It's Just Business

The job was simple. They are always simple. Find the mark and eliminate. Everything is black and
white. No grey areas, no need to question, for there are no room for questions. Find the mark and
eliminate. No outside bullshit should get in the way. Nothing should come between you and the job.
Find the mark and eliminate. No second thoughts, no compassion, no allowances. There was only one
exception: always protect self. But if you are not in any danger to be exposed or expose your client,
then the job should continue as planned. Find the mark and eliminate. I knew this. I breathed this.

So why did I go against it?

Because the facts did not add up. The mark was not what was stated in the instructions, and I
despise when information is not correct.

I am lying in an air duct, trying my best to not breathe, for I might breathe in the dust and it may
cause me to sneeze. It’s interesting that air ducts aren’t cleaned more regularly, yet we depend on
them for somewhat clean oxygen. And if I manage to make it out of here alive, despite the fact that I
am surrounded by dust that must be at least an inch thick and clinging to the walls, I will probably not
think of this again. Although I am quite aggravated knowing that the black cat suit I am wearing will be
beyond filthy when I get out. Whenever that is.

Luck is on my side. I hear the door open and close on schedule. The mark has finally left the suite.
Since Santiago has been at the hotel, he leaves for dinner every night at seven. That gives me one
hour to get in, find out all the information I need and I find a suitable area to hide before he returns at
eight.

I take a moment to finally breathe completely as I unscrew the vent cover. Once all six screws are
out, I carefully lay them aside and pull the cover inside the duct and quietly lay it flat. I duck my head
down inside the room to make sure all is clear. It is.

I lower myself into the room. My body is tall enough that I can carefully let go and land on my feet
without killing myself, but I’ll need my rope to get back up. The plush carpet feels nice on my
stockinged feet as I quickly walk around, casually brushing the dust off the cat suit, knowing it won’t
be noticed on the light-coloured carpet as I walk over it. I make my way over to the closet, where I
know he keeps his suitcase. Just as I’m about to open the door, I hear an all-too-familiar, loud click
behind me.

I just stand still, silently cursing myself, knowing full well what it is before I feel the nozzle of the gun
press into the back of my head.

“Who sent you?” The voice is deep and throaty.

“What makes you think someone sent me?” I ask as I raise my hands to show I’m unarmed.

“Because I know every crazy bitch who wants me dead. And I don’t know you.” The gun presses
more against my skull. “Now, again. Who the fuck sent you?”

“I’m working alone.” I replied.

I hear the aggravated sigh. Then I feel a hand roughly start to pat down my body, and I’m silently
praying that it won’t find everything. The obvious shit is discovered; my dagger that’s in the holster
and the rope.

“You came with a fucking knife? That’s it? You were gonna off me with a fucking knife?”

I shrugged. “Guns can be so impersonal, don’t you think?”

“Turn around. Slowly.”

Reluctantly I turn around and I’m face to face with my mark. This is not good. I have never been
seen, and I pride myself on that. This is, by far, the biggest fuck up I’ve ever made, and it will
probably cost me a lot to fix this.

But fix it I will, make no mistake of that.

Four days ago I was home. It was Tuesday evening, and I was just relaxing in the Jacuzzi, as Anita
Baker lulled me to complete relaxation. No one has vocals like Anita, and it’s a shame sistah ain’t
around more to blow these younger cats away. I was getting ready to sink my head under the
bubbling water when I heard the ring of my cell.

“Fuck.” I softly whispered. I let my head sink under for a few moments before I forced myself to
reach for it.

“State your business.” I answered simply. To the other person, my voice was deeper, more rugged
and harsh, thanks to the voice scrambler I installed on the phone.

“Sun Pest Extermination?” The voice on the other end was male, deep, thick Italian accent. They had
used the code phrase, so I would proceed.

“This is Phoenix.” I replied, staring at my feet with a frown. I needed a pedicure.

“Are we secure?”

I leaned forward so I could look at my laptop on the desk in the centre of the room. My laptop---my
child really, who I lovingly named Torch---kept a constant scrambling signal for both itself and my
phone, so my location could never be pinpointed and lines couldn’t be tapped. But, of course, nothing
was foolproof. If the security of either were ever compromised, there would be a flashing red light in
the upper right-hand corner of the screen. If not, the light would remain constant and green. And
the light was green.

Don’t blink. Yeah, I got myself hooked up like that.

“We’re secure.” I said, relaxing back in the tub.

“I need a removal.”

“When?”

“As soon as possible. The fucker has gone too far. He needs to be…”

“I don’t care.” I simply said. The last thing I needed was personal specifics. Too much information
only compromised me. “At the end of this call I will give you a secure email address and bank account
number. Email necessary info and pictures. The cost is two hundred and fifty grand. I want half wired
to the account by the end of today. I expect the other half when the job is done.”

“Fine.” He obviously didn’t appreciate my checking him. Oh, fucking well. I gave him the email
address and account number, made him repeat both back to me, then I ended the call.

