Lisa Unger has built a formidable reputation crafting psychological thrillers that probe the darkest corners of human nature, and with “The Kill Clause,” she delivers a taut, emotionally resonant short story that packs the punch of a full-length novel into a compact Christmas nightmare. Published as an Amazon Original Story, this seasonal thriller subverts holiday expectations while exploring profound questions about morality, redemption, and the inescapability of our pasts.
A Darker Kind of Christmas Carol
Unger opens with an audacious comparison: her protagonist, a professional assassin named Paige, likens herself to Santa Claus. Both make covert entries into homes, both have lists, both operate in darkness. But where Santa gives, Paige takes—specifically, lives. This darkly humorous framing immediately establishes the story’s tonal complexity, blending noir sensibilities with moments of unexpected vulnerability.
The narrative unfolds during the Christmas season, traditionally a time of redemption and goodwill, which makes Unger’s choice of setting particularly pointed. Paige finds herself assigned to eliminate a target on Christmas Eve, but complications arise when she discovers his young daughter unexpectedly present. This encounter triggers something Paige has long suppressed: her conscience, along with traumatic memories from her own childhood.
What distinguishes “The Kill Clause” from typical assassin fiction is Unger’s refusal to glamorize violence or present her protagonist as a detached killing machine. Paige is deeply human, haunted by her past, and increasingly ambivalent about her profession. The story explores how someone might end up in such a line of work—not through callousness or psychopathy, but through trauma, manipulation, and a desperate need for belonging.
The Architecture of Moral Compromise
Unger demonstrates remarkable skill in constructing a protagonist who operates in moral gray zones while remaining sympathetic. Paige’s internal conflict forms the story’s emotional core. She works for an organization called “the Company,” led by a woman named Nora who rescued Paige from foster care and trained her as an operative. This mentor-protégé relationship contains echoes of abusive dynamics—Nora provides what Paige never had (stability, purpose, approval) while simultaneously exploiting her vulnerabilities.
The story’s title refers to a termination clause in the Company’s contracts, but Unger plays with multiple meanings. There’s the literal kill clause that allows the organization to eliminate operatives who fail or pose security risks. But there’s also the psychological kill clause—the moment when one’s conscience can no longer be suppressed, when doing harm kills something essential within yourself.
Paige’s relationship with her work grows increasingly complex throughout the narrative. She attempts to maintain professional detachment, yet small details betray her humanity: her observations about her target’s hollow materialism, her concern for his dog, her memories of victims as actual people rather than assignments. Unger refuses to let readers comfortably settle into viewing Paige as either villain or hero; she occupies a more truthful, more uncomfortable space between.
The Weight of Childhood Trauma
One of the story’s greatest strengths lies in how Unger handles trauma without sensationalism. Through carefully placed flashbacks, we learn that Paige witnessed her father murder her mother when she was eight years old, hiding in a closet and watching through the slats. This formative horror has shaped everything that followed—her inability to form healthy attachments, her attraction to dangerous work, her complicated relationship with violence.
The parallel between young Paige hiding in that closet and the target’s young daughter potentially witnessing violence creates powerful emotional resonance. Unger explores how victims of childhood trauma can become perpetrators of harm, not through some simple cause-and-effect, but through complex psychological processes involving dissociation, attachment issues, and distorted worldviews.
Paige’s sessions with her therapist (conducted under a false identity, naturally) provide moments of dark irony. She can discuss her work stress and failed marriage only through elaborate deceptions, seeking help while withholding the truth that would make therapy meaningful. These scenes illuminate the profound isolation that comes from living a double life.
Relationships Forged in Darkness
The romantic subplot involving Paige and her ex-husband Julian adds another layer of complexity. Both are assassins; both were recruited by Nora from desperate circumstances. Their relationship began on a job, consummated in luxury hotel rooms between kills, conducted entirely in shadows and secrets. Unger poses an intriguing question: can genuine intimacy exist when built on such foundations?
Julian represents both possibility and limitation. He understands Paige in ways no civilian ever could, yet their shared profession also highlights their shared dysfunction. The story examines whether people can change, whether love can redeem, or whether some damage runs too deep for repair. Unger doesn’t offer easy answers, which makes the emotional stakes feel authentic.
Paige also has a younger lover and protégé, Drake, creating a triangle that mirrors her relationship with Nora. She recognizes she’s potentially doing to Drake what Nora did to her—offering care and guidance while also using him for her own needs. This self-awareness doesn’t necessarily lead to changed behavior, illustrating how patterns of harm can perpetuate even among those who understand them intellectually.
Craft and Construction
Unger’s prose in “The Kill Clause” is lean and muscular, appropriate for thriller pacing, yet capable of sudden lyrical turns when exploring Paige’s interior landscape. The first-person narration creates intimate access to Paige’s thoughts while also functioning as an unreliable filter—she deceives herself as much as others, particularly about her emotional investments and moral boundaries.
The story’s structure moves fluidly between present action and past events, using flashbacks not as mere backstory dumps but as emotional parallel tracks that deepen present moments. When Paige encounters the target’s daughter, memories of her own mother surge forward, and Unger’s cross-cutting between timeframes heightens tension while illuminating character.
