THE ASSASSIN WORE RED LIPSTICK

Chapter 1: THE ASSASSIN IN RED LIPSTICK

The man on the floor was choking on his own blood, and I was reapplying my lipstick.

That was my signature. That was why they called me Raven Dela Rosa, the assassin who wore red lipstick. Before I killed, I always wore it. After I killed, I reapplied it. Red, brave, the color of blood and sin.

Victor Kane - 45, congressman, r****t, the man who ordered the death of my mother ten years ago - was now lying on the marble floor of his private suite in Clark, Pampanga. His white shirt was red. My favorite color.

"You..." he gasped, his hand reaching for my ankle. "You bitch... innocent face..."

I looked down at him. I am 25, I have an innocent face that men trust, long black hair that men want to pull, and red lips that men want to kiss. That innocent face is my best weapon. No one expects a girl who looks like a college student to put a bullet in your skull.

"My mother was 40 when your men killed her," I said, my voice soft, small, almost sweet. I knelt beside him, my black dress tight, my red lips close to his ear. "She had an innocent face like mine. She wore red lipstick like mine. Remember her? The waitress from San Fernando you r***d and then killed because she threatened to report you?"

His eyes widened. Recognition. Fear. Finally.

"You... you are her daughter..."

"Yes," I whispered, and I smiled with my red lips. "And I am here to collect. With interest."

I stood up, took out my small silver gun from my garter - a gift from my mentor - and pointed it at his forehead. My hand did not shake. My hands never shake when I kill. They only shake when...

I didn't finish the thought. I pulled the trigger.

One shot. Clean. Between the eyes. The signature of the red lipstick assassin. No mess, just one hole, and blood that matched my lipstick.

It was done. Ten years of training, ten years of hunting, ten years of wearing red lipstick to be brave - done in one bullet.

I took out my mirror and reapplied my red lipstick in his dead reflection. Perfect. Brave.

That was when the door exploded.

Not opened. Exploded. The wood shattered and five men in black military uniforms entered, guns raised, and in the middle of them was a man who made my blood - and my red lipstick - freeze.

He was tall. Over six feet. Black military coat, black pants, black boots, despite the heat of Pampanga. His hair was black, short, military cut. His jaw had a scar, a thin white line that made him look more dangerous. And his eyes... his eyes were blue. Cold blue, like ice in the mountains, like a sky before a storm. Eyes that had seen war and killed hundreds.

General Lucian Voss. 30 years old. Billionaire. The most feared General in Central Luzon. The man who owned half of San Fernando, who had a private army, who never smiled. The man my informant warned me about: "Don't do it tonight, Raven. General Voss is in Clark tonight for a meeting with Kane. He will be there."

I was late. Or he was early.

His blue eyes looked at the dead body of Victor Kane, then looked at me - a small woman in a tight black dress, long black hair, innocent face, red lips, holding a smoking gun and a lipstick.

For five seconds, no one moved. His soldiers pointed guns at me.

I should have run. I should have shot. But I didn't. Because his blue eyes were not looking at my gun. He was looking at my red lipstick. At my innocent face that had just killed a man.

"Lower your guns," he ordered, his voice low, deep, cold. The voice of a General who orders men to die.

His men lowered their guns instantly.

He walked towards me, slowly, his boots silent on marble despite his size. He stopped one foot away. I could smell him - gunpowder, expensive cologne, and rain. Military scent.

"You killed him," he said, not a question.

"Yes," I said, my voice small but my red lips steady. I am Raven, I don't fear Generals.

"Why?"

"Revenge. He killed my mother."

He stared at my red lips, then at my innocent face, then back at my red lips. His blue eyes turned darker, black almost.

"What's your name, assassin?" he asked.

"Raven."

"Raven what?"

"Raven Dela Rosa."

He took a step closer. I should have stepped back. I didn't. His scar was close now, his blue eyes close.

"Do you know who I am, Raven Dela Rosa?"

"General Lucian Voss. Billionaire. Owner of Voss Military Corporation. Feared."

He smiled. For the first time, he smiled, and it was not a nice smile. It was possessive, obsessed, dangerous.

"Good. You know I am feared. So you know what happens to assassins who kill in my territory without my permission?"

I lifted my chin, my red lipstick defiant. "You kill them?"

"I should," he whispered, and his hand - big, scarred, a hand that killed - reached out and touched my chin, lifting my innocent face to him. His thumb brushed my red lipstick, smudging it slightly. "But you... you are wearing red lipstick while you kill. You have an innocent face that kills. Do you know how long I have been looking for you?"

My heart stopped. "Looking for me?"

"The assassin in red lipstick. Three kills in Angeles, two in San Fernando, all men with one bullet between the eyes, all with a red lipstick mark on their mirror. I have your file, Raven. 25, orphan, trained by a former NBI. Innocent face, long black hair, red lipstick obsession. I have been hunting you for a year."

He leaned closer, his blue eyes black now, his thumb still on my red lips, smudging my brave color.

"And now I found you, standing over Victor Kane, who I was also going to kill tonight because he owed me 50 million. You stole my kill, little assassin."

"I didn't know he owed you," I whispered, my lips trembling under his thumb, my innocent face red. No man had ever touched my red lipstick and lived.

"I don't care about the money," he said, his voice lower, his eyes on my lips. "I care that you are here, in a black dress, with red lips, with a gun, and you are beautiful."

Beautiful? He called an assassin beautiful?

His soldiers coughed, uncomfortable. The General never called anyone beautiful. The General never touched a woman's face.

Lucian didn't care. He took