Damn. And I was hoping for a quiet week too.

In less than two hours, I was lying on my stomach, my hands above me as I pulled on my ankles,
feeling my toes almost brush the tops of my shoulders as I stretched, when I heard a beep from
Torch, indicating I had an email. I finished my stretching before taking a break to sit at the desk, and
after a couple of keystrokes, I was reading. Chris Santiago. Thirty-two year-old male, supposed
entrepreneur, lived in Miami, but would be in Las Vegas for the next six days, five spent at a
conference to be held at MGM Grand (even I had to roll my eyes at the lavish setting for a business
conference). There were three pictures, all from at least a fifty-yard distance. He was African American,
about five-foot seven maybe eight, around two hundred pounds, well groomed, favoured expensive
clothing--definitely loved his Armani--his hair, rich black, was shoulder-length and kept in a ponytail—-
he had good hair too. And even from the distance I could tell that he was sporting one of the new
Rolex Cellini’s. Damn, the 18K one.

I printed the email and pictures, deleting them from the computer, before I checked my account.
Italian Guy was a good boy; the money was already deposited. I quickly transferred it to another
secure account before I booked myself a motel room in Vegas that was a few blocks away from MGM
Grand. I then shut Torch down and packed her. My mind was busy analyzing Mr. Santiago as I
surveyed my closet for what to wear. He seemed like he’d be an easy mark, so I probably wouldn’t
need to get close, which meant I wouldn’t need to be too public. So I packed all essential clothing for
the next five days. Always at least five days. One to relax and set up. One to scope the mark. One
to eliminate. Two to relax afterwards. I never leave the day after an elimination. When feds
investigate hotel records around a crime, they normally check for people who leave town the day
afterwards.

When my clothes were set, I reached for the top of the closet and pressed against the left side of
the wall for the concealed keypad. I punched in the password and the wall swung open. I stepped
into the backroom, flicking on the overhead lights, and felt my nipples tighten with arousal as they
always do when I’m in my weapon room. Ten years of collecting various guns, rifles, knives, Chinese
stars, and swords for my personal viewing pleasure and usage. I pulled out two suitcases, packing my
favourite sniper rifle, an SV-99--a special present to myself last year--three handguns; two 45’s Colt
Defenders, and my little surprise, a Kel-Tec P-11. I tossed in a few tactic knives, and my baby, a
Chinese dagger that was a present from a now deceased client.

I slipped into a pair of black jeans, tank top, and leather jacket, before I packed my other needed
supplies, locked up shop, then brought all my bags down the private back stairs to the car. I secretly
owned the building my top-floor loft was in, using a dummy company as a front. To everyone else and
the other people who occupied the other two units, I was just another tenant. But owning the
building meant I could do the kind of remodeling I wanted, and I had a stairwell built, going from the
back of my loft down to my private section of the underground garage. Yes, it was a major hike,
especially carrying luggage, but I didn’t need prying eyes.

As I entered the garage, I faced my pride and joy: a ‘57 Chevy Convertible. This was the very first
car I ever purchased on my own, and because I was so damn busy, it took me years to restore her.
But restore her I did and gave her a complete overhaul, installing a brand new engine from a racing car
I bought from a retired NASCAR racer. Black exterior, dark red interior, top-notch hydraulics. The
pedals, bumpers and accessories were chrome, and 20inch Flame spinner rims. This car would make
any West Coaster cry. I packed the trunk, hopped in and drove out into the real world.

I drove for about an hour, before I pulled into an industrial area of a nearby town. I reached into my
glove compartment for a remote control as I approached a red brick building. The garage door opened
and I drove in, not getting out until the door closed behind me. I owned this building as well, under
another dummy company, but the building was small enough that I wouldn’t need people or a business
to be here for a front. I got out, turning on the lights, and faced my fleet of cars, twelve in all and two
Harleys. I was a lady with four great weaknesses: weapons, vehicles, gadgets, and clothes (what true
femme doesn’t?), going above and beyond to add to my collection. And normally I would spend time
at least admiring my fleet, but time was limited and I had to change.

I took a shower, and when I was dry, I stood before the mirror in the bathroom, naked, temporarily
saying goodbye to my body and face. I have to admit this was one of my favourite parts of my
profession. I adored slipping into a new identity, despite the fact that I was an exquisite creature to
look at. There was no need for me to feel shy about my beauty, since I’ve had countless lovers tell me
so in the past, and lesbians are not shy with what they find attractive. I stood five-feet-eleven,
smooth mahogany skin, flawless complexion, 38D-32-40, mostly legs. I was thick and toned. Most
couldn’t tell by looking at me, but I had a body that rivaled the best athletes. I was a ten-degree black
belt in martial arts, I boxed, played basketball and football for recreation, and was more lithe than an
Olympic gymnast. Round baby face, black catlike eyes, small nose that was slightly upturned, and a
small mouth with a full bottom lip. I keep my reddish hair cut extremely low, so I can wear my
numerous wigs with ease. A true femme fatale.

