Free Bad Blood by Amity Cross

realized he wasn’t alone.
    Madden turned, a wild look of surprise in his eyes, fumbling for his sidearm and I struck. The butt of my gun collided with his temple before he could unholster and he crumpled to the floor in a heap. I seriously began to wonder if this guy was field rated or just a glorified desk jockey. My guess was the latter, but it didn’t really matter now, did it?
    Retrieving the pack from the balcony, I got to work. Vaughn’s instructions were clear. Hang the bastard up by the legs, bleed him, play with him, and make him beg. 'Take plenty of fun snapshots’ had been the exact wording.
    The tools I’d brought were simple. A frame to hang the body from, restraints and ropes to secure him, duct tape to stifle his screams, a gun for back up and a knife to open his flesh.
    I rigged the frame in record time and wrapped the restraints around Madden’s legs. Hooking the rope into the mechanism, I hauled with all my strength, raising his comatose body from the floor. When he was hanging, his fingertips barely brushing the carpet, I secured the rope and let him swing before stripping off his shirt and tossing it to the side.
    My gaze caught on a flash of orange on the side table. Realizing it was the envelope I'd seen him retrieve from the newspaper the day before last, I strode across the room and snatched it up.
    I turned it over in my hands, wondering if it was legit, or some sort of communication from the Necromancers. Curiosity was getting the better of me. I glanced at Madden’s comatose body and opened the envelope.
    Inside, I found a photograph and a single piece of paper. Instantly, the pieces began to fall into place.
    They had a hit out on Vaughn. They, being MI6. Madden must be tasked with it, or he was the handler for the person who was. He didn’t seem intelligent enough to carry out a hit on his own.
    Couldn’t say I was surprised, but I wondered if Vaughn knew. I shoved the envelope into the pack and hoped that The Hangman would see this for what it was. A hand extended in friendship. Not the traditional kind, but the dark underworld kind. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.
    I’d deliver the orders along with the required photographs of Madden’s corpse and wait as instructed. There was nothing else to do. Patience was a virtue in this game.
    There was a low groan behind me as my mark started to come to.
    Leaning against the table and crossing my arms across my chest, I watched as he became aware of his predicament. I saw the moment he realized he was in trouble. It flashed across his face and he began to move, trying to haul himself up, but all he did was flop around like a fish out of water.
    He swung back and forth as he struggled, his face turning a bright shade of red as all the blood in his body pooled into his arms and head.
    Crossing the room, I sank to my heels in front of him and watched his useless struggle. When his focus turned to me, I smiled and picked at the end of the roll of duct tape I’d left beside him. The walls were soundproofed with reinforced steel and concrete, but I couldn’t let the slightest scream leave this apartment.
    “You’re The Hangman?” Madden asked, his face reddening even further. Vaughn’s reputation proceeded him, I saw.
    I began to laugh, tearing a strip from the roll of tape. “No. I’m a man for hire, Agent Madden. Though, I don’t know why they sent me.” I cocked my head to the side, my smile fading. “You’re not very good, are you?”
    His breathing began to quicken as he eyed the tape in my hands. “What are you going to do to me?”
    “You know exactly what’s going to happen.”
    Madden’s face began to contort in terror. “ Please .”
    Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? It was always the same. I fucking hated when they begged. Nothing would sway me to have mercy. Nothing .
    I leaned forward and slapped the tape over his mouth to stop his incessant pleading and rose to my feet.
    He thrashed, which only