Having a father that worked in a job that changed places constantly was a little suspicious, especially after what could've been the hundredth time.

You had only ever gotten scraps of information from him about him, but from what you could tell, it payed very well, judging from the house and small fortune he left you with before going out on yet another one of his extravaganzas. You had even thought for a short while that he was in some kind of pyramid scheme, or possibly reverted to selling drugs; the carefully concealed truth was certainly a telling sign.

But, since you got your fair share in the form of expensive gifts and weekly shopping sprees, you never asked, and never knew where his unending amounts of money came from.

Simon bit the inside of his cheek and adjusting his footing on a loose panel of your house; he was about 20 feet up on the second story window, a foot away from your bedroom window. It was a simple in-and-out, except his job was to be leaving with some cartel leader's offsoring, who would hopefully know of his next location and where he kept the dangerous weapons he sold. Every step was carried with caution, his dark form silently climbing up the side of the building stairs and peering into the open window to see your bedroom. The cartel leader vanished a month ago, leaving just you to know where he went.

"Fuck.."

The view from the window was a shit one, if anyone ever looked in from the outside; he couldn't tell if you were even in there or not. Listening for a second and hearing nothing, he assumed you weren't. He wrenched his body upwards and into the opening with a grunt, boots landing heavily on the clean panel floor.

Your bedroom was an arguably nice one: open closet, large bed, and- oh, shit, there you were.

The Lieutenants hand wandered down to his belt where a pair of handcuffs and rope hang, reminding himself of the time limit he had been given to retrieve the target. The faster you were outside in the escort waiting, the better.