I blew a kiss to my image, before applying a nose prosthetic, giving me a wider and flat nose, then
somewhat heavy makeup. I slipped on a wig that would give the impression I had micro extensions
and topped it off with a bandana.

I chose the Mercedes S600, transferring the luggage to it, then changed the plates, choosing from
the collection I kept in a locked cabinet, making sure I had the ID to match in my wallet. I then drove
out of the garage through the opposite side doors.

The drive to Vegas took me only five hours. I don’t fly unless I have to go oversees, and that doesn’
t happen often. When you fly, you’re traceable. Even if you use an alias and pay in cash, all airports
have security cameras and I do all I can to not be seen. By the time I arrived, it was almost four in the
morning. I registered, parked my car, brought the luggage into the room, set up Torch, then just
crashed.

I spent the first day just relaxing, seeing the city a bit (not sure why since I’ve been to Vegas
numerous times). But I got bored quickly, and decided to do some investigating early. I hacked into
MGM’s directory, and located Mr. Santiago’s room and the itinerary for the conference. He was quite
hemmed up during the days until 5 o’clock, only breaking for lunch at noon for an hour. That meant I’
d have a better chance at him at night, which I preferred anyway.

The end of that first afternoon, I booked myself into the MGM Grand. I hacked into the computers
again while I spoke to the chick in booking, making sure I was offered a room on the same floor as Mr.
Santiago’s, in the far corner of the centre section of the hotel so I’d have a view into his room. I was
not pleased about the layout of the hotel, and it was the best I could do. Then I pulled out my “public”
clothing. Knowing I had to mix with the somewhat elite, I brought along some of my favourite outfits
that would give the impression I had money and I could blend in.

I showered, and changed my face again, this time a more lean and straight nose prosthetic and more
angular cheeks. Minimum makeup, hazel contacts, and a black, A-line cut bob wig. Black suit jacket
and matching skirt, three-inch stilettos, chic black Ray Bans, a few pieces of gold, and I was set.

Little motels don’t care if they see you when they leave, and I adored that, so I just left the keys on
the bed for housekeeping, loaded the car and left. I drove over to the MGM, which was a completely
different set up as soon as I pulled into the expansive driveway. Valet parking, bellhops who I watched
carefully with my luggage, and after a speedy check-in, I was in my posh suite less than an hour later.

I gave myself a half-hour to rest, changed into sweats, but kept the disguise on, then set up shop.
Torch was up and running, Mr. Santiago’s whereabouts easy for me to clock since he was a heavy
credit card user. As I snacked on a grapefruit, I mused over the three sets of flower arrangements he
had sent to three different women, all saying “Always thinking of my woman, Love Chris.” For the past
three days, he used his credit cards at three different restaurants in the hotel, all around seven-forty-
five. So he was meticulous about when he ate his dinner. That was good.

I glanced at my clock, realizing it was past eight. Hmmm. Time to see if I could get a good look at
Mr. Santiago. I pulled the SV-99 out of its case, quickly assembling it, using a specialized scope I got
off the black market so I could clearly see through the tinted hotel windows. I felt a shiver go down
my spine as I locked the rifle together (I am a self-proclaimed weaponry whore). A smile played on my
lips as I sat in a chair and lifted the rifle to my shoulder, focusing the scope as I peered through my
slightly parted curtains at Mr. Santiago’s suite. I was in luck because his curtains were wide open, and
I had the perfect view of his main door, bed, bathroom door and closet.

And wouldn’t you know it, the suite door opened. I finally got a live view of my mark. He was
wearing a black suit, from the looks of it, Hugo Boss (told you I was good with clothes). Hmm…his
style varied, very cool. He was indeed a gorgeous man, although very baby face, and I could imagine
the ridicule he must have received as a child from having slight feminine features. He casually strode
into the room, tossing his wallet on the bed, and slipped out of his suit jacket tossing that over a
chair. My eyebrow rose over that act, because that was the kind of jacket you immediately hung.
Nigga must be a big baller if he didn’t care. Next came the dress shirt, pants, and shoes, before he
freed his hair from the ponytail, letting it fall around his shoulders in curtain of blackness. And my Mr.
Santiago was left in only a T-back white tank and dark blue boxers.

I reached for a cigarette, getting ready for a mundane stakeout session, realizing I had such a clean
shot right now, but it went against the rules, so I’d have to wait. I yawned as he pulled the tank off
his body, and my mouth remained open as I gasped. His upper body was wrapped in a large white
band, and I watched as he carefully unraveled the band revealing…breasts.

What…the…fuck? My cigarette was forgotten as I watched the most confusing scene unfold before
me. The boxers were next to come off, and underneath was a black leather harness, with a dildo
attached. As the harness came off, I sat in shock, realizing I was watching a woman.

