The Assassin's Killer

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Chapter 2

“GOOD evening, Mr. Black,” a woman in her seductive lips smiles at Cyron. She's one of those pretty, sexy girls in the hotel's information desk. Her name's Rosie, but it's not clear whether Cyron remembers that or not. This is the third time Rosie tries to seduce Cyron with her seductive stares. But most often than not, she always ends up swallowing down her pride. Maybe this time it will work. She fancies Cyron so much ever since he checked in three days ago. And she knows that he isn't dating anyone. According to a doubtful source.

“If there's anything you need for tonight, just inform me.”

Cyron is about to walk past the desk, ignoring her at first. But he turns back to the lady, quite in a comical way. Rosie smiles even more when he leans his right arm on the flat surface. She looks quite excited to hear his next words.

“Oh yes, I have.” He smiles.

Rosie leans her face closer to Cyron, anticipating a good return. She even giggles when Cyron closed in to her left ear. She's waiting. But her jaw drops down in disappointment when Cyron whispers, “Please bring someone up to my room—256 I think? Anyway, I need new sheets for my bed. And oh, I'm expecting a delivery soon. Please call me then. Thanks.”

She swallows up her own saliva, and replies with a grim smile, “As you say, Mr. Black.” Cyron gives her a smile in return, then he goes to the nearest elevator. But Rosie catches him up, “Mr. Black!”

Cyron turns to look at her. “Yep?”

She looks down to his feet, and says, “Your shoelaces are off.”

He checks his shoes and like a child, he exclaims, “Oh! Sorry about that.” Instead of tying the shoelaces, Cyron takes off his shoes and held it between his hands while proceeding to the elevator. It opens and he enters immediately, earning the awkwardness of the people around him.

“I can't believe you like him,” Rosie's co-worker says to her. “He's a weird guy. And stupid?”

“I find it cute.” Rosie replies.

Cyron throws his pair of shoes beside his bed the moment he enters his hotel room. He removes his maroon coat and starts unbuttoning his police garments. He has six-packed abs and people wouldn't even know that, because he loves to wear loose shirts or coats.

As he undresses, several scars on his skin are slowly revealed. From his stomach up to his upper shoulders, they have scars on it. He also has a black rose tattoo on his upper right chest, adding sexiness to his almost perfect body-built. No one knows about the scars on his body except Zack, his police partner for five years.

He just left the clothes beside his opened cabinet. After picking and wearing his comfortable pajamas, Cyron kicks the abandoned shoes out of his way and quickly throws himself to the bed. He's a police officer but people couldn't imagine how messy his lifestyle could be. But it won't be a surprise to them if they see his room, because he's known to be dumb and careless. Fortunately, Cyron doesn't have a permanent room. In fact, he doesn't have a permanent house.

Cyron stares for a moment on the intricate ceiling. Whatever he's thinking is often mysterious, if not suspicious. He raises his left arm to check the time, 7:55 PM. Most often than not, he will receive a call from Mr. Black around this time, informing him of a new assignment. But there's none. So he goes back staring at the ceiling. But he gets bored at the plain sight so he closes his eyes.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Cyron finally jumps out from his bed when his phone rings. His face quite excited, as if looking forward about something. He saunters to his cabinet and fumbles his phone from his maroon coat. Unfortunately, the number is not a private call. It's not Mr. Black.

Sighing, he answers the call anyway.

“What's up, Zack? I told you I'm not going.”

“I didn't go to the party. Ugh.” Zack replies in a disappointed tone.

“Oh? How unusual.”

“Shut up. I'm at my house.”

“So? Why do I care about you being in your house at this hour?” Cyron asks.

“You are seriously dead to me. After all these years, you still didn't know the reason? Do you really want me to narrate it from beginning to end, huh? I'm surely gonna kick your ass.”

“Oh, a package.” Cyron finally gets the point, rolling his eyes even though his partner couldn't see it. He goes to stand next to the glass windows, now staring at the busy streets below. His hotel room is on the sixth floor.

“Oh, a package!” Zack mimics his voice. Then he growls, “How dare you say it as if it's a normal thing? There's a limit to our partnership, you know.”

“Don't nag at me.”

“Oh yes, I have every right to nag at you.”

“Seriously, Zack. Relax.”

“Why do I always have to receive your package, huh? I got here a big box with your NAME on it, with MY home address on it! You've been using my home address until now. I told you to stop it already.”

“You should feel honored. It's like we're sworn brothers, you know.”

“Shut up, Cyron. I wouldn't mind sharing my home address if you would pay the rent.”

“How much is it this time?” Cyron asks, now checking back to his wristwatch. 7:58 PM.

“300 dollars.”

“Deal. I'll pay you tomorrow. Just keep my package safe until I get it.”

“Good. Where are you staying right now?” Zack asks, his tone of voice suddenly changed. He's not scornful anymore. It’s the money’s doing.

“In a hotel.”

“Why won't you just stay at my house? We split the cost. You seem to have lots of money, anyway. Are you a secret heir to the throne or something? Maybe you changed your identity before you became a police officer. Did you?”

“You're funny now, really. But you know I can't live with a person, Zack. You won't like it if I end up messing your apartment.”

“Whatever. That's impossible, anyway. I haven't heard of an heir who is stupid. Okay, I'm hanging up.” Then Zack ends the line. With a cold smirk, Cyron turns around just in time the door rings behind the door.

“Room delivery, sire.”

“It's open. Come in.”

The door opens. A middle-aged man wearing a tailcoat enters the room with a food cart. Cyron eggs him on to place it wherever he wants, then the man politely bows and leaves the room.

When the door closes, Cyron jumps in joy. Not only that, but he ends up dancing crazily in front of the cart. He looks like a crazy child trapped inside a man's body. On the cart is a gallon of strawberry ice cream, flavored cupcakes, and a bucketful of gummy bears. What a colorful, sweet sight.

He grabs the remote and turns his led TV on. Then he takes the gallon of ice cream into his hand before he sits back on his bed, now watching a TV show. He's happily scooping his ice cream, while feeding himself cupcakes from time to time. Just then, his phone rings again. This time he stops from eating. He stares at his phone beside him.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

That's his ringtone. He doesn't like the noisy ones. He takes a final scoop of ice cream into his mouth before he grabs the phone. It's a private number this time. He throws his spoon and answers the call.

“CC. It's me.” The voice is auto-tuned, but it's more likely a male.

“Hello, Mr. Black. Been waiting for your call.” Cyron replies with an evil smirk. His normal expression suddenly changes. The irises of his blue eyes shrink into something creepy. They've become deadly.

“Cytus Code, at your service.”

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