The icy wind combed through my long brown ponytail and I felt a grin creep across my face. It felt so good to run. I could feel the muscles in my legs lengthening and contracting and I could see my breath come out in mists in front of my face. I let out a short bark of laughter and kept going.

I saw the bank of creek nearby and turned my feet towards it. I always loved running next to the creek. The sound of the rushing water was so soothing and relaxing, it made my run that much better.

A few minutes later I noticed something purple out of the corner of my eye. I stopped and turned towards the color; and I found a body. Submerged in the water was a woman clad in a purple cat suit and knee high black boots. I edged closer to the body and noticed that the woman had short blond hair, brown eyes, and that there was a gaping would in her chest. And I knew her. Her name was Jessica Landers, she was a former co-worker, and a person I’d never liked, and now she was dead.

I splashed into the creek and knelt next to the still form. Jessica’s body was blue and bloated; and her swaying blond hair was stained with mud. Her brown eyes stared up at me, and I could see blood coating the hole in her chest. I let out a sigh and my eyes caught on a piece of laminated paper pinned to her collar. I reached into the cold water and lifted the paper from her body.

The paper read: Jessica Landers. Cougar. Trix Roberts. Jaguar. See You Soon.

I froze, dead still. With the exception of the body of Jessica in the creek, nothing seemed out of place. But that didn’t mean that they weren’t there, listening, watching, plotting, and waiting for that opportune moment to swoop in a kill me.

I stood up, slowly, listening the whole time. Waiting for birds to scatter, a twig to snap, leaves to rustle without the help of wind or animal, or the whooshing of the air as a knife or bullet came whizzing towards me.

After listening for a moment I whirled and sprinted through the trees. I zigzagged as much as possible, trying to make myself a harder target, so that if they tried to get me they, hopefully, wouldn’t be able to.

I made it back to my house and up to the door, pausing only long enough to punch in the security code on the back door. I swung into my home and immediately tapped the security code back in.

Feeling slightly safer, now that I was back in my secured home, I made my way around to each window, shutting drapes and blinds. After I pulled the last of the drapes closed I heaved a sigh of relief. I was now invisible to outside eyes; of course the downside was that I couldn’t see any of them either, but I still felt better knowing that they couldn’t see into my house, or see me. I didn’t have to worry about securing any of the rest of my house. The furniture was arranged so that I could slide around every table, chair, sofa, or lamp. I had arranged it knowing that one day I would have to have this fight, and it was better to be on my own turf than theirs.

Before I went to arm myself, I thought it best to change into something that would work better in a fight. I pulled off my work-out clothes, and donned black jeans, a long sleeved black shirt, black combat boots, and a black belt that had a matt black clip to go over the buckle. The clip was so that if I had to go outside, in either sunlight or moonlight, the light wouldn’t reflect off my oh-so-shiny belt buckle. Now I was in clothes that would hide me in the darkness. I knew how to disappear, to shield myself so that others couldn’t see me; but my enemies knew how to do that, too. And wearing clothing akin to camouflage always helped.

I walked out of my bedroom, and away from that last window, grabbing a pair of latex gloves out of the nightstand as I went. And I walked down the hall to the only room that had its own security system, the only room that held anything truly valuable to me, my weapons room.

I pulled the latex gloves on, making sure I left no finger prints on the number pad, and tapped in the nine digit code. The room had reinforced steel walls, making it double as a safe room, one that would be hard to break into. The security pad beeped, letting me know that I had typed in the right code, and the door whooshed open and I stepped in. To my immediate left was a desk that held a cell phone that was always charged and always got reception, a laptop with both a power cord and a full battery, and a fax machine. Inside the desk were flashlights with extra batteries, just in case.

On the wall to my left were my guns, all mounted on a wall, and their ammo. There were two shot guns, and one sawed-off shot gun. There were also a couple of Uzis, two Browning High-Powers, two Heckler and Koch HKP7M8s, and one Kahr P9. The Kahr P9 was incredibly small and I used it in case I needed a gun to hide in an evening bag, or under curve hugging dress clothes. I preferred the Browning because while it was big, for a hand gun, it had a smaller grip that fit my hand nicely, and it could hold thirteen rounds, while my other hand guns held only nine.

