Do you know that feeling when you thought you did something right but actually you didn't?
Well, that's exactly how I feel right now.
Inserting a new round into my gun, I peeked my head at the corner of the wall and aimed my gun to shoot my next target.
Since he was busy exchanging fires with one of Zayn's bodyguard, I took this as the perfect opportunity to take him down.
And with just one click of the trigger, I did.
"You had a gun?" Exclaimed Zayn as he hid next to me with Maya hiding behind his back.
We've been in this crossfire for quite some time now, and it's getting worse every passing minute.
It will only be a matter of time before I run out of bullets and we'd all be dead as soon as that happens.
"Daddy, make it stop!" Maya yelled covering her ears with her hands.
I doubt that it's actually doing anything though. It's so loud in here that I could barely hear myself think.
"This is America man!" I shouted pulling myself next to him as another bullet was fired by a different man in my direction. "And besides, you're Zayn Harold. You're bad blood with numerous individuals. I was expecting this." I panted, leaning on the wall that was shielding us from being struck by a hail of bullets.
"I booked you to have a piano lesson with my child who's five years old. Five years old!" He shouted through the crossfire. "Why did you think that bringing a gun with you was a good idea?" He added as if he was trying to get out of a labyrinth.
I rolled my eyes at that.
As I was about to refute his statement, another bullet was unexpectedly fired at our direction.
"Son of a bitch!" I cursed out loud. "Don't move." I ordered as I carefully peered my head at the edge of the wall and started firing at the person across the crossfire in a constant motion.
I was so mad at the fact that he fired his gun just as I was about to remind Zayn Harold what a bad bitch I am that I didn't stopped even when I hit him and he fell unconscious to the ground.
By the time that I was satisfied with my work, Zayn was glaring at me.
Again.
"That too," he spat. "Even your use of words isn't appropriate for a child." He pointed out.
"I'm sure that you curse when you're angry too," I defended. "And keep in mind that one of the amateur assassins that your rival hired just got me mad." I added pushing my now-sticky blonde hair out of my face.
Despite the fact that Zayn hadn't done anything but run since we got into the crossfire, he was panting heavily as fuck as if he just ran from Los Angeles to New York.
Weak. I thought to myself.
Fortunately, the police came before my final round ran out.
And as one of them yelled, everything suddenly stopped
The gunshots, the movements, everything.
After a second or two, Zayn leaned his head
on the wall and hoisted Maya off the ground. He then wrapped his arms tightly around her small form and placed a kiss on the top of her head.
Since he was still panting heavily, Zayn calmed himself down first while I just stood there next to him.
Once his breathing finally came back to normal, he turned his head in my direction and looked directly at my soul.
And that's when I knew that I was dead.
"You're fired."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sitting at my desk, I scrolled down to the very bottom of the extremely long document file that I made to store my research about Zayn Harold.
He might have fired me, but that doesn't mean I'll stop here. I've worked too long to consider stopping, and it's literally the only thing that I'm living for at the moment.
I don't have a ton of friends, my relatives don't even know that I exist, and romantic relationships suck.
So yeah, revenge first, and life could do whatever it wants with me after that.
As I navigated the information that my screen was showing me, I couldn't help but feel bored.
I've gone down this very specific information for the millionth time, and the new ones that I've added weren't even that interesting.
Totally bored, I closed my laptop and laid flat on my back.
This is one of those times where I wish that detective Boyce needed my help to hunt down an anonymous serial killer.
Yeah, my original work involves scrutinizing criminals.
I'm an exemption for that though.
I may be a criminal, but I'm sane enough to not scrutinize myself.
As I lay there counting sheeps in my head out of boredom, my phone suddenly rang.
Even when I'm doing nothing, I hate being disturbed. Knowing my laziness, I let out a loud groan and barely crawled to my bedside to reach out for my phone.
And as soon as I saw the caller ID, I immediately rolled my eyes.
Out of all the people in the world, why her?
"What do you want?" I spoke rudely to my friend Kylie, who was on the other side of the phone.
"Why so grumpy, brinabear?" She laughed. "Is it your period?" She added.
As the bitch that I call my friend spoke, I noticed the small noises that were coming from the background.
It was both music and the sound of numerous people chattering around.
And that's when it hit me.
She's at a party.
"It's not even Friday," I said as a pang of jealousy struck me.
She might be tipsy for work tomorrow, but at least she's having fun.
"I know," she responded with an annoyed scream. "It's a charity party or something according to Mateo. He made me go with him so he could brag to his friends that his wife is hot. Stupid bastard. Anywho, are you doing anything at the moment?" she asked casually.
Now— even though I'm bored as hell, there's no way that I would accept Kylie's invitation if she ever ask me to come along.
Charity parties are horrible.
More of the money made out of it goes to the rich than to those who actually needed it.
I know that for a fact because I'm one of the people who used to look at the statistics of where the money actually goes in one of the most popular charity events here in New York.
Another reason why I hate it so much is because most of the men at those events like to hit on young blonde girls. And I'm a young blonde girl.
Even if they're wives are around, they would still do it.
Yeah, I know.
Men are assholes that thinks with their dicks.
"I'm not coming, Kylie," I bluntly said. "There's no way that I'm driving all the way to wherever you are just so old politicians could stare at my boobs." I added looking up at the white ceiling.
"Oh, come on you couch potato," she protested. "It's going to be fun." We could gatecrash a few forums here—and plus, I know that you haven't had a hookup since last month. The opportunity is here." She insisted.
I knew that Kylie could be quite snoopy somethimes, but I didn't know that she was this snoopy.
I literally have to implant a microchip with a camera somewhere in her body just to make sure she doesn't spy on me after this.
"Ha—how do you know that?" I asked astonished because of her sudden revelation.
"Well, we could start with the fact that you're not the only one who works with computers. I've accidentally ended up in one of your Instagram DMs, and you wouldn't believe what I saw! Seriously though, was he really nine inch—" She added, but I quickly cut her off before she could even finish her sentence.
She could literally go to hell without even digging her way in.
"Okay, I get it," I said making her stop. "Don't you dare finish that word." I warned as she chuckled in response.
"Okay, whatever. Just please come here. I'm dying out of boredom!" She pleaded desperately. "There's a lot of hot dudes in here that you might be interested in; Hayward Dixon, Gabriel Levine, Hunter Blanchard, Thomas Clarke, and heck—even Zayn Harold himself is here!" She added instantly grabbing my attention.
While she was naming the first five men, I was listening.
I mean, who wouldn't?
They're all big names here in New York, and Kylie isn't exactly lying when she said that they were hot.
But as interested as I am in them, the mention of the last name was the one that made me leap out of bed.
"Send me your location. I'm coming," I said as I walked towards the nearest closet to grab the dress that I had stored for occasions like this.
"Well, that was fast," Kylie whistled. "And sure, I'll send you the location. I'll be waiting for you in the parking lot a few blocks away from the venue. Bye." She added before hanging up.
As soon as the call came to an end, I immediately threw my phone on the bed and went in front of my body mirror to see the Holly dress that has gotten me on dates with big figures before.
The silhouette of the maroon fabric looked so bold in my hands that I couldn't help but smile as I looked at it.
Turning around, I took the dress off the hanger and took off the shirt that I was wearing.
Zayn Harold might have fired me, but there are still a thousand ways that I could get him back.
And this is one of those ways.