I pulled my face away from the scope, trying to get my mind to process this, but it wouldn’t. Mr.
Santiago was not a he. What the fuck was going on? The client had specified that my mark was
male. This was not a male. Even though he…SHE was the same person that was in the photographs,
the information was incorrect.

I had to look through the scope again, and yes, I was watching a woman casually run her hands
through her hair just before she walked into the bathroom and out of sight.

I stood, setting the rifle on the bed as I went through my briefcase, retrieving the cryptic notes I
had written after I burned the email print out. Male. My mark was supposed to be a black male. That
was not a black male. What I just saw was a black woman. Granted a woman who was fine as hell,
but that was beside the point.

I started to pace, not sure of what I was supposed to do. My mind was replaying the phone
conversation and before I had cut him off, the client did refer to the mark as a “he”. I was now
thinking of possible scenarios. What if this was some kind of a set-up? But how? I had a perfect
shot of the mark. And no one knew who the hell I was. I could be anywhere in this city and could take
him out at any place of my choosing. There would be no way to truly set me up.

I finally retrieved the cigarette, lighting it, and resumed pacing. I already had half of the payment.
There was no way to return it without revealing something about myself, so I had to continue with the
job. But what if the client fucked up and I was about to take out the wrong person? I went back to
the window with the rifle and checked out the suite again. Santiago was out of the bathroom, wet,
with a towel wrapped around his---HER waist. Fuck, I had to get used to that. I had to admit, she
had a banging body. She was thicker than me, softer, but you could tell that she did something
athletic on the regular, probably played basketball or something. Her breasts were beautiful. Easily a
C-cup, with large dark nipples that stood prominent, and I knew that if they were in my mouth they
would taste divine.

I immediately felt my pussy ache. It had been a while since I enjoyed the company of a lover, and
Santiago was just the type of woman I went after. If she went the way I thought, she was definitely a
stud, and that only made me weaker in the knees---and definitely filled the puzzle with the flowers that
were sent earlier that day. She had to be a dyke. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What to do, what to do?

I watched for a moment longer, as Santiago settled on the bed, towel still wrapped around her waist,
hair all wet and dripping around her shoulders, watching television. Damn…she was hott.

No, no, no Phoenix, keep your mind on the matter at hand. Ok, so I was dealing with a stud that
enjoyed gender bending. That wasn’t anything new to me, but the client must not have known that
he was dealing with a female. But still, that didn’t matter. This was my mark, and the mark had to be
eliminated. And for the first time, I actually wondered why. And hell if that didn’t piss me off even
more.

I put the rifle down, and resumed pacing, lighting another cigarette. Ever since I started this whole
thing, I’ve stuck to my rules. Never, never, NEVER ask questions or allow myself to wonder. That
only gets in the way of the job and I wouldn’t be able to keep focused. But then again, every other
job I had was clear and concise. This obviously was not.

I sighed, deciding to turn in, realizing that it did not matter. Tomorrow the job would go on as
planned. But as I slept, Santiago slipped into my mind; naked and ready, eyes filled with treacherous
lust. In my dream, I spread my legs, beckoning her to come forward. She sexily crawled between my
legs, and quickly pushed her fingers inside me, her mouth capturing my clit, as I wrapped my long legs
around her head. My fingers held onto her hair tightly as she pounded me, her tongue pushing me to
levels I had never imagined I could reach. I was screaming loudly, begging her to fuck me harder until I
came. And that’s what woke me up. My eyes flew open to the feeling of my pussy erupting and I gave
a shocking gasp as my body convulsed, riding out the orgasm. When I was able to calm myself, I
realized my body was entangled in the sheets, and my head fell back against the pillow as I rolled my
eyes in a surprised annoyance. Great, my first fucking wet dream and it had to be over a mark.

I forced myself to a restless sleep, and when I awoke the next morning, my body was so on edge
that I had to masturbate to calm myself down. This was getting fucking ridiculous and strictly
unprofessional. Who the hell has sexual fantasies about the person they’re supposed to take out? I
forced myself to put my pussy thoughts on the back burner as I prepared. Every time she popped
into my head in an unwanted way, I’d remind myself she was strictly a mark. And if I could get
through this, then I’d treat myself to a booty call…fuck, I’d get two girls to rock my world for the night
if I could just keep my priorities straight.

I waited. I knew his---fuck---HER pattern and she’d stop by the suite for about an hour before
going back out for dinner. That’s when I planned on getting her. Six o’clock found me stationed at
my window, rifle perched on my shoulder, eye glued to Santiago’s window through the scope, waiting
for her to enter her suite. I was calm; the adrenaline already kicked in as it always did when I was
ready to eliminate. And when I saw the door of her suite open and she walked in, my finger was
steady on the trigger. She entered the suite, closing the door behind her, and I watched her loosen
her tie, as she walked to the closet then pulled out an aluminum briefcase. She took keys from her
pocket and unlocked the briefcase, taking out a stack of manila folders.