The wall across from the door held my knives and swords. The only swords I used were the Japanese katanas, otherwise known as the samurai sword, but I hardly ever used them. In most battles, it didn’t matter who was the more skillful or accomplished fighter, it was who could kill whom the fastest. Most fights involved guns, occasionally knives, but usually only guns.

The wall to my right held all my other toys. My flame thrower, my grenade launcher, my leather whip, a couple of garrotes, a taser, and two rings that had needle sharp points in their center, instead of any kind of stone. The wall to the right also held all of my knife sheaths and holsters for my weapons. I had shoulder holsters, hips holsters, calf and thigh holsters and ankle holsters. And I had knife sheaths for my wrists, back, thighs and calves. I also had a couple Kevlar vests, just in case, although most of the people that were coming after me would probably have armor piercing rounds.

I turned away from all my weapons and sat down at the desk and booted up the laptop. I clicked into my e-mail account and quickly typed in a message to my former contact and current friend, Aiden Mundae.

Aiden, they’re back. All my former cat friends have returned and they want me dead. Will you help? Write or call, fast. You know the number, it hasn’t changed.

I sent the message to him, and then leaned back in my chair and returned to my past. The League, my former comrades were coming to kill me. Jagger was coming to kill me. After three long years, he was back.

Jagger was and is the leader of an assassin guild called the League. When I was seventeen I got recruited into his group. I’d always been fascinated with weaponry, and when I was young I used to go to shooting ranges and practice shooting with different guns. I got to be pretty good at it, and when I was in my late teens a man named Jagger came up to me and somehow convinced me that what I wanted to do in life was to use my marksmanship abilities to harm people, to kill them. I swear, when he said it, it didn’t sound like a bad thing. In fact he didn’t even tell me that was what I would be doing until I’d been with him for a year. By that time I would have followed him anywhere. And I did. All he had to do was smile his crooked smile at me and ask me in a voice that sounded like an angel, and I would do anything he asked.

So when he suggested being an assassin as a future job opportunity, it sounded like exactly what I wanted to do. It was only after years of working up through the chain of the League, years of killing, and years of Jagger, who was really more of a sweet-talking devil than an angel; it was only after all of that, that I quit.

I had spent years training, fighting, and challenging others to make my place as Jaguar, the second best assassin in the League, and it was only then that I had realized that I hated what I did. I hated who I was; I hated what I had become. When I became a member of the League I had given up everything. I had given up my family, the few friends I had, I had even given up the town I lived in. Instead I moved about, living everywhere, but nowhere permanent. The only people I saw were the other members of the League, my few contacts, and of course, my victims.

Three years ago I quit. There were only three rules for members of the League. One was that a member must accept and participate in any challenge made to them by another member. Two, a member must carry out and complete all missions. And three, a member can never quit; once a member is accepted into the League, a member is in the League for life. I violated two out of the three rules. I never completed my last mission, and I deserted the League. While on my last mission, I ran. I had nowhere to go, and not much hope of ever really escaping my past and the League, but I ran anyway.

One of my contacts, Aiden O’Connell, was willing to help me. He set me up in a house, and gave me enough money to live on for several months. While I was starting my life over, I got a job at a local shooting range teaching shooting and marksmanship to beginners. Before I knew it a year had passed, and I was doing fine. I kept in regular contact with Aiden, my savior, and through him I learned that the League was looking for me, but that they were no where close to finding me. I was free, for awhile, and I was happy doing what I was doing. I was happy with my new life.

