The Assassin
Fear looked delicious on her.
The wide eyes. The slight gaping of her lips. The rapid pulsing of the vein in her neck.
It was the most exquisite sight I’ve seen in a while.
But the expression was gone just as quickly as it came. As soon as she realized she was cornered, a gun in one direction and my body in the other, her badge of bravery reappeared on her sleeve.
Ignoring the gun pointed at her, Simone whipped around and tore herself out of my grasp. She held her arm up, her fingers curling into a tight fist, and swung.
I caught her wrist before it could even come close to my face. “Behave,” I told her. “You don’t want to spend your last meal tied up, do you?”
“Fuck you,” she spat.
“Maybe later.”
A grimace spread across her face, and she tried to yank her wrist out of my grasp.
“Relax, relax,” I said. “I won’t do anything you don’t ask me to.”
She scoffed. “I’d rather lay in a bed of spiders than one with you.”
I almost smiled. “I can have that arranged.” I held out my free hand. “Give me your phone and keys.”
Simone’s frown deepened, and her eyes hardened as if she was about to challenge my demand.
Maria stepped closer and pressed the gun into the back of her head.
“Now,” I said. “Or your brains get blown out earlier than scheduled.”
Simone’s chest slowly rose and fell. Reluctantly, she handed over her small purse.
Maria snatched it out of her hands from behind. She threw the strap over her shoulder and used her free hand to pat Simone down, checking for more weapons or devices.
The muscles in Simone’s jaw jumped as her eyes followed Maria’s hands. Despite the discomfort painting her face, she managed to remain still.
My partner gave me a nod once she was through. She’s clean, she signed with her free hand.
“Good,” I replied. I took a few steps backwards, towing my date towards the table.
Looking over her head, I made eye contact with Maria. She was still glued in the doorway, weapon pointed and cocked. I gave her a firm nod. I could handle our little friend from here.
Lowering the gun, she returned the gesture and exited the room.
Simone glanced over her shoulder at the click of the closed door. ”I knew you didn’t work alone,” she muttered under her breath.
“Aren’t you smart?” Finally releasing her arm, I reached for the lapels of her coat again.
This time, she didn’t protest. She let me grip the fabric and slide it down her arms, uncovering the beautiful dress underneath.
My eyes lingered on her open back, eyeing the angel wings tattooed on the back of her toned shoulder blades.
“Shame all this beauty and brains are going to waste.”
Simone ignored my comment and sat down in her seat. Her eyes scoured the table in search of a knife or fork. She scowled when she didn’t see one. “Where’s Justin?” She asked.
“Taking a nap in the trunk,” I replied as I grabbed the open bottle of wine. “Is red okay? He picked it out.”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you hurt him! He’s done nothing wrong!”
“He’ll be fine,” I assured her as I poured the wine into her glass. “As long as you behave, he’ll wake up tomorrow morning in his bed feeling like he’s hungover.”
“And no memory, or evidence, of being attacked?”
“Calm down. Your little boy toy wasn’t harmed. One little prick and he was out like a light.” I nudged the wine glass towards her. “Drink.”
She eyed the glass wearily.
“It’s not poison,” I promised.
“Prove it.” She grabbed the stem and held it up to me.
“Fine.” I took the glass out of her hand and held it to my lips. Rather than putting my mouth on the rim, I tilted my head back and poured the wine into my mouth. I’d be damned if I left any DNA evidence - especially around her. “Happy?” I asked after I swallowed.
“No,” she admitted. “I was praying you’d choke.”
I chuckled. “Clearly you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
She leaned forward. “And who exactly is that?”
I stepped away from her side and took my place on the opposite side of the table. “Eat,” I said, motioning to the spread of appetizers on the table. “Or must I taste test everything?”
Rolling her eyes, she reached for a toasted ravioli. She dipped it in the marinara sauce and took a bite. “So, is this part of your plan? Fill me up with food and wine so when they find my body, they’ll think of a date gone wrong?”
“If they find your body,” I corrected her. “Might be best if they don’t. Keep your boy toy off the hook at least.”
“And how exactly are you going to kill me?”
I raised a brow. “You really wanna know?”
“Nah,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “Don’t wanna ruin the element of surprise. But, I am curious: is there anything you’d be willing to trade in exchange for letting me go?”
“Depends. What do you think is more valuable than your life?”
The question always interested me. In these types of situations, the answers always varied.
Sometimes it’s money, other times it's diamonds and jewels, and more often than expected: it’s someone else’s life - inferior by comparison but still a token to wager.
