There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.

—Mark Twain

Micah

Cutting someone's throat is not as easy as it looks. Your blade needs to be honed to a dangerously sharp level, and you need a steady hand. I don't usually use this tool to kill my marks, but in this situation, I feel that it's apropos because the man I'm going to kill is the scum of the earth. Edward Hansen III owns a farm in a rural area near Scarsdale's town in Westchester County, New York. It just so happens that my mother lives a mere six miles away. Too close for comfort, considering that instead of horses in the man's barn, he uses children for his own sexual deprivation. The Confradia received a tip from one of Hansen's disgruntled mistresses regarding the farm days ago. The woman assumed it was drugs, but it was something more sinister to the Confradia's disgust.

I drove in as soon as the Confradia gave me the green light. At this moment, Hansen and his sick, depraved friends are partying without a care in the world.

Edward Hansen III is a multimillionaire with very deep ties to the underground. According to Confradia Intel, Mr. Hansen will come up once a month to his "farm" and throw parties for his rich, affluent business associates. However, these parties are not your average festivities. These men use children as their own personal entertainment, and I intend to put a stop to it once and for all.

Hansen's disgruntled mistress was more than happy to give us a list of his properties and possibly illegal activities. After some digging, the Confradia found a lot of skeletons in Mr. Hansen's closet.

The Confradia is an extremely secretive government organization of assassins. Not even the president knows about it. We deal with rich, affluent people who have been able to skirt the law because they can buy their way out of situations. However, once they are on the Confradias' radar, there is very little they can do to protect themselves. Because we will punish them for their atrocities to humanity. I was recruited by the Confradia at the age of twenty—two. I had just come back from a tour in Iraq when my handler, Willem, found me.

It didn't take much to convince me to join the ranks of a Confradia assassin. I was very well trained in combat situations. And killing men who think they can kill innocents with impunity is right up my alley. Don't get me wrong; I am not some kind of sociopath who enjoys killing. I just live by a code that if you hurt innocents and are out to destroy the world, I will be more than happy to escort you out of it permanently. I especially enjoy knowing that innocent people are safe because of me.

It is still early in the evening, and the sun is still out, yet the party is in its full swing. The men have been drinking and doing drugs since this morning, and now it's time for the entertainment. I watch as Hansen makes his way into the stalls, ready to prepare the children for the night's events. He barely notices when I walk up to him, wrap an arm around his neck, cover his mouth, and slide my blade through the thin skin of his jugular. Blood sprays from his neck and hits the opposite wall as his body slumps forward with a thump and hits the ground. As quietly as I can, I drag his body into a dark, empty stall and relieve him of his pass—card. With the help of a Confradia tech, I was able to bypass Mr. Hanson's flimsy security. However, the stalls are a little more secure. That's the thing with rich, arrogant sociopaths. They don't take heavy measures with their security because they think they are untouchable. But I'm here to prove them all wrong. And I promise you now that no depraved soul will leave this house alive.

Threading lightly, I step to a nearby stall, slide the card across the reader and open the stall door. A sliver of light is all I can see coming from inside the stall. After a moment, my eyes adjust to the darkness, and I can see several small children huddled together in a corner. I would gauge them to be about eleven or twelve years old. There are a couple of girls and a group of small boys. They tremble and gasp with fear as I move closer. I try to hunch my shoulders to make myself look less threatening, but it's hard to do that when you're a six—foot—two—inch wall of muscle. The children stir and cry in fear the closer I get. Their clothes are ragged and dirty, and their bodies look malnourished. Hansen must not have been feeding them. A small boy whimpers when I squat down and face him. He has clear blue eyes like the sky and a dirty mop of red hair.

Holding my index fingers to my lips, I make calming sounds. "It's okay," I whisper lightly. "I'm here to save you. "Unfortunately, that does not seem to calm them down. "It's okay, kids. I need you to make your way out of the barn quietly. Can you do that?" A tall skinny girl with long blond hair and beautiful eyes steps in front of the boy protectively and intently gazes at me. It's almost as if she's assessing my honesty before she does something. She reminds me of another girl with long blond hair as she glowers at me bravely. A girl from another time and another place. A girl whose heart I broke because she was forbidden to me, and I couldn't bring her into my world, no matter how badly I wanted to. I stare right back and hold my breath as she continues her appraisal. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to rescue you. There are people outside these walls waiting to take you back home to your families. But I need your help in getting you out of here. Do you understand?"

After a moment, the girl responds. "Are you a police officer?" I shake my head and show her my bloody knife, which doesn't seem to scare her for some reason. "No, I'm not. I work for an agency that is going to make these men pay for hurting you. Are there any more kids here?" The girl shakes her head. "No. It's just us. Did you kill one of the bad guys with that knife?" She asks with a hopeful tone. I nod my head and point to the door. "Yes, I did. So what's the verdict? Do you stay, or do you go?" After a moment, the girl nods her head, turns to the other children, and whispers. "It's okay, guys. He's here to help us. Let's go." The children warily follow her lead. Emotion Wells up inside me at the haunted yet determined look on their faces. The girl takes one of the smaller boys by the hand with a protective stance and faces me with a defiant glare. "Are we going or not?"

Giving her an admiring smile, I gesture to the door. "Follow me but lay low until I tell you to stop and try to make as little sound as you can." We all slink out of the stall. Keeping watch for any intruders. It doesn't take long for us to get to the awaiting van that the Confradia set up for the rescue. One of our operatives, Maya Reynolds and her assistant Dean Simmons, is waiting by the door. Maya has a background in psychology and is equipped to deal with situations like this.

The trembling children remain behind me with wide eyes as Maya steps closer. "Hello there. I'm Maya." She says with a kind smile. Maya's a sweet woman. She's worked for the Confradia for over ten years. We had something years back. It started months before I met Sophia and was purely physical on both ends. Our fling was most definitely not long—term because we were just too different. She was too focused on moving up the ladder, and I just wanted to stay where I was. And when I met Sophia, it became clearer that I didn't have true feelings for Maya.