Now, all that happiness and security was gone. I knew that someday the League would fine me; now they had. All I could do now was load myself up with as many weapons as possible and hope. I could hope that, in my own home, on my own turf, I could beat the League; and I could hope that Aiden would be willing to come help me. He was great friend and I valued him above anyone else. After all, he was the only one I even considered asking to help me leave the League, but I wouldn’t be angry if he decided not to help me. It was almost too much to ask for him to help me go up against the best and toughest bunch of killers in the world; but there was always the hope that he would. With or without his help, I knew I would have to go against them. They had already killed Jessica; they wouldn’t hesitate to kill me too.

Jessica Landers. She’d been Cougar, fourth from the top in the hierarchy of the League. Jagger had been the top, the leader, as Panther. I had been second as Jaguar. After Jaguar was Leopard. Next was Jessica as the Cougar. Then there was the Cheetah, Lynx, Abyssinian, and finally Bombay as the bottom.

Shortly after I left the League I was informed, by Aiden, that another member had left. The member had been Jessica, she broke rule number three, and now she had been hunted down, killed and left to rot in a creek for it. I had broken two rules, I was too afraid to even think about what they might do to me.

I didn’t hold out much hope of them being, even slightly, merciful. I had always, for some reason, been Jagger’s favorite, and I had left him, humiliated him. I had a feeling that if I were to die, by Jagger’s hand, that it would be a slow and very painful death. That he would try to break me, to make me scream, to make me cry; and that he would be laughing the whole time.

I was so lost in musing about my past, and my immediate future, that I almost missed the sound of the cell phone ringing. It’s incessant, oh-so-annoying deedling was the only thing that brought me out of my reminiscing. I reached for the phone and clicked on the talk button. From the other side I hear breathing and then Aiden’s deep, slightly gravely voice.

"Trix? Are you alright? I got your e-mail."

"I’m fine, Aiden," I said. "I am for now, anyway. So, what do you think? Are you going to help me with this one, or are you going to sit this one out?"

"Trix," he said.

"It’s okay if you don’t want to help me, you know," I said. "You’ve gone out of your way to help me before, and I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for me. So, I’d really be fine if you chose not to come help me."

"Trix," he said again. "I’ll always come help you. Haven’t you figured that out yet? If you need me, for anything, I’m there."

"Thanks," I replied. I could feel my face heat up as a blush spread from neck to my forehead. It was when he said things like that that made me want to see him even more. I was always grateful to him, but I’d always, secretly, liked him too. Not necessarily the love kind of like, but more the like of a decent person, of a friend. Although I couldn’t deny that right now, that lovey feeling was creeping into the pit of my stomach, making me feel a little jittery. I quickly shook the feeling off; this was not a time to be getting crushes on long time friends and comrades.

"Thanks," I repeated. "You have no idea what this means to me, Aiden. I know it’ll be tough, and I know that I might not survive, but I also know that I’ll do better knowing I’ve got someone to be with me and back me up."

I think that right at that moment I was making a really goofy smile, but I don’t know for sure because I didn’t keep a mirror in my armaments room.

"So, what’s happened so far?" Aiden asked.

"Well, remember Jessica," I said.

"Jessica. Jessica who?" he asked. I could hear a confused lilt to his voice.

"Jessica Landers," I answer. "You might better know her as Cougar."

"Oh," he said. "I remember her now. Did she come see you, or something?"

"Well, in a manner of speaking. I found her."

"Found her? Found her where?"

"In my creek," I said. "She's dead, in my creek. I was on my daily run and I saw her, blue and bloated, in my creek."

"I didn’t need the visual. Are you somewhere safe?"

"Now, I am," I said. "After getting the hell out of the woods, I shut all my drapes, got into hunting garb, well my kind of hunting garb, and now I’m in my weapons room."

"Good, stay there. I’m coming over. I’ll be there in about an hour and I’ll call you when I get to house. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that fine. I’ll stay here, load myself up on weapons. If I get really bored I can always polish something."

I heard him let out a laugh, and I smiled.

"Only you, Trix Roberts, can be going up against all the members of the League, including Jagger himself, and still be able to crack jokes. What are you, fearless?"

"No," I said, a small quaver, that I think only I could hear, crept into my voice. "I’m not fearless. I’ve just always cracked jokes when I’m afraid. So if I start to sound like a comedian, it means I’m scared out of my mind."

