Mr & Mr Hitman

The Calm

"You need gasoline?", one of the bunch inquired.

"Any type of fuel will do as long as this place burns," Samuel consulted with the men about his game plan and the component he needed to execute it.

"There are gasoline cans somewhere," another man announced awaiting Samuel's next command as he processed this piece of information.

"Alright, two of you guard the door and the rest go and get the cans," he ordered, "And remember, try anything funny and your mother will bury you with your brains out."

"Yes sir," their tones were stern yet stiffened.

"One more thing," one guy scurried to Sam, handing him two devices, "Their belongings," he deposited Olivia's and Cameron's phones in his hand, before jogging to join his colleagues.

The smell of gasoline isn't something you'd want to be enjoying in the early morning but it somehow depends on your mood; to some, the scent of the petroleum was tolerated, although not completely pleasant, the rather sweet fragrance of the fuel lingered in their nostrils nonconsensually, but they'd learn to live with it; to others, a straight headache would form at the very slight aura of the gas, urging them to get out of the area.

But for Samuel, it was a different story. He appreciated that smell. It was a reminder that Matthew was getting what he deserved; just like how he snatched away Cameron, he was burning down the man's addiction as well. He also hated it. Had he paid more attention, none of this would be happening and his lover would have remained unhurt.

Blaming himself isn't something he does often, but somehow, he didn't feel that pathetic about it.

Leaning by the wall inside the warehouse, Cameron was resting in his lap, Samuel's face buried in his hair. The slow regulated breaths of the shorter man put him at ease, something he had sought in tobacco before, but the toxin sleeping in his arms allowed him to breathe properly; it didn't cause any harm to him.

Although like the guy said before, "It puts other people in danger."

His eyes jolted open when three figures appeared through the periphery of his closed eyes, the men looming over him with gallons of gasoline.

"Do we spread it around?", one of them inquired.

I must say, not knowing their names make it quite difficult to avoid repetition in my narration.

"Yeah do so," our main character stood up, "Once you're done let me know but," he straightened his back, holding Cameron as he did previously, "Do you guys have transport to go back?"

"We do."

"Good. Make sure that any sort of your belongings isn't abandoned here, especially pieces of identity. I don't want to drag you out of prison and deal with fucking cops."

"Yes sir."

Samuel stood outside of the warehouse, admiring his newly recruited men drench the building in gas. After they were done, they lined up in front of him and our guy couldn't help but let a chuckle escape his lips; this feeling of superiority and respect pleased him. His hands were inside his sweatpant pocket, the right one playing with the lighter that rested inside.

As his temptation and anticipation kicked through the roof, he glanced at the still-slumbering Cameron who leaned by a tree, his companion's jacket just below him.

"And now?", the men inquired.

"Now you all return home and do whatever you want. Call the number I gave you two days starting tomorrow," he sighed, "You'll be bombarded with questions but comply," he stared at them, "Just say Thompson sent you," he paused, "If you fuck up, I will not spare you, my boss is a real bother so I don't want to be getting an earful any day now."

"Understood."

With no one in sight, Samuel looked at the building that he was about to exterminate. Would the forest burn down with it? Most probably. He hesitated for a while but found himself playing with the trigger of his lighter impatiently. Somehow it felt like all this was going to waste.

Still lost in reflection, he jolted his head, analyzing the area behind him after hearing the crunch of branches. It couldn't be wildlife, and birds don't have the mass capacity to break even thick sticks of wood.

"Come out," he announced, his voice almost echoing as he was enveloped in silence. He awaited seconds, with no answer received, "I said, come out," he repeated, keeping a hand on his gun.

He briskly turned his head in the direction of an unusual sound; hands clapping. Staring in this direction, the silhouette of a figure slowly revealed itself, gaining mass as it approached Samuel.

He didn't know who that person was, and neither did the imposter.

"I don't know who the fuck you think you are," he stepped from his suspenseful spot behind a trunk, "But I must say I'm impressed," the figure, a man presumably, spoke.

"And you are?", Samuel rose an eyebrow.

"Someone you shouldn't mess with," the man replied.

"Look, stop with the movie lines and tell me your name," our main character rolled his eyes, much like ourselves.

"I'm assuming you're his boyfriend?", the man, still avoiding the queries, grinned, pointing at the sleeping man.

"Yeah and?", Sam blinked.

"So I was right, he's a f*gg*t," the woods echoed with the laughter of the man, whose identity revealed itself upon his insult at Cameron.

Matthew Field. Arson. Dead meat.

"Yeah, no," Samuel chuckled, "Got anything else to say?", his thumb brushed over the steel object in his belt.

Matthew looked at him in confusion, a smile still plastered on his face before his eyes reflected fear and anguish - Crack.

He felt an emptiness in his right leg, almost like his knee had disappeared. It went completely numb, before a fiery pain revealed itself, spreading to his whole limb. He slowly felt his pants soak. Did he piss himself? Matthew looked down;

Well piss sure isn't crimson.