and gripped his gun tighter.
"The money, Scar!" he roared.
In a flash, I knocked his gun aside and pinned him down. My right foot crushed his wrist, the other knee locked down his left arm. I pulled my penknife and pressed it against his neck.
I was stronger—he knew it.
"Brother!" Jhea cried as the cups crashed from her hands, shattering.
"Relax, Jhea. I'm just settling a debt," I snapped, not taking my eyes off Drek. He grumbled under his breath.
"What?" I asked.
"Okay. Seventy-thirty." He said with pure greed.
I pressed the knife harder.
"Sixty-forty!"
Tighter.
"…Fifty-fifty!" I shouted finally. I waited. He hesitated.
"You speak, you son of a bitch!"
"Fine! But I'm not contributing to any family expenses!" he growled.
"Asshole." I muttered, throwing him off and letting him scramble back.
I returned to the safe. I counted eleven wraps and slid the remaining nine toward him.
Since he wouldn't support the house, I took an extra one and turned to Jhea. She'd been silent the whole time.
"Here," I said, handing her two wraps—eighty grand total. "Don't go crazy. This should last three months."
Her eyes widened. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. Just be smart with it."
She beamed and nodded gratefully. I liked her—she appreciated things. Unlike Drek, who—
"WHAT!?" Drek screamed. "Where the hell's my last forty thousand, Scar?!"
I ignored him.
"You crook!"
"It's fifty-fifty," I said flatly. "Three-sixty each. Jhea gets eighty."
"You're a damn thief." he muttered, storming off toward his room. I let him get a few steps before stopping him.
"Wait...We need to see Rasto."
He paused.
"Why?"
"He set us up," I said. "Mokel knew we were coming. The safe was bait."
That was all I had the energy to say. Drek's love for money was the bait that Mokel had gripped onto. He knew Drek too well and with that he can slipped the motion intentionally.
"What are you talking about?"
"The security didn't match Mokel's profile. He gave up too easy. Someone told him we were coming. And that someone is Rasto."
"Why would he do that?"
"I don't know yet," I replied. "That's what we're going to find out. Tonight."
"He's not easy to find," Drek said, his voice quieter.
I turned to face him. Shock, anger and disbelief etched on my face.
"What do you mean you don't know where he hangs out? You didn't do recon?"
"Royce Hotel," he muttered. "He goes there every Tuesday." I blinked, feeling a bit relieved.
"What's today?"
He shrugged. "Tuesday."
Lucky us.
"Freshen up," I said, walking to my room. "We're meeting him tonight."