"Well," he said. "It’s good to know you’re human. But don’t be too afraid. I’ll be there soon, and together, we’ll beat them."

We said goodbyes and hung up. I kept focusing on his last words. Together, together we would win. Together we’d survive. Together we’d be. I’d never really had anyone to be together with. Even before the days of the League, I’d always been something of an outsider. I had a few friends, but they were more acquaintances than real friends; and I’d never been too close to my family. In the League, the only person I’d ever had, had been Jagger. And while he was good looking and sometimes decent and for a long time I’d fancied myself in love with him, he was too heartless to love or to ever really be loved. But maybe, finally, with Aiden, I’d have someone. I wouldn’t have to be alone. After all, I couldn’t think of anyone, other than Aiden, that I knew now or from my past that would come to help me in this situation, and he was. He was coming to help me survive, so that, together, we could live.

I lounged on the desk chair waiting for Aiden to show up. While I waited I thought back to my past; to my time in my home town, my time with Jagger, and my time with the League.

When I had been little, living in the middle of rural Midwest U.S.A., my dad taught me how to shoot guns. He had always wanted a son; and since his wife had given him a daughter he decided to make her as boy-like as possible. He tried to make me into the son he never had.

My dad was a huge guy, who used to be full of muscle but years of beer drinking had turned all that muscle into flab. Once upon a time he was the big football hero of my small town. He dated and, eventually, married the head cheerleader, my mother. Together they became the school’s most pathetic graduates. My mother worked as a manicurist at the local salon. And my father ran a liquor store; which, for him, was a good thing because it meant he always had access to the alcohol he loved.

I think that, other than drinking, the only thing that made my dad happy was taking me out to Rick’s Shooting Range. For two hours every Saturday, the two of us would head out to the range, load our weapons, and shoot at paper cut outs of people. I had nothing else in common with my father, but those two hours every week were the high light of my young life.

But as I got older I got better and better at shooting. Soon I was better than my father. He would still take me to the shooting range, but he started to get angry about going. He would watch me and get angry. When I was young I thought that if I just kept getting better, he would be happy with me. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized that he wanted someone to look up at him. He wanted to be his son’s hero. Instead he had a daughter who had a great shot and who got better every time she went to the range.

By the time I turned fourteen my father had given up on making me the perfect son. The only boy-like thing I enjoyed was shooting guns; and by then I was a better shot than he’d ever been or ever would be. My father told me that he wouldn’t take me to the range anymore. So, that meant that I had to go myself.

Rick, the owner of Rick’s Shooting Range, overlooked the fact that I was a minor. He knew me from when I my dad had brought me and, as he was always telling me, he didn’t want me to squander my talent for shooting, so he let me into the range without an adult.

Everyday after that I went to Rick’s to shoot. I think I sort of became the daughter Rick never had; and he became the father I’d always wished for. He taught me everything he knew. He taught me how to load and shoot shotguns. Soon after that I was shooting clay pigeons out of the air. He taught me how to use different kinds of handguns. My favorite was the Browning Hi-Power. It had a grip small enough for my adolescent hands, it didn’t give much kick back, and it wasn’t very heavy even though it was one of the larger handguns. He taught me how to shoot at still targets, at targets that moved side to side, and how to shoot at targets flying through the air.

He taught me archery. I learned how to string and shoot a traditional bow and a long bow. I learned how to load and fire a crossbow. Not long after I learned the basics I was firing at, and hitting, targets over one hundred feet away.

Rick always said that I had a talent for picking up weapons. At the time the comment struck me as a strange one. Kids my age were talented in music, or sports, or math. And here I was a loner with no friends, except for a near middle-aged owner of a shooting range, and I had a talent with weapons. The comment was a strange one, but I was having so much fun learning to use new kinds of weapons that I never put much thought into it.

