Chapter 1
Disclaimer: Names, places, and people mentioned in the story are in no relation to any of the living or dead. This is purely fictional.
The click and clacking of stilettos were no alien in this part of town—in this time.
The wet kiss of the red stamp on the back of the hand from the tough looking men at the entrance, served as a hard earned pass through a narrow passage, where feeling good was the only option.
Inhale.
Soft thumps of the music from the inside could be heard from where she was.
Exhale.
Eyes trained ahead, her long, black-polished nails pushed the double doors of the club. Kohl-lined, chocolate-hued orbs scanned the room with purpose. Her nerves were vibrating and tethering on the edge, but she clung to the reason why she came to a place like this...again.
She swore to never repeat on setting foot to these kinds of establishments, but here she was standing in a club for the secondth time in her life. It was just like this first time she stepped in a bar, loud, smelled like every type of alcohol known to man, and writhing bodies. The only difference was that, that day her world collapsed.
Her clammy hands smoothed the little dress that took all of her guts to wear. Her clothe was so black that no light bounced on. It hugged her body in the most intimate way, add the fact that the neckline plunged so low it threatened to expose her whole torso while the hemline of the skirt was just below her butt. She felt naked and unprotected, but she chose this and she'll finish it.
Black, straight, silky hair swayed as her pale legs took her farther into the club.
She scanned the area once more, the room was dim with dancing strobe lights that seemed to flirt with everyone inside the premise. People who wore a much skimpier clothing passed her—they either laughed or jumped with the beat of the loud music but overall held the epitome of fun. The thing in the middle—stage she assumed—was packed with pulsing bodies that moved with the upbeat song.
Using her hand as a shield from the assaults of the blinking lights, she tried to find the person she was looking for and luck was on side when her eyes landed on him.
The one she was meant to kill.
She walked towards him, all the while she battled with her thoughts. He's a bad man and you're doing the world a bit of a favor by taking him out, but what if he has kids—family?
He didn't think about that when he unblinkingly shot a father, holding his daughter's hand, in the head.
Wouldn't it not make you any different from him?
Probably, but this will be a retaliation and money at the same time. Two birds in one stone—or more like bullet.
Her eyes gravitated to the gun strapped to the waist of one of the men, who was acting casually, standing not far from her target. Another carrying an uzi blatantly showing it off.
She thought of the vile things that man did to convince herself to continue as her mind slightly caved into aborting the operation.
"Don't get cold feet now, Young Blood." Hissed the voice in her com.
She pressed the small earpiece lightly into her ear to secure it. Nobody's getting cold feet tonight, sir.
She extricated a hand that magically attached to her bum and glared the college boy who only grinned back at her in drunkenness.
Two years of staying in the base doing nothing but paper works, and shooting and training with unmoving objects had finally paid off. She got her first field work.
Get your game-face on, Thali!
God help me, it's a bad guy I'm about to ice and please don't get me killed.
Giggles of women echoed in her ear as she walked past them and the jumping and gyrating mass of bodies.
She skated around a couple making out close to doing sex while standing.
"We're in position. Do your thing, Young Blood." Came the voice in her earpiece. "Remember, shoot and leave."
She nodded as she knew they could see it. Copy.
Thalia stared at the dark-skinned man sitting a couple feet from her, dressed in a white long-sleeved polo with more than three buttons undone that revealed his chest hairs as curly as the ones on his head. He had girls in both arms that were dressed in nothing but bikini bottoms, and laughed like there was no tomorrow—very obviously drunk—and intoxicated with something else. The light bounced on the thick, and diamond-dusted gold rings that wrapped on each of his fingers as he moved his hand to grab his drink.
It didn't take long for his gaze to lock on her. The man's dark brown eyes beckoned her to walk to him.
Confident that she'd caught his attention fully, she painted a smile.
"Pretty smile, Thali not doggy-smile." Another voice sounded in her com.
She sauntered to him, and bent onto his ear—cautious not to flash her black lacy underwear and boobs too much. "I've been watching you," she said, loud enough for him to hear despite the thundering bass of the music.
"I would too if I saw you earlier, chiquita," he whispered back, Mexican accent evident, his mustache tickled her cheek. He dismissed the girls with him and pulled her to sit on his lap. "So," He bit his lower lip and without a single drop of hesitation, touched the cheeks of her breasts.
She suppressed a cringe. "You know," she began as she played with his hair. "We could go to my hotel and talk." She ran her tongue on her perfectly white teeth.
He returned the grin. "I can't, baby, I have a club to run." He gestured his hand as if to show her what he was talking about. "But, we can go to my office and do business," he suggested and continued to caress her breasts.
Pig! She fought to slap his hand away, scream bloody murder, or pull his hair.
She restrained the shudder that threatened to escape her after hearing the pet name. "We could do that." She smiled and got off him, he too, stood and led her to his office, not far from behind the black, leather couch he had been sitting on, which was guarded by two bulky bouncers on either side of the small poles where the red velvet rope hanged.
"As soon as he closes the door, YB."
Yes, sir.
She palmed the silencer-prepped small gun in her black purse, making sure that it was there and ready to be taken out as soon as they entered his office. She had this.
As the curly man with itchy, perverted fingers closed the door behind them, a survival knife came from nowhere and pierced his skull. The blood didn't even had the chance to flow out of the wound when the man fell onto the floor dead. Permanent shock and horror etched on his face.
She took a step back, a surprised and horrified expression marred her face. Thalia stifled the scream that threatened to escape from her throat as her eyes seemed to have fixed themselves on the lifeless gaze of the deceased man she was planning to take out herself, sprawled on the floor.
Seeing a dead body in movies and in person were totally different scenarios.
Oh, gosh. I think I'm gonna vomit.
"Jesse, you took him out?" Thalia asked moving back to avoid the blood occupying the floor.
When she didn't recieve any answer, she looked around to find her comrade. None.
"Sir?" She called again.
Thalia started to panic. Did they leave without her? Shit!
Her erratic thoughts stopped when she felt a breath on the back of her neck that made her already pounding heart triple its beat.
"Rodrigo Perez," the voice rumbled, so deep and harsh that it made her knees buckle and nearly gave in.
No, it can't be. This isn't fucking happening. "What are you doing here?" She asked in a barely audible voice. She dared not move.