I wondered which category Simone’s answer was going to fall in.
“Immunity,” she replied with hesitation. “You let me live and I’ll intervene against any investigations formed against you - present and future.”
“And what if I don’t want a free pass? What else would you have in mind?”
“You’d be an idiot to pass up an offer like that. If the feds got their hands on you -“
“Aht, you said the key word: if. A lot of doubt and room for error there.”
“Not if I put the bracelets on you myself.”
“I’d love to see you try.”
Simone’s lips pursed in irritation. Averting her gaze, she reached for a piece of flatbread topped with bruschetta, feta, and balsamic vinegar. “Well, if it is my last night alive, then I think I’m owed some answers to my questions.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” I reminded her. “But, if you answer mine, maybe I’ll answer yours.”
“You have questions about me?”
“Of course. It’s not every day a federal agent is in my cross hairs.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Why didn’t you pursue a law career?” I asked.
Her brows stitched together. “Wait, how do you know about my schooling?”
“You don’t think I hunt my targets without proper research, do you? I’m not an amateur.”
“Clearly,” she murmured. She thought over her answer as she chewed on a bite of her flatbread. “Honestly, I never wanted to be a lawyer.”
“Then why waste all that time on schooling?”
“Not so fast. It’s my turn.” She straightened up in her seat. “What’s your name?”
“Skip.”
“Skip? What the hell do you mean skip? This isn’t twenty questions!”
“I don’t care. I’m not telling you that.”
“Why not? I’ll be dead by the end of the night, anyway. Who am I going to tell?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms against my chest. “Answer my other question about your schooling.”
Huffing, she mimicked my stance. “I wanted to avoid hearing my mother’s mouth. She wanted me to follow in her footsteps, become a partner at an esteemed law firm.”
I nodded. This time I held on to my follow-up question and let her have the floor. Maybe she’d ask me a question I was willing to answer.
“How’d you fall into this line of work?”
“Unlucky hand at life, unresolved trauma, the desire to make fast money - same old song.”
“Care to go into detail on the first two?”
“Not really.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
“My turn,” I said before she could. “Why’d you choose the FBI over law?”
Lowering her eyes, she murmured, “I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps.”
Silence followed her answer, and I assumed it was safe to ask another. “What happened to him?”
“He died in the field when I was ten.” She blinked a few times, pushing back the moisture forming in her eyes. “The last time we spoke, he told me he’d be home before I woke up. But, he wasn’t.”
“My condolences.”
“Keep them.” Whatever tears brimming in her eyes were replaced with sharp knives as she met my gaze again. “I don’t need pity from a murderer.”
“Now, don’t be a hypocrite. How many people have you and your team killed?”
“Our circumstances are different: we act in self-defense against criminals.”
”Taking a life is the same no matter which angle you look at it. But you stick with whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Do you enjoy killing people?” She asked.
“Depends. Personal grievances, yes. Professional, eh. Hard to take pleasure in a stranger’s agony.”
“Oh, so there is some emotional intelligence in there?”
“Not as much as you’d like to give credit for.”
“Hm.” She reached for one of the fried pieces of pita bread and scooped a small wad of spinach artichoke dip. “Why do you want to kill me?”
“The answer isn’t obvious?”
She shrugged. “Guess I wanted to confirm it was nothing personal.”
I stared at her for a moment, taking in how beautiful and comfortable she looked as she dined with death. She’s shown more courage with a gun at her head than men twice her age have in the same situation. Is she indifferent to the thought of dying? And if so, then what was she afraid of?
“What?” She asked as she chewed. “Why did you get quiet on me?”
“You’re too calm.”
A tiny smirk played on her lips. “Did you think this is the first time I’ve been held hostage and had my life dangled over my head?” She shook her head. “Trust me, you’re not special.”
“I will be,” I replied as I rose up from my seat. “And you wanna know why?”
Simone watched me like a hawk as I sauntered towards her side of the table. Despite the nonchalant look on her face, the vein in her neck pulsed quicker with every step. She didn’t turn her head as I walked behind her, desperate to uphold the facade.
Placing my hands behind my back, I leaned my face down towards her ear. The alluring smell of her perfume flooded my nose as I came close, and the thought of sinking my teeth into that vein crossed my mind.
Her shoulders tensed as my lips brushed against the sensitive skin of her ear.
Grinning at the reaction, I whispered, “Because I’m not just dangling your life. I’m going to take it.”