When I turned eighteen I met Jagger. He showed up at Rick’s one day and asked if I wanted to work for him. At first I was skeptical of his intentions. Jagger doesn’t exactly look like the ideal boss. He has long chocolate colored hair that he always wears in a pony tail. His blue eyes are so light they look like husky eyes; and he has this scar that curves from his temple to his jaw. And he has a sort of hardness about him that makes a person wonder what he’s seen in life to give him the clench in his jaw or the scar on his cheek.

His appearance made me think he was either some sort of law enforcement official, or that he wanted something else from me. It was only after he said he wanted me for my shooting ability that I started to believe him. I asked him why I should trust him. I remember he told me that I shouldn’t, but that he was trying to be honest with me and that he’d seen me shoot on a number of occasions and that he hadn’t seen many people who had a better shot than me.

I thought about his offer for awhile. I shot off a couple more rounds and decided to go with him. I’m still not sure why I agreed. I had no idea what he wanted me to do at the time. He was at least ten years older than me. I was technically still a minor, and while I didn’t give a damn about my parents, I would miss Rick. But, still, I decided to go.

When I agreed to leave with him, Jagger smiled at me. To this day I remember the smile. It was surprised, pleased, and sinister, all in one. He told me to pack whatever I needed, grab a couple guns and some ammo, and say goodbye to whomever I really needed to.

I headed back to my house and threw a bunch of clothes and some toiletries in a duffle bag. I grabbed the Browning Hi-Power Rick had given me the previous Christmas and a few other handguns I had accumulated over the years. I really didn’t want to say goodbye to my parents; I had never gotten along with either of them. My father had barely spoken to me since my fourteenth birthday. And my mother was always at the salon so I never saw her. I really just wanted to say goodbye to Rick. But as I was leaving the house with my duffle, my father asked where I was going. Not once in four years had he asked where I was going, and he chose when I was running away to actually care. Of course I couldn’t tell him that I was running away with a strange older man, so I lied. I told him I was spending the night with a friend. My dad had never bothered to learn about my social life, or lack there of, and he bought the lie. He never asked a question, he just grunted in acknowledgement of my answer and went back to whatever he was watching on television. I walked out and never looked back. And I went to say goodbye to the one person in the world I cared about, Rick.

Saying goodbye to Rick was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. We didn’t cry. Neither of us shed a tear; but I think we both had the realization that we probably wouldn’t see each other for a long time, if ever again. I knew I’d be losing the closest thing to family I had. I don’t know what was going through Rick’s mind, but he looked at me like he knew where I was going and with whom. It was a look full of pain and sadness and of deep knowing of what was to come.

I left Rick’s with a thousand questions running through my mind. I knew why I didn’t cry; I knew I had to be strong, because if I broke down and cried, I would lose the courage to leave my life behind and start anew. But I had no idea why Rick didn’t cry. I had no idea why he didn’t ask me to stay.

I also had questions about Jagger in my head. I had accepted his offer without really thinking about it; and while I didn’t regret the decision, I did have some questions. I still didn’t know what kind of job Jagger was offering me. I had no idea where this job was located. And had no idea what kind of person Jagger really was.

I met up with Jagger at the edge of town, and we got into his black jeep and headed out and into my new life.

We drove for days, stopping only when sleep and hunger forced us to. During the trip Jagger and I talked. He told me that he was going to put me through intensive training. I was to learn combat, how to use various types of weapons, how to use my body as a weapon, and how to be stealthy.

He told me that he didn’t think I’d have a problem with any of it, but if I did I’d have a year to quit my training. He didn’t tell me why I’d have a year; just that I’d complete my training in a year, he’d stay with me the whole time as my personal combat trainer, and that if anytime before that deadline was up and I wanted to quit I was free to. After a year, no matter what I had to stay with him and do whatever it was he had hired me to do.

Finally after three long days in the car we arrived at our destination. He had taken me to a cabin far into the Colorado Rockies. We weren’t very high up in the mountains, he said that was because explosions and gun fire might cause an avalanche.

