Chapter 2 #2
I look at my reflection. My black hair is tied in a messy bun, but even without a full face of makeup, the dress looks stunning. The black material hugs my figure perfectly, the velvet fabric a long, full sleeve on one side while sleeveless on the other.
“Andrews says I need to make an impression.”
“Well, that’s settled.” She goes to the clothes hanger that is housing all the different dresses that we had picked. She pulls back out the red number. “It’s understated elegance.”
“But it’s red.”
“Which will leave the impression you need and want. I’m telling you, Kara, you walk into the room in this, all heads are going to turn your way.
Everyone will be wearing black.” She passes me the red satin material, pouting.
“You get all the best sodding assignments. A nice dinner, and a hot guy. It’s not fair. I wish I was Andrews’ favourite.”
I roll my eyes and jump off the stool, taking a sip of my champagne that rests on the white table of the dressing room we have taken over.
“Says the girl who just came back from Vegas.”
“Okay, that was fun,” she admits with a twinkle in her eye. “Plus, I won ￡3000 on a slot machine with a quarter I found on the floor. That’s what I call winning.”
I stand in front of her as she undoes the zip on the back of the dress. This is the thing about Anya—she knows what I need her to do without saying anything.
I laugh and walk into the cubicle, closing the thick, plush curtains.
“So where is this dinner?”
“7:30 p.m. at Claridge‘s.”
“Fuck me, that’s a nice hotel. No wonder the country is in debt if they are putting on political events in those type of hotels.”
“It’s a charity event. He’s a guest speaker or some shit.” I pull the black dress down, standing in my underwear, before placing it back on the hanger and passing it back through the curtains to Anya.
I take the red dress and step into it, the satin material smooth against my skin. It’s simple in its design, which somehow makes it feel even more luxurious. The neckline plunges just enough to show my cleavage, toeing the line between bold and tasteful. The back thankfully is covered, mostly.
It hides what needs to be hidden.
It clings to my figure and pools behind me. The dress is loose enough so that you shouldn’t be able to see the knife that I will conceal. It will be the only thing that I can have on me, so any incidents will need to be handled…closely.
“Okay, I think you’re right.” I turn around and check the back of the dress. “My only concern is this…” I step out, kicking the tail from under my bare feet, and hop back onto the stool.
“Of course, I’m right.” Anya rolls her eyes and takes another sip of champagne.
I turn round, pointing to the top of the scar that pokes out from under the back of the dress. The skin marked and jagged.
There would be no hiding it.
“I don’t think it’s as bad as you think. I can barely see it from where I am.”
“He will see it,” I mutter to myself, turning back round.
Anya looks at me pensively and frowns. “Why does that matter?”
“Because it opens up questions that I don’t want to answer.”
“He hired you as protection, not as an agony aunt.”
I pull my hair out and shake it, the long, dark tendrils falling past my shoulders. “Up or down?”
Anya doesn’t reply, she’s too busy watching me. “You know him?”
“Who?”
“The target.” She takes a sip, but I can feel her eyes on me, watching.
“I’ve been told I’m not allowed to refer to him as that.”
“Stop deflecting.”
I turn around again and look at myself in the mirror, then jump down and step into the stilettos that are placed on the floor in front of Anya. The four-inch heel makes the pooling, red material more manageable.
“Can you run in those?” She raises her eyebrow, and I smirk.
Anya stands up and pulls my hair off my face, holding it in a messy bun again.
“Hair up, in a chignon, but with volume, some tendrils coming out here. And silver earrings, dangly, no necklace. And you know him? Why would Andrews break the one rule we have?”
Did I not mention that? As well as stolen mottos, us assassins also have a fucked-up code.
Our first rule is never taking on an assignment with a known subject. But this isn’t the usual MO, is it?
“I’m not killing this one, it’s different.”
“So, you do know him. How?”
“We grew up together. This is the easiest way to give him protection without him looking like he’s upped his security.”
Anya steps back and looks at me, nodding, her expression serious. “There’s a past between you two?”
“There’s a something between us, but no not like that. Just shared shitty experiences. Like us in Belfast.”
She snorts and squeezes my hand. “That was fun, though.”
“Fun? You blew up a perfectly good Porsche.”
“You really need to let that go. It’s been three years.” She grins at me, and I laugh.
“Honestly though, this will be fine. What happened, happened years ago. I bet he doesn’t even remember me.
” I shrug, brushing it off. “Keep him safe for three months, and off I go with my cut. Andrews said this is it; I can retire after this. I can say goodbye to this life like I’ve been wanting to. ”
“Yeah, yeah. We all say that. Didn’t you quit before? Plus, Andrews won’t be able to let go of his little one.”
I tie my hair back up and grab a clutch from another stall, holding it up against the dress, then switch it with another one.
“He will. He’s expecting this. It will all work out. These things always do.”
“Be careful Kara. You’re good, but if you’re emotionally invested in this—”
“Jesus. I’m not! Why does everyone keep saying that?
Andrews gave me this sodding assignment, and I’m more than capable.
It makes sense for it to be me, the cover story will be natural.
” I’ve no idea how that will work, but I lie through my unease.
“And you know me. I can sell a pen to a stationery shop if needed.”
“Okay.” She holds up her hands, placating. “You know best. Now, let’s get that dress and go get your eyebrows done. Then sushi.”
“Hmmm, yummy.” I walk past her and close the curtains to the changing room.
Three months, then I’m free. I’m a highly trained assassin. How hard can being a bodyguard be?