When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost
Chapter 52: A Trap

Chapter 52: A Trap

"But I don’t have anywhere else to go," Luke insisted. "And I’m sick of jumping from job to job. You can’t imagine all the assholes I’ve had to deal with. Working in the service industry has given me enough drive to kill."

"Ha, ha," Kant let out a deadpan laugh. "I said no."

Luke didn’t get discouraged. He thought for a while, then tried to push for compromise. "What if I promise to only take low-stakes jobs? If I do just enough to secure a roof over my head but not too much to get sent to major tasks?"

Kant exhaled slowly, watching Luke leaning closer expectantly. Should he just ignore him? Get up and leave?

"I’ll be careful," Luke promised, eyes flashing with undying determination.

Kant knew that look—he’d seen it only twice over the years. First time was when Luke said he would move out of his parents’ house and never look back. Second was when he declared he’d make it to the stage or die trying.

There was one way to keep this somewhat safe. If Kant took on the responsibility of teaching and training Luke, he could keep him under his wing and out of trouble.

"If you refuse, where should I sleep tonight? The bench? The curb?" Luke mused, reaching for guilt-tripping methods. "I used my last money on the bus fare too. I’ll probably starve to death by tomorrow morning..."

With a groan, Kant relented. "Fine. Only simple jobs." He pointed a stern finger at Luke. "And you listen to me: anything I say, you do. Anything I say not to do, you don’t do. Understood?"

"Deal!" Luke downed his soda in a hurry, spilling some more in the process. He crumpled the can eagerly, tossing it into the bin with an easy throw. "Thanks!"

For an entire year, Kant took every bloody job off Luke’s hands behind the organization’s back, completing missions on his behalf. Meanwhile, anything that didn’t involve killing, he handed over to Luke.

This dynamic carried on until the day they were assigned to a high-stakes mission together due to their "similar skillsets."

"Yeah, no shit," Kant thought. He had been doing the tough jobs for the both of them, so of course the skillsets were "similar"—they belonged to the same person.

Kant shifted his weight, boots crunching against the gravel as he waited outside the half-collapsed warehouse. The air smelled stale and suffocating with dust and hints of oil. If Kant didn’t know any better, he’d have thought the place was abandoned.

As the sun dipped low, long shadows stretched across the ground, clawing at his feet like death’s fingers.

Kant’s hand flexed over the handle of his combat knife. Something about this place felt off.

A slight rustle in the shadows made him tense.

"What, you worried?" Luke’s whisper cut through the silence. He appeared out of nowhere, nearly tripping over his own feet as he stepped forward. "I can practically smell the overthinking from you."

Kant’s mouth twitched into a sardonic smirk. "Clearly. I’m thinking for the both of us here."

"Don’t be like that." Luke laughed, clapping Kant on the shoulder as he passed. "I’m just as capable as you. It’s just that you haven’t given me the chance to prove myself."

He adjusted his jacket dramatically and bounced on his heels as if trying to hype himself up for a performance. "Besides, no one will see us coming. This should be quick."

"Just because it seems simple doesn’t mean you should let your guard down," Kant replied dryly.

Their target was the CFO of Everett Holdings, a powerful investment company caught embezzling funds meant for public housing.

Everett Holdings claimed to be all about "urban renewal" and "community development," but when the cameras turned off, they used those funds to jack up housing prices, pushing low-income families out of their homes.

Instead of helping people, they made money by gentrifying neighborhoods and making them unaffordable for those who needed them most.

What really set Kant off were the evictions—families kicked out with no warning, nowhere to go, and no help. Forced into the rough streets, just like that.

"Your hair will turn gray early if you keep worrying so much," Luke commented, strolling ahead like they were just taking a walk in the park.

Kant rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to drag Luke back to the car by his jacket collar. "I told you to stay out of risky jobs. If my hair turns gray, it will be because of you, promise-breaking bastard."

"I can’t leave you to do a two-man job on your own," Luke replied casually.

"And I said I could do it alone." Kant patted him on the back just a bit harder than necessary.

Luke stumbled forward with a laugh, but quickly regained his balance. "You taught me yourself. Don’t you trust your teaching skills?"

Kant ran a hand across his face, groaning. "What a pain in the ass."

Luke moved ahead, glancing back over his shoulder. "Let’s go in already. Or are you gonna wait until they finish their meeting and come out?"

"You’re bossing me around now?" Kant pointed the knife at him.

Luke snickered, raising his hands in mock-defense. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

They headed in, slipping through a side entrance Luke had scouted earlier. Inside, the warehouse was dark and still, the smell of oil growing stronger.

As they surveyed the area, a dull alarm buzzed somewhere deep in Kant’s mind. The silence stretched too thickly, as if the air itself held its breath, waiting.

They exchanged a nod and split up to cover different areas of the warehouse. Only the faint sounds of their steps registered through the otherwise empty space.

But then, something changed.

A creak. The unmistakable shuffle of boots. Kant froze, his eyes snapping up just in time to catch a flash of movement from above. His stomach dropped.

This was bad. Really bad.

Pushed by some unknown force, Kant bolted to Luke and shoved him back towards the exit. But before he could stumble out, a shadow dropped down from the rafters right in front of them.

Suddenly, Kant was staring down the barrel of a gun.

More figures closed in, stepping out from the shadows of towering stacks of crates that lined the walls, boxing them in from all sides.

The blue hour outside brought dim light through the dusty windows, making it hard to determine how many opponents they faced. All Kant knew was that it was a lot.

"It’s a trap," Kant whispered, adrenaline surging through him. "Get ready."