The cabin itself was fairly large. There was enough room for each of us to have our own room, have a kitchen, dining room, living room, and dojo. All around the cabin were trees of every kind. There were no neighbors that I could see; which was a good thing if we were going to be using explosives. Surrounding the entire cabin was nature. And nature was all I saw. If we needed food, or clothes, or anything, Jagger would go to the nearest town to pick it up. I was always told to stay at the cabin and train. And train, I did.

For months I was forced to run obstacle courses. Day after day of climbing walls and ropes, crawling through bushes, jumping through tires, and dodging bullets.

I was trained in weaponry, and not just guns. I learned how to use grenades, flame throwers, cattle prods, knives, swords, and garrotes. I also learned how to disable or kill using everyday objects like pens, keys, spoons, and forks.

I learned martial arts. Jagger taught me everything from Tae-Kwon-Do to street fighting. He taught me how to kill quickly and efficiently using only my hands and feet. I learned that I didn’t have to have a weapon to be deadly. My tiny hands could snap bones in seconds, or shove my hand through a chest with hardly any effort.

Besides the physical training, I learned how to be stealthy. I learned to disappear in broad daylight or how to mix with the shadows. I could creep around unseen and unheard; and I could sneak up on someone with out them ever knowing I was there.

And I learned to think like a hunter. I learned how to watch my prey; how to spot out weaknesses and how to attack those weaknesses to bring my victim down. I was told to watch videos of natural predators hunting. I watched wolves in packs, or lions in a prides, and tigers. I watched them, studied them, and know how they hunted. And then I imitated them. I’d try to be the wolf or tiger. I’d stalk through the forest and hunt for Jagger, just to see if I could.

I had been training for months, almost a year, and I still had no idea what I’d eventually be doing. I had my guesses, that somehow I’d been recruited into some division of the FBI or the CIA. But Jagger never seemed to fit the CIA type. He didn’t have a crew cut. His personality didn’t seem cold or hard. In fact he liked to joke, and he laughed a lot. He just didn’t seem to fit into the image of a government spy. So, I wondered what it was Jagger did for a living; what I’d be doing for a living. All I knew was that, with all this training, it had to be something full of action.

I also knew that Jagger had to be very good at whatever it was that he did. And I realized that Jagger had become my god. Me whole world revolved around him. In almost a year I hadn’t seen nor spoken to anyone other than Jagger. And I really didn’t mind that.

I actually fancied myself in love with Jagger. He was my hero, the man that had rescued me from my lonely life. He was the man that had taken me away and taught me how to be a weapon. To most people it wouldn’t be a dream, but to me it had seemed like some twisted fairy tale. The handsome prince had stolen me away to his castle in the mountains and together we would fight the world.

There were times when I thought maybe he felt the same. On some nights I would catch him watching me; I could never tell what his looks meant, but a part of me always hoped that he loved me in return. Before I could work up the courage to talk to him about my feelings, or ask him about his the year deadline came.

After a full year had passed, Jagger declared me ready. I was ready to begin the job he recruited me for, and ready to learn just what that job was; which meant I had to make a decision. I had to decide if I wanted to stay with him. He told me that if I chose to leave, he would let me go. But once I knew what he did I would have to stay, or I would have to die. To him it was as simple as that.

To me the answer was simple. If I stayed, I would still be with him. I worshipped Jagger, and I didn’t know what I would do if I had to leave him. I knew I couldn’t go back to my home. I hated it there; I could never let myself go back there. To return would mean that I failed, and that I couldn’t handle the real world. To go with Jagger would mean that I would have a career and I would have at least one friend. I know that back when I met him he told me not to trust him, but in the past year I had come to trust him more that anyone, except maybe Rick.

So I told him yes. I told him I would stay with him and do whatever this mystery job was. That was when he dropped the bomb on me. I really should have seen it coming, but I didn’t somehow.

He told me he was one of, if not best, assassin in the world; and that he wanted me to join him. He told me that he had honestly never seen any person so capable of being a professional killer as I was. He said I had amazing adaptability to sudden changes in plans or environment, that I was a fantastic shot, that I learned quickly, and that I could sneak up on a rabbit and kill it without it ever hearing a thing.

