Pampered By The Assassin Family

Ava pulled a small wooden stool over and sat down right next to Jerimiah's desk. She stared at the bouncing stock graphs and the Solitaire cards. It looked so boring. So safe. After the blood-soaked, anxiety-ridden nightmare of her past life with the Savage family, this dull basement office felt like paradise. Ava rested her chin in her hands. She looked up at Jerimiah, her eyes shining with determination. "Dad," Ava said seriously. "I've decided. When I grow up, I want to be an IT manager just like you." Jerimiah stopped clicking his mouse. "I can help you run the servers," Ava continued. "We can figure out how to save even more money on the electric bill together." Jerimiah stared at her. A strange, heavy lump formed in his throat. He was a man who had built an empire in the criminal underworld. He had ordered hits and toppled syndicates. But hearing this little girl say she wanted to follow in his fake, pathetic footsteps filled him with an overwhelming sense of warmth. His eyes grew slightly damp. He reached out with his large hand and ruffled her pigtails. "That sounds great, kid. I'll leave the whole business to you." A sharp, icy scoff echoed from the hallway outside the cracked door. Before Jerimiah could turn his head, a silver flash tore through the air. The sound of tearing wind was followed by a violently loud THWACK. A solid steel tactical throwing knife buried itself three inches deep into the solid oak doorframe, exactly one inch from Jerimiah's right ear. The red tassel attached to the handle vibrated furiously, emitting a low, deadly hum. A lock of Jerimiah's hair, cleanly sliced by the blade, drifted down onto his shoulder. Jerimiah's body turned to stone. The sentimental tears dried up instantly. Cold terror gripped his chest. Ava screamed. She leaped off the stool, her heart hammering against her ribs. The door swung wide open. Carrie stood in the hallway. Her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. Her arm was still raised in the throwing position. There was no way her perfect daughter was going to rot in a basement fixing computers. Carrie saw the sheer terror on Ava's pale face. Reality crashed back into her brain. The normal protocol. The murderous rage vanished from Carrie's face in a microsecond. She gasped, covering her mouth with both hands, looking utterly horrified. She rushed into the room, grabbed the handle of the knife, and yanked it out of the wood. With a flick of her wrist, she hid the blade up her sleeve. Carrie dropped to her knees in front of Ava. "Oh my god, honey, I am so sorry!" she cried, her voice trembling with fake panic. "What was that?" Ava gasped, her chest heaving. "It's a replica from my self-defense class!" Carrie lied smoothly, rushing forward with an expression of exaggerated horror. "One of my students brought it in, and I didn't realize how heavy and sharp the edges were! Oh my gosh, I was just trying to juggle it and it slipped. I am so clumsy, I could have really hurt someone!" Ava looked at the deep, splintered gash in the solid oak doorframe. Rubber didn't do that. But she looked into Carrie's wide, apologetic, loving eyes. Ava's brain violently rejected the truth. She needed this family to be normal. She's just really strong, Ava told herself, forcing her heart rate down. It's a bad neighborhood. She has to practice. Ava nodded slowly, swallowing the lump of fear. "It's okay, Mom." Carrie let out a massive sigh of relief. She stood up. She shot Jerimiah a look that promised a slow, agonizing death. She grabbed Jerimiah by the collar of his flannel shirt. "Jerimiah, honey," she smiled sweetly at Ava. "Your father and I need to have a quick adult conversation in the hallway."