trust exercise.
“Change of plans,” he said, flashing his phone screen at the partner in crime. “Apparently the client no longer want the bride dead - she wants us to mark her face with a knife instead.”
Yelian was beyond agitated. He got fucking dressed up for this mission - a whole tailored suit plus an uncomfortably tight tie. One whole hour of suffering later, he was being informed that there was a change to the plan that they’d meticulously thought out?
“This isn’t like, ordering McDonald's. When people say they want someone dead and hire professionals, I expect them to be ready for the corpse.” At this point, he sincerely wished to turn this whole thing on the dumbass bitch who’d made the request in the first place. Except that wouldn’t really work out since though stupid, that one had wealth and influence, which apparently made up for her obvious lack of brain cells.
The cater walked by with a tray of hors d’oeuvre and Yelian waved him off before he could speak. He wasn’t in the mood to smile and pretend to be a happy party guest anymore.
“Anyway, you take care of this one then. I am not drawing my knife just to cut up some chick’s face, no matter how much I am being paid.” He folded his arms. “Next thing you know, clients would be wanting us to rescue cats from trees or go to prom with their 16-years-old daughter.” ( @cr-emerald )