Curiosity got the best of me, and I lowered the scope, refocusing on the briefcase, and my eyebrow
rose as I realized I was looking at a stack of bills.

“Well, well, well, Ms. Santiago.” I said softly. The entire bottom half of the briefcase was lined with
money. Damn, this just made the job even more intriguing. And for the umpteenth time, I had to
wonder who the fuck she was and why I had to take her out?

I just shook my head, again focusing back on her. She rifled through the folders for a moment,
taking a paper out, folded it and slipped it into her suit jacket. Then she replaced everything in the
briefcase, locked it and put it back in the closet. I watched as she gave a very visible heavy sigh, as
she walked towards the window. And don’t you know it, she just stood there, looking at the view, and
I had the perfect shot.

I had the perfect shot.

But I froze. My finger was itching to press the trigger, but I was staring at her face, and I just
froze, the thought of what her eyes would look like up close running through my mind. God fucking
damn she was fine as hell. My pussy tingled, my heart began to race, and my hands actually
trembled.

Oh hell fucking no. I shook my head to clear my mind and tried again, but I couldn’t. I fucking
couldn’t. Too much shit was going through my mind, and the nagging feeling of the incorrect
information just rang too loud. And my pride had just become a companion to the thought, because I
was now angry that I was reacting like this.

See, now this shit was personal.

“Fucking bitch.” I muttered as I rose to my feet. I put the rifle away, and stripped. I slipped into a
black cat suit, knee boots, and leather jacket, arming myself before adding neoprene gloves and the
sunglasses. I gave a good look in the mirror, knowing that people would see me and think I was
heading out enjoy the Vegas nightlife. I quietly left my room, heading down the hall to the stairway,
but going through the other door that led to the section of the floor Santiago’s suite was on. I knew
the hotel’s floor plan by heart, and found the supply room quickly. I made sure the coast was clear,
before I picked the lock and slipped inside.

I took off the sunglasses, and pulled a ladder that was against the wall under the air vent. I climbed
it, quickly unscrewing the vent cover and pulled myself halfway inside. I made sure my upper body was
balanced in the opening, and used my legs to re-close the ladder and push it back to its position
against the wall, before I pulled myself completely inside the duct, replacing the cover with ease. I knew
where I had to go and carefully and quietly crawled my way towards Santiago’s room.

What was I doing, you ask? Proving to myself that I was still the top bitch. I wasn’t going to settle
with the idea that not only had I let myself have doubts, but that I was letting it fuck with me. So, I
was going to do this shit up close and personal. My pride was reigning high, and I was heated. I was
gonna take this bitch out one way or another.

And that is how you found me.

When I turned to face her, I raised my eyes to meet dark ones, and felt my nipples harden. I’ve
wanted to see those eyes up close for the past two days, despite the fact that I shouldn’t. But up
close she was fine indeed, and I was definitely not disappointed. And despite the fact that I was
staring down the barrel of a gun, I was getting so wet, just smelling the very body scent, knowing full
well what kind of body was underneath the charcoal grey Armani suit, chambray blue silk shirt, and tie.
My fingers so ached to touch my pussy at the thought of that body naked and pressed against mine.

Bad, pussy, bad, I mentally scolded. This is why my ass was in this situation right now. Because I
thought with my damn pussy and didn’t stick with the instructions. Even though I could rationalize it
and say I went this far because shit just didn’t add up and I didn’t want to make mistakes, I knew the
truth. My pussy got involved, getting in the way of my brain. And look at me now. Ten fucking years
of building up my rep just to get blown away cuz I got fucking horny and didn’t follow the rules.

Santiago gave me a look over as he---God fucking damn---SHE smirked. “Who sent a bitch like you
to take me out?”

What? “And what’s wrong with me?”

She just shook her head, “You don’t look like you can do much.”

You see, then she had to go and say something stupid. I moved quickly, and in three swift
movements, I swung my left arm, knocking hers so she’d fumble the gun, my right hand unzipped my
cat suit partway, and pulled the Kel-Tec from its hiding spot under my left breast, and when she
stood, pointing her gun back at me, she met mine, cocked and ready, pointing straight at her forehead.

“Now, what were you saying?” My tone was even.

“I thought you said all you had was a knife?”

“I said guns could be impersonal. Doesn’t mean I don’t use them.”

She gave me a sarcastic smile. We stood still as statues, both barely breathing as we stared
each other down. I had to admit that her gun was more powerful than mine. She was pointing a
customized Colt Defender at me. Damn, we had that in common. At least she had good taste in guns.

“So what now?” She asked.

“I finish what I came for.” I said calmly.

Her eyes darkened. “You’re fucking for real? You got no problems with killing me?”

“Don’t take it personal, it’s just business.”

“I ain’t dying.”

“I ain’t leaving without finishing my job.”

“Well then we’re at a standstill then.”