The short story format serves Unger well here. She distills her themes to essence, maintains breakneck pacing, and reaches her conclusion before any elements overstay their welcome. Some readers might wish for more time with these characters, more exploration of the Company’s operations, but the compact structure creates urgency and intensity that might dissipate in a longer work.
Technical details about tradecraft feel researched and plausible without overwhelming the narrative. Unger includes enough specificity about security systems, weapons, and operational procedures to ground the story in reality, but never at the expense of emotional truth or narrative momentum.
Minor Imperfections in an Otherwise Sharp Blade
While “The Kill Clause” succeeds on most levels, a few elements feel slightly underdeveloped. The Company itself remains somewhat opaque as an organization. While mystery about its operations and clients is intentional, occasionally the vagueness feels like convenient plotting rather than atmospheric intrigue. Who are they really working for? What’s Nora’s actual mission beyond platitudes about “fighting for good”?
The resolution, while satisfying emotionally, arrives with perhaps too much convenience. A key character’s sudden intervention in the climax feels slightly deus ex machina, though it’s adequately foreshadowed. Some readers might also find the final outcome too neat given the story’s darker explorations, though others will appreciate that Unger allows her characters a possibility of redemption rather than punishing them entirely.
Additionally, while Paige’s character receives deep development, some supporting characters remain somewhat thinly sketched. Julian, in particular, could benefit from more dimensionality beyond his role as devoted lover and skilled killer. The target’s daughter serves primarily as a catalyst rather than a fully realized character, though this is perhaps inevitable given the story’s length and focus.
Thematic Resonance and Social Commentary
Beneath its thriller surface, “The Kill Clause” engages with serious questions about agency, culpability, and whether people can transcend their circumstances. Paige and her colleagues are victims who have become perpetrators, but Unger resists simple cause-and-effect formulations. Having traumatic origins doesn’t excuse harmful actions, yet understanding those origins is crucial for comprehending how someone might end up in such a life.
The story also subtly critiques certain power structures. Nora recruits vulnerable young people from foster care—society’s discarded children—and molds them into weapons. She offers what they desperately need (care, training, purpose) while extracting terrible prices. This dynamic mirrors exploitative systems in the real world, from cults to human trafficking to military recruitment targeting economically disadvantaged youth.
The Christmas setting amplifies these themes. This season supposedly celebrates redemption, family, and goodwill, yet for many people, holidays highlight loss, dysfunction, and trauma. Paige’s work doesn’t stop for Christmas because suffering and violence don’t observe holidays. The contrast between idealized seasonal imagery and the story’s dark realities creates productive tension.
Where “The Kill Clause” Fits in Unger’s Oeuvre
Readers familiar with Lisa Unger’s previous work will recognize her signature interests and techniques. Like “Confessions on the 7:45,” this story examines how people construct false identities and the psychological costs of living double lives. Like “The New Couple in 5B,” it features characters with hidden pasts and explores how secrets shape relationships. And like “Secluded Cabin Sleeps Six,” it builds tension through isolation and the presence of dangerous people in enclosed spaces.
However, “The Kill Clause” feels more overtly noir than much of Unger’s catalog. The first-person assassin narrator, the morally compromised protagonist, the exploration of whether people can change—these elements place it in conversation with works like Lawrence Block’s “Hit Man” series or the TV show “Killing Eve,” while maintaining Unger’s distinctive voice and psychological depth.
Final Verdict: A Killer Holiday Read
“The Kill Clause” succeeds as both a taut thriller and a meditation on conscience, trauma, and redemption. Unger demonstrates that short fiction can achieve real emotional complexity and thematic depth without sacrificing the pleasures of genre storytelling. The story raises difficult questions without pretending to have all the answers, which feels more honest than easy resolution.
This is not a comfortable Christmas read, but it’s a compelling one. Unger respects her readers’ intelligence, trusts them to sit with moral ambiguity, and delivers a story that lingers long after its relatively brief page count. While not perfect—some plot conveniences and underdeveloped secondary characters prevent it from achieving absolute excellence—”The Kill Clause” represents strong work from an author at the height of her powers.
For readers seeking something darker to balance holiday cheer, or for thriller enthusiasts looking for substance alongside suspense, “The Kill Clause” delivers. Just don’t expect to look at Santa quite the same way afterward.
For Readers Who Enjoyed This Story
If “The Kill Clause” resonated with you, consider exploring:
- “Confessions on the 7:45” by Lisa Unger – Another exploration of double lives and dangerous relationships
- “The Assassin” by Clive Cussler – Classic assassin fiction with moral complexity
- “Villanelle: Codename Villanelle” by Luke Jennings – The basis for “Killing Eve,” featuring a female assassin
- “The Killer Inside Me” by Jim Thompson – Noir classic exploring violence and psychology
- “I Am Pilgrim” by Terry Hayes – Spy thriller with complex protagonist and intricate plotting
- “In a Dark, Dark Wood” by Ruth Ware – Psychological suspense with traumatic past elements
