Rogue Treachery (Femme Fatale Freakshow)

Chapter One

Aaliyah

S tepping into the VIP area, I can practically feel eyes on me, but I ignore them. I’m used to the attention—I know I’m attractive. It’s something that comes in handy in my line of work.

My eyes meet a pair of green ones across the room, and I duck my head before glancing up at him from beneath my eyelashes. A smile lights up his face as he motions to his bodyguard before gesturing to me.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

“Miss?” the bodyguard says as he stops in front of me, gesturing behind him at the man. “My boss was wondering if you’d like to join him and his friends at his table.”

I glance at the man, Matthew Rodriguez, before biting my bottom lip. “The table looks quite full already.”

There are five other women and two men seated at the table with Matthew.

“Oh, he’ll make room for a beauty like you. I promise.”

I make a point of straightening the skin-tight black dress that dips low in the front and barely covers my ass in the back, revealing a lot of my tawny skin. Pushing my straight, mahogany brown hair over my shoulders, I nod. “I think I’d like that.”

“Excellent.” The bodyguard leads me over to the table.

Matthew stands and moves over to take my hands in his. “What a beauty you are. My name is Matthew. Matthew Rodriguez. And you are?”

“Lyssa Norval.” I offer him another smile with my lie.

He lifts both hands to his lips, kissing one and then the other before releasing them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lyssa.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” I murmur, ducking my head. A part of me hates playing the submissive woman, but that’s what this man likes. “I was surprised to be invited to join you since you already seem to have a full crowd.”

He chuckles. “There’s no way I couldn’t have invited the most beautiful woman here to join me.”

I duck my head, just barely able to force a blush to my cheeks. “Thank you.”

“There’s no reason to thank me. It’s just a fact.” Matthew gestures to the open bottle of champagne. “Can I get you a drink?”

As if I’d take an offered drink from an open bottle. I don’t think so.

“Champagne and I don’t really get along,” I tell him with a shrug, and he nods.

He’s already waving down the server. “That’s okay. What would you like? I’ll have them get it for you from the bar.”

Gods above, are women really that stupid? I know I can’t turn this drink down or he’ll grow suspicious, but there’s no way I would drink anything I didn’t see made in front of me. I might be immune to poisons, but I’m not immune to man-made drugs.

“I’d love a Sex on the Beach, if you wouldn’t mind.” I offer the server a small smile as Matthew’s smirk widens.

The server disappears without another word, and Matthew introduces me to the others at the table. I don’t bother attempting to remember their names. I won’t be here long enough for that.

As the woman at his other side draws his attention, I send more power into my illusion before moving one of my hidden arms toward Matthew. Calling on my poison, I bring it to my fingertips and brush it against the skin of his neck. He reaches up to brush his hand across it, a frown on his face, but it’s already too late. My arm is tucked back into my side and the poison is already seeping into his system.

Part of me wishes I had a drink in my hand so I could hide my smirk behind it. Instead, I’m forced to keep my face neutral as the man to my right pulls me into conversation.

It doesn’t take long for the poison to take hold, his hand going to his chest as he gasps for breath.

“Oh, my god!” I yell, reaching into my bag to grab my phone. “I’ll call 911!”

I jump back as Matthew falls to the floor, hitting his head on the table on the way down. His security guards rush over, one of them reaching forward to press his fingers to Matthew’s neck and shaking his head. The other immediately starts CPR.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“We’re at Gilded Cage. A man just clutched his chest and fell to the floor. Someone has started CPR.” My voice shakes, though I hope it’s not too over-the-top.

“Okay, ma’am. I have an ambulance on the way right now. Can you tell me anything about the man?”

“Not really. I just met him. His name is Matthew Rodriguez.”

The operator hums. “That’s okay. Can you give your phone to someone who knows him? I want to make sure the paramedics have as much information as possible.”

“Of course.” Making my way to the security guards, I jump back when the one not giving CPR glares at me. I offer him my phone. “I called 911. They have an ambulance on the way, but they want more information from someone that knows him.”

The man’s face softens. “Thank you. I can do that. I’ll get you your phone back as soon as I can.”

I nod, waiting until he takes the phone before stalking toward the exit. I won’t be here when he gets off the call, plus the phone is a burner.

The poison I’d chosen to use on Matthew Rodriguez was a mixture of poisons that will never be traced back to me, but I’m not stupid enough to stick around. I know the paramedics won’t be able to save him. It’s unlikely that they’ll think he died of anything but a heart attack, but if they are to autopsy his body, the poison will already be gone. It’s what makes me such a good assassin.

I slip out of the doors and smile at the valet. He gives me a besotted look before grabbing my keys and running off. At least I won’t have to wait long to get my car. With any luck, I’ll be out of here before the ambulance arrives.

Sure enough, just as the sirens fill the air, the valet arrives with my black Bugatti La Volture Noire. He holds the door for me, and I slip inside, passing him a couple of hundreds for his trouble as I pull away from the club just as the lights appear.

Another successful job completed.

Setting my phone in its holder, I press a button on my steering wheel. “Text Job.”

“Texting Job. What would you like your text to say?”

“Job complete. Proof sent from burner.”

While I’d been on the phone with 911, I’d snapped a picture and sent it before erasing the message thread. All before I handed off the phone to the security guard. Having extra arms comes in handy for all kinds of things.

It repeats the text back to me. “Would you like to send the message now?”

“Yes.”

“Message sent.”

I turn the volume up on my music, singing along as I roll the windows all the way down, the wind whipping through my hair. I wait until I exit the city before dropping my illusion. It’ll take me an hour to get home and the lights are sparse enough out here that I don’t need to worry about anyone seeing the real me.