“Not really, because I know that when I leave, my job will be done.”

“How are you so sure that I’m not gonna kill you?”

I returned the sarcastic smile. “You may, but believe me, my job will be done whether I’m dead or
not.”

Oh, that hit her. And I knew at that moment she realized I meant business. She sized me up again,
and I could practically see the wheels in her head turning trying to figure out what to do. I was calm,
poker face, just anticipating whatever move she might make.

“Who sent you?” She asked.

“Can’t tell you that.” I replied.

She gave me a hard look. “I have the right to know.”

“Not my problem.”

“What the fuck do you mean it’s not your problem?”

I sighed, tightening my grip on the gun. “Listen, I just got instructions, I don’t know who sent
them and I don’t know why. That’s how it goes.” I figured I could at least be that honest with her.

“And that doesn’t bother you? That you have no reasons or explanations? That you’re just
supposed to kill me?”

“It’s just business.”

Again, the look over. “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?”

“How does that not bother you?”

“It’s just how it is. And you’re getting off the subject.”

“You’re not the usual…assassin-for-hire type. What made you get into this?”

Was she for real? I sighed again. “The Long Kiss Goodnight was my favourite movie. I found
Geena Davis inspirational. And you’re stalling.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fucking serious.”

“Ok, how about I was a fat kid in school and this is how I’m getting my revenge for all the kids who
picked on me,” I offered, “does that satisfy you?”

She smirked. “Issues?”

“Don’t we all.”

“How about we call a draw?”

“I don’t got time for that. So how about we don’t, but say we did, if it makes you feel better.”

And before I knew it, she suddenly swung her arm holding the gun, hitting mine and both our guns
flew across the room. She lunged for me, and my other hand swung at her, my fist connecting with
her jaw. She then threw a punch at me, her fist landing on my cheek. The punch didn’t jar me too
much and I jumped at her, my hands around her neck and she fell back.

It was a tussle. We punched each other, slapped each other, literally rolling around on the floor,
each trying to gain control to overpower the other. I could feel the prosthetics tearing from my face,
and in an aggravated huff I managed to pull the nose off, watching her eyes widen as she still
continued to hit me. As I felt her body against mine, I couldn’t ignore the delicious feeling of it, and
neither could my pussy. At one point while she kneed me in the crotch (mind you, that hasn’t been
the first time someone has done that to me, and I always gotta wonder why?), the feel of her knee
against my pussy made me shiver, but I ignored it, punching her in the jaw again. She managed to
pull off one of my gloves and my palm ended up pressing against a wall, and THAT right there pissed
me off. Now I had to worry about fingerprints.

“Fucking BITCH!” I screamed and threw a hard punch, hitting her in the gut and she groaned from
the hit. I was on top of her, straddling her middle, laying punches on her wherever I could, until I felt
her hands fall. I didn’t waste any time, jumping off her body and going for my gun that was only
about three yards away, when I felt her hand around my ankle, dragging me back.

She flipped me over, and was on top of me, hitting me hard, and I was trying to block every hit,
when I felt her hand around my neck, squeezing tightly. Her other hand managed to grab both of
mine by the wrists and she forcefully held them above my head.

“Listen, you fucking bitch---”

My leg flew up, my foot kicking her in the back of the head. She growled, squeezing my neck tighter,
cutting off my air supply as she scooted her body further down mine so she could sit on my thighs---
and I couldn’t move.

“You are not gonna fucking kill me, you hear me!” She said viciously, pulling my head up by the neck
and slamming it back down against the floor hard. “I ain’t about to be wetted by no bitch!”

I was struggling hard, even though I started to feel a little weak. I needed air. And just when I was
about to make another move to free myself…I felt her lips quickly meet mine.

What the fuck? I was now struggling even harder, but she only deepened the kiss, and I felt her lips
part, her tongue rubbing against my lips.

I tried. I really did. I fought, I struggled, I even made an attempt to bite her frigging tongue, but
when my lips parted, I ended up sucking her tongue into my mouth, massaging it with my own. She
still had her hand around my neck, but it loosened slightly and I was able to breathe as I pressed my
body against hers, my arousal growing.

“Shit, you got sweet lips.” She said softly as she nibbled on my bottom lip.

“Shut the fuck up.” I replied as I kissed her back hard, tasting the blood on her lips from where I hit
her.

What started as a struggle for defense, soon turned into a struggle to see who could get to whom
first. She let go of my neck, unzipping my cat suit all the way, and I was pulling her suit jacket off, the
femme in me feeling a pang of guilt as I tore the silk shirt she was wearing. We were rolling around on
the floor, undressing each other, our lips still glued. She managed to get the top of the cat suit off
my body, unsnapping the band I had around my mid-section to hold my weapons, and another one of
my knives fell out onto the floor.

“What the fuck.” She said. “How much shit do you got on you?”

