Deadly Attraction

Chapter 2.

They do say women like men who treat them badly, like they are worth less than a dime.

A lot of women would deny this. But me.

I'm living proof of the theory. I love red flags and I live and breathe for the thrill of having them around me.

The trick is to not get attached. I've been going after them since I understood the proper workings of the female body - I was 19 at the time.

Fresh out of high school with no chance of college in sight. Dad's criminal life had caught up with him, and mom, well, let's not talk about mom.

Long and short, my tragic story is, I was on my own. But fear was not in the mix of the things I felt.

I don't know what fear feels like. I never have.

In my senior year, I was voted ‘most likely to be sentenced to life imprisonment’.

That should have been Michael Morten, but hey, I guess there's extra points for people who ‘anonymously’ set the staff quarters on fire.

That was a mistake though. I only wanted to set Mr Fred's desk ablaze. I guess I used too much petrol. Sue me. I hated that man. It's one thing to be bald, and it's another to be a bald-perverted pedophile. I had to do something about him without actually harming him because I didn't like the prospect of jail. I still don't.

Not that I fear being locked up. Hell no, there's no male d**k in a female prison, and I'm a s*x addict.

I have never been afraid one bit. Fear is for losers. In my line of business, failure is disgracing and multiple failures mean death, so losing an assignment is never on the agenda.

I am a killer. Yes, yes, call the police or whatever. I kill for a living with no remorse.

My first kill happened when I was 20. Oh, lest I forget to mention, it was on my birthday.

I was alone - as usual - no family, no friends, not even a boyfriend to have celebratory s*x with. Yes, I know, I was leading a miserable life.

I was hungry, and well, broke too. The plan was to shoplift - PEACEFULLY, without getting caught.

I walked into the victim's store wearing a hoodie. I was all smiley faced to the cashier before getting to the purpose of my little visit. That wasn't my first time and trust me when I say I am profound in the field of shoplifting.

I went to the back, away from the camera and the actual buyers. I'd been in town long enough and patrolled this particular store a couple of times to find out where the cameras were and how to avoid them. I stuffed enough in my pockets. Enough, I tell you. After less than two minutes, I had all my favorites, and I was ready to go.

As a rule, after shoplifting, before exiting your victimized store, do not rush out. You have to look like a disappointed buyer who didn't seem to find what you went for before exiting.

I was doing that, excellently, I tell you. Then I heard him.

“Hey, you there.” He had said.

I did not panic. Panic would have meant fear. I don't do that. I kept my cool and stopped walking. I turned to see a middle-aged Latino man who looked more miserable than I felt when I heard my dad had been arrested. I kept my face stern as I looked at him.

“Yes?” I replied, looking irritated - at least I felt it on my face.

“What do you have in your pockets?”

For some reason, the store was empty. I searched frantically for a face, preferably an aged one, to bail me out. Well yes, I expected to be caught. Shoplifting is always 50/50, no matter how skilled you are. Old people always felt pity for people like me, and they bailed me out a couple of times.

However, for some strange reason, there was no one. Not a single person. Just me and the half-bald supposed cashier who was walking towards me now, with a knife in his hand.

I didn't know what the f**k was happening. Normally, well, on the 2 different occasions I'd been caught without old people around, the managers took the things I'd taken and kicked me out. So what the f**k was he doing with a knife?

I thought about running out, but calculating the distance between the door and me, that would have been very stupid to do.

So I surrendered. STUPID! Yes, I surrendered. I removed the hoodie and dropped it on the floor.

But Mr the bald cashier didn't seem interested in the treats. He looked intent on killing me.

He came close and quickly grabbed me in his arms. Well, it was not romantic one bit, but I loved it. The thrill. Yes, there was a knife on the skin of my throat, but it felt awesome.

Without really thinking, I bit him. I didn't know what the outcome was going to be, but I did it anyway. I put my all in that very act.

He dropped the knife and began yelling. Foolish man. I fetched the knife and stabbed him. Yes, this story seems unreal, but I'm telling you, it actually happened.

I picked up my hoodie and a few more treats before leaving the store. A few blocks away from there and I heard the screeching sound of tires. Before I could wrap my head around what was happening, I was carried and put in a van. That very moment was the beginning of my career.

Apparently they had been watching me. For a year, the people my dad worked for watched me. And that day at the store was the day of my recruitment.

For six months I was trained. Training newbies is supposed to be for a year but yours truly was a record breaker.