Jagger left me then. He told me he’d let me figure out my future, now that I was expected to be a hired assassin. I remember sitting in shock. I honestly had no idea that his career of choice was that of a killer. I honestly thought that he worked for the government as some kind of spy. I’m not sure why, my instincts had always told me that he didn’t act like any kind of government agent I’d ever heard of. I guess a person just never thinks that the person they idolize could be a killer. We humans like to think the best about those we care about. And I didn’t want to think of Jagger as person who could kill in cold blood. But then I realized that was what I was. Everything Jagger had taught me, I was extremely good at. I had been trained to be a very good killer.

Eventually the idea stopped bothering me. I mean, it didn’t really ever go away, the strangeness of it. But I did eventually become acclimated to the idea. I realized that I didn’t have a strong connection to my fellow humans, and that I’d only ever cared about two people in my entire life. One I would never see again, and the other was asking me to stand beside him.

I went to find Jagger and tell him that I was alright with being an assassin. When I told him this he broke into the widest, toothiest grin I’d ever seen on his handsome face. It was then, in that moment of pure happiness, that he told me about the League.

The League is a group of paid assassins. They take jobs from whoever is willing to pay their extremely high fees. They are the world’s most deadly assassins, and I was to be a part of that prestigious group. I wanted none of it. I didn’t mind being an assassin, but I really only wanted to be with Jagger. I didn’t get along well with people, and these were a group of eight people that I was supposed to associate with whenever I wasn’t out on a job. Jagger told me that either I agreed to join the League or I was going to be buried in the forest. I grumbled a lot, but eventually, for the sake of Jagger, and my own life, I agreed to join.

The League is made up of eight people, and each person has a ranking. Each rank spot is named after a type of cat. The lowest spot was Bombay. Next up was Abyssinian. Then came Lynx, then Ocelot, then Cougar, then Leopard, then Jaguar, and finally the top spot was Panther. Jagger held the highest position, that of Panther. Even though he was relatively young, he was only twenty-seven; at the time he had shown a ruthlessness that had gotten him the highest spot possible in the League.

Like every new member to the League I would be Bombay, the lowest ranked position possible. If I wanted to move up ranks I would have to prove myself; and eventually challenge someone of higher rank. If I beat the person I challenged, then and only then would I be able to move up in the ranks.

*****

A month after Jagger told me about my future prospects, I met my fellow members of the League. Jagger spent that month before I met them telling me everything he could about the other members, and preparing me for my first job. He told me that the Bombay position was open because Kelly Dawson had died a year and a half earlier while out on a job. The spot of Abyssinian was held by a man named Louis Denyman. Louis, I was told, was a huge, muscle bound, tattoo covered creep who thought he was tough as nails but had yet to win any challenges he’d made. The person holding the Lynx position was a woman named Jessica Landers. Jagger said she was quite beautiful, but had an awful personality. She killed her marks by seducing them and then shooting them while in bed. Apparently she thought no man could resist her and therefore tried seducing every male member of the League. Tatsuya Shiro was a quite Japanese man, who kept, very much, to himself; and held the position of Ocelot. Kiera Wayne, the Cougar, was short and petite. Jagger told me that she used her, almost pixie-like, appearance to lull her victims into a sense of security, before she’d pounce and kill. Seamus McFlanahan was an angry Irishman, whose sheer will power had earned him the spot of Leopard. Jagger said that Seamus would never give up, even if the odds were stacked so high against him that he wouldn’t stand a chance of winning. When Jagger told me this, I heard a bit of envy in his voice. Something told me that, more than once, Jagger had had to turn tail and run from something; and that he had a huge amount of respect for Seamus’ ability to fight to the end.

The final member of the League, and the person who held the spot just under Jagger, was Jeb. Jeb, like Jagger, had no last name that I was aware of. According to Jagger he was an easy going guy, who liked to smile and joke. But Jagger warned me to never do anything to make Jeb mad; because while he could be a really great guy, he could also be the scariest person alive. Just a year after Jeb became a member of the League he had the Leopard rank. Jagger said he was deadly fast, incredibly inventive, and was more ruthless than anyone, even Jagger himself. I asked Jagger why Jeb had never challenged him. Jagger simply shrugged his shoulders and said that he had no idea what went on in that man’s mind.

*******

It came time for me to perform my first job as an assassin. The mark was to be a German diplomat named Fredrick Eck. I didn’t know why he needed to be killed. I didn’t know who wanted him dead. All I knew was that someone had paid money to have the man assassinated and since it was supposed to be a fairly low level job, Jagger decided it would be perfect for my first expedition into the world of paid killers.

Jagger and I packed our belongings and got on a private jet to Germany. When we landed we checked into our hotel, grabbed some supplies for the job and headed out to find Mr. Eck. It didn’t take long.

I knew from our client that Mr. Fredrick Eck always stayed late at the office either working, or screwing the secretary. All I had to do was get on the roof top across from his building, set up the sniper rifle, find a clean shot, and take it and my first job would be finished. Jagger came with me, just in case I couldn’t cut it, but he assured me that he wouldn’t give assistance unless I insisted on it.

The two of us got into the building posing as janitors. We hid our equipment in the janitor’s cart and headed to the roof. The roof was windy, and Jagger told me that it would be hard to get a clean shot with the wind. I took the gun and the scope out of the cart and put screwed them together.

The time came. I had the sniper scope to my eye and I could see my mark slouched over a desk writing. The safety was off, the mark was in sight and alone, it was the perfect set up. All I needed to do was pulled the trigger, but I couldn’t. My finger was all ready, it was on the trigger and tensed to squeeze, but I couldn’t make it. I then felt Jagger’s arms around me. He wrapped one arm around the front of my waist and rested the other on my right hand. He didn’t try to make me pull the trigger; he just rested his hand there and said that whenever I was ready was fine. That little bit of comfort relaxed me. My whole body relaxed in Jagger’s arms. I looked into the scope again, made sure I was on target, and squeezed the trigger.

The window shattered and the man fell across the desk, bloody and dead.

I never even felt guilty. Now I do, I feel mountains of regret. That was my first kill. My first step into the world of a murderer, and all I felt was happiness that Jagger believed in me.

*****

After I completed my first job, it was time for me to meet the infamous League. I’d spent a long time training to be a member, and even more time learning who the others were. And now that I had killed, I was ready to be a part of the League.

We flew back to the States to Colorado, and into the Rockies.

When Jagger pulled off the road, I thought he was going to drive us into a tree; but then I realized that we were actually driving on a very narrow dirt road. It was a driveway so narrow and so well hidden that nobody would have found it, unless they already knew where it was.

The road was long and it wound all the way up into the mountains. At the top was a cluster of small cabins and one long, ranch style house. Jagger told me that every member had their own cabin, and that the bigger building was for meals and meetings.

Outside the houses a surprisingly small woman sparred against a hulking giant covered in tattoos. They were fighting with fists and feet only; and I honestly couldn’t see how that tiny woman was going to win against the monster she was fighting. Yet before my eyes I saw the woman sidestep the beast charging her, spin around him, kick one foot into his left Achilles’ tendon, kick the other foot into the back of his right knee, spin in an arc and slam her elbow into the small of his back. The huge man crumpled to the ground before my eyes.

The woman held her stance for a moment, then dropped out of it and wiped her brow. She said something to the man on the ground then turned to us and waved. Jagger grinned and leapt out of the car. I just sat there waiting, I didn’t know who these people were, other than that they were professional killers. I wasn’t getting out of the car until Jagger told me to.

Jagger stopped about halfway to the woman when he noticed I wasn’t with him. He glanced back towards the car, rolled his eyes, and jogged back. He whipped open my door and hauled me out. Together we walked over to the two standing in the driveway and he introduced me to Kiera and Louis.

*****