“You know a girl always gotta be prepared.” I finally freed her of her shirt, and started unraveling
the elastic band from her breasts. As soon as I had them free, I was suddenly on top, and my lips left
hers, immediately sucking one of her nipples into my mouth.

“Oh shit.” She groaned, quickly holding my head to her chest. She let me suck on her nipple for a
few moments, before she rolled us over, pulling the rest of my cat suit and stockings from my body,
and I was left naked on the carpeted floor.

She was kneeling between my legs, and I watched as she managed to get her shoes and pants off,
leaving on just the boxers. She fell back on top of me, kissing me again, and I felt her hand on my
pussy.

“Oh God, yesss.” I sighed, feeling her fingers parting my lips to find my hard clit. She massaged it
expertly, my hips bucking up to meet her hand, and God it felt so fucking good. I raised my legs,
wincing from the pain on my ribs, wrapping them around her body, and she quickly pushed two fingers
deep inside me, and I groaned.

“You like that shit, huh?” She asked as she sucked my earlobe into her mouth.

I just held onto her tightly as she pumped me with her fingers. Her hand felt exquisite. This was
definitely a woman who knew what she was doing. I had never been with someone who was able to
play my pussy so damn well right off the bat. My pussy was tightening on her thrusting fingers, and I
was moaning loudly. She then roughly pulled her fingers out, and before I could speak, she shoved
her dick into me so hard I couldn’t make a sound.

“That’s it. Take that shit.” She was saying as she pounded into me. She lifted my left leg onto her
shoulder and her dick was able to sink in deeper. She was not a gentle lover. Every thrust into me
was like she was punching me from the inside, and her hands gripped my shoulders with murderous
strength pulling me onto her, her nails biting into my skin.

“Yes,” I gasped. I lifted my other leg, placing it on her other shoulder, and locked my ankles around
her neck.

“Oh fuck.” She panted. She now had the leverage to give me the deep fucking I knew she wanted.
She was fucking me so hard that I could feel us move along the carpet, already feeling the rug burns
on my tender skin. But I was fucking back just as roughly, the feel of her pelvis slamming into my
crotch luxurious.

In a quick moment, I gave a sudden movement, forcing us to roll over. I folded my legs on either
side of her and started to ride her as our lips met again. Her hands were on my ass, urging me on,
and I was moaning as I sucked on her lips, my teeth not-so-gently nipping at them. I bucked my hips,
feeling the shaft of her dick graze my clit, and it made me ride her faster and faster that I could feel my
ass jiggling, the feel of her boxers grazing my bare skin turning me on even more. I broke the kiss,
sitting up, literally impaling myself on her dick as I started to bounce, my hands playing with her
breasts.

“Jesus…” She moaned watching me.

“You like that?” I asked smirking. I was rotating my hips, and watched her bite her lip in response.

“Oh, you got words?” She suddenly asked. She then flipped us over, spreading my legs painfully
wide as she started giving me long, hard strokes. I was writhing on the floor, feeling completely filled
by her, reaching up to grasp her breasts again, which I noticed were bruised from our fight, and I
pinched her nipples hard.

“Yeah, just like that,” She urged me, “Pinch them harder.” She tightened her hold on my ankles, and
I cried out as she shoved her dick in me even harder. I retaliated by gripping her nipples between my
nails, bearing down. I heard her hiss from the pain but I swear it only gave her more pleasure and
spurred her on to fuck me more viciously.

It became a power struggle. I managed to pull my legs out of her grasp, planting my feet on her
chest and I pushed her roughly until she fell on her back. I scrambled to my knees on top of her,
again sliding my dripping pussy onto her dick. My hand was quickly around her neck, squeezing
tightly, my eyes locking with hers as I rode her. The movements of my hips were so fast and
determined, I began to feel the pain of the carpet on my knees, but I didn’t care. I bore all my weight
on my arm, knowing I was cutting off her air supply as I slammed my hips onto hers, fucking myself
harder, and I could feel myself start to cum.

She knew it as well, and even though I was overpowering her, she gave me a sly smile. “Come on,
Little Assassin,” She taunted, “give it to me.”

My orgasm broke, and I bit my lip to keep from screaming as my body shook above hers. She
reached for my head, pulling my face to hers, our lips meeting again as I came. She sucked on my
tongue, as my hips still moved, refusing to give up.

But then I was spent. My body gave in. I released my hold on her neck and just collapsed on top of
her. We lay like that for a few moments, both out of breath, my mind racing trying to figure out what
the fuck had just happened and how was I gonna fix it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my gun still lying in the same spot, barely five feet away. Even
though the fucking had been good, I still had a job to finish. I was quick, climbing off her body and I
reached for the gun.

But she was quicker. She again grabbed me by the leg, dragging me back. I flipped onto my back,
my other foot in her chest, preparing to push her again, when I felt her hand on my pussy, her fingers
quickly filling me.

“Oh shit.” I gasped.