In the seventh month, I was sent on my first assignment. I was to kill a CEO. Rich, powerful, well known, and my personal favorite quality, red flag. He was the rudest man I'd ever met at the time. My company was contracted to kill him by an angry ex who didn't find him embarrassing her at a gala fun occurrence. She wanted him taken care of. And I handled it perfectly.

He was a fun task, that man. He f****d well. I felt bad killing him because, well, not many women knew about his talents in the bedroom, and he had to leave the surface of the earth so abruptly.

The paycheck after that was crazy. Billionaires tipped well when they wanted to take out competition.

My methods aren't really professional and according to the codes and the conduct of the company, but it is convenient for me - I have a little fun before taking out a target - win-win for me and the contractor.

And now, I live my life the best way I think I can. I enjoy killing, and I get paid to do it. And that's not all. I get free s*x too, without having to feign commitment.

Right now, Mr Martel over here doesn't know my s****l face will be the last thing he sees before meeting the devil in hell.

“Why didn't I meet you sooner?” He says as he rams into me.

“Because you weren't destined to die then.” I tell him as I retrieve my knife from my jacket pocket.

“What's that for?” He stops now, anguish filling his eyes.

“This.” I quickly slice his throat with the knife. I don't have to check twice to be sure he's dead, because I have faith in the quality of my knife. It works on the first strike, every time. I take my time with maintaining my tools.

I could have suffocated him in his sleep, but he was boring me with his weak s*x talent. I have high standards and he didn't meet twenty percent of those standards.

I quickly dress up while I dial the cleaning crew. Their job is to make sure I was never at the scene. I personally wouldn't want to be in their department because most times after I'm done, there are secretions everywhere. I mean everywhere. I deal with real hot-best-in-bed types of CEOs. I know, my best life.

A few minutes later, they're in the room, about 6 of them all very occupied with whatever it is their duty is.

I take my leave, nothing really matters to me at this point. My job here is done.

“Kate. Boss said to meet him at the warehouse.” Carter, the head of the cleaning department, calls after me as I walk down the hallway to the elevator.

“Did he say?” I ask him, slightly irritated by the fact that my plans are about to be canceled because of extra duties.

“Does he ever?” He smirks and retreats back into the room.

As I take the elevator downstairs, I wonder why the boss wants to see me. He doesn't make direct contact with any of us. I have only seen the man twice. The first time was on the day of my recruitment and the second was on the day of my first assignment. It's been 5 years since I last saw him and I definitely wasn't expecting to see him today.

I spot Mr Martel’s security stationed on the first floor as I reach the hotel’s lobby. These guys will have a lot of explaining to do very soon.

I leave the hotel and drive to The Warehouse. The warehouse is not actually a warehouse. It's the codename for the company. To the public, it's an insurance company - a very legitimate one at that. But everything is not as it seems I guess.

It takes me 15 minutes to get there. I walk into The Warehouse and take the elevator to the last floor, where all department heads and Boss run the day-to-day activities of the firm.

People like me who work in the field don't stay at the warehouse and we don't have a department head. We're contacted with information about our prey and we get to the hunt.

“He's waiting for you inside.” His secretary tells me as I get to his office.

I nod and open the fine . Seated in his seat is Boss and in the visitor's chair is a blonde, I don't see her face.

“Ah, Kate, just who I was looking for.” Boss says as he sees me.

Blonde turns in her seat now.

I'm met with fiery blue eyes and red full lips. She looks like a model with her perfectly done hair and makeup. Talk about too much.

“Hey Boss.” I say as I walk towards the desk where they're seated.

“Recent job well done?.” He asks me without looking up from the file on his desk.

“Smoothly sir.” I feel a mean gaze on my neck. Someone must have pissed this woman off so much.

Boss looks at me now, “This is Miss Peterson, a new client.” He tells me.

I look at her, and she returns the look with fiery eyes.

“She's hiring us to help her kill someone on short notice,” Boss continues.

“No details of life activities?”

“Yes Kate, no details.” Boss picks up the dossier he was looking at moments ago and hands it over to me.

“That's your target. The details of your assignment are all included in it. You can go.”

I turn to leave, file in my hand.

“Don't f**k him.” I hear a British accent.

Fiery eyes.

“That removes the fun from my work.” I turn and face her. “And I like to have fun.”

“Do not f**k him.” She repeats it.

“I won't promise you that.” I walk out now, a little aggravated by the little episode.

No details of life activities means I have to watch the target myself before I go in for the kill.

There's no fun in that.

I get to my car and place the dossier on the front passenger’s seat as I climb in. I make a mental note to look at it later while I drive to a club.

I need d**k tonight.