“You just can’t stop working, can you?” She teasingly asked. Her eyes were dark, but filled with
unabashed lust.

“You know a girl can’t stay too distracted.” I panted, my body surrendering to her penetrating
fingers.

She claimed my lips again, and I felt her push another finger inside me, pumping me steadily. My
pussy was so sensitive from my orgasm that I could feel every movement her fingers were making
amplified by a thousand. I felt her spread her fingers apart and I gave a muffled gasp.

She was kissing me hungrily as she pushed another finger inside me, and I winced from the slight
pain. Too much, too much. I started to back away from her hand, but she held me down, continuing
to fuck me, and I could feel my pussy stretching.

“Stop.” I managed to gasp between kisses. “Don’t do that.”

But she ignored me. I felt all four of her fingers spreading then contracting at a steady rhythm, and
I was now whining from the invading act, in my gut knowing where she as going. She then started to
pump me again, my pussy now so damn wet the pain had lessened a bit, and against my will my hips
were hunching up to meet her hand. My hands were on her shoulders, trying to push her away,
despite the fact that this was feeling way too good.

She bit my bottom lip. Hard. And just as I was crying out from that pain, I felt her tuck her thumb,
and push into me. And with a few minor thrusts, she managed to get her hand inside me, completely
stretching me.

“OH FUCKING GOD, NO!” I cried out.

Her mouth covered mine, silencing me, as she kept her hand still. My mind was literally going insane
as I felt her hand gently close into a fist. This was too much. I could feel every inch of her inside me,
the feel of her knuckles against my cervix, her very wrist at the opening of my pussy. Tears were in
my eyes as she continued to kiss me, and all I could do was lay completely spread as she impaled me.

“That’s it.” She said softly, breaking the kiss. Her eyes met mine, dancing with lustful
mischievousness. “You got all of me now, Little Assassin.”

“Take it out.” I gasped.

She shook her head. “Not until I get what I want.” I then felt her start to gently rotate her fist, and
the feeling was beyond intense, the feeling overwhelming, but my mind not able to think straight. My
nails were digging into her shoulders, eyes now clamped shut. I had never felt so damn full and
invaded before in my life. I couldn’t squeeze, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t do anything without feeling
her fist there.

And then…she started to fuck me. This was the most gentle she had been with me all night. She
gently pulled her hand out partway, then pushed it back, and I cried out from the intrusion. But she
ignored me and just steadily gave me little thrusts, forcing me to accept her.

This was not what I wanted. My pride was not accepting the fact that I could not do anything but
just take it. Too many different emotions were going on at the same time, fucking with my head too
much and I tried to move my hips, but it only gave her more access to fuck me. Before I knew it, I
was moaning…louder and louder as she thrust into me, my pussy almost willingly trying to swallow her,
wanting her to give me all that she had.

“I knew you’d like it.” She said smirking as she started to fuck me faster. I was holding onto her
back with a death grip, moving with her, my legs lifting to wrap around her body. She dipped her
head, sucking one of my nipples into her mouth, and I whimpered as her teeth bit down.

“Fuck me.” I gasped.

“Mmm.” She groaned as she complied, fucking me even harder and I loved it. My nails were
scratching her back and I could feel her wince from the pain but she didn’t let up, only biting my nipple
even harder, and it felt wonderful. I was fucking her back, my body begging for her to stretch me as
much as she wanted, and I felt another orgasm climbing.

“Cum for me.” Her voice was suddenly at my ear. “Come on, Little Assassin.”

And as if someone had lit an explosive in my body, I screamed loudly as I came, my pussy not even
able to squeeze on her hand, but just surrendering as my body violently trembled beneath her. She
didn’t stop, but kept fucking me as I let go of her.

And then everything went black.

When I awoke, my mind was fuzzy and I sighed, trying to get my thoughts in order, when
everything came crashing back to reality. I sat up suddenly, realizing I was in the bed, the blanket
over me.

And she was gone.

“Damn, damn, damn.” I swore as I got out of the bed, having to grab the edge as my legs
threatened to buckle beneath me. When I was sure I was steady, I gingerly walked around, surveying
everything. My clothes were in a pile on the floor beneath me, my weapons and supplies on top, and a
sheet of paper lay beside it.

I retrieved it and couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged on my lips as I read. “I figured it out.
Your client is my former employer. I laid his wife, but he never knew I was female. Don’t worry, you
have nothing to worry about, I’m disappearing. In the bathroom you’ll find a surprise to secure your
safety and job. It was a great fight, Little Assassin, but unfortunately for you I won. Maybe, if I’m
lucky, we’ll run into each other again, and see who can best whom. It’s just business right? But for
now, Santiago one…Little Assassin zero.”

I walked into the bathroom, and on the counter, I found facial prosthetics, but on closer inspection, I
realized they were not mine. The nose, cheeks, and chin belonged to the face I knew as Santiago.

“Damn.” I whispered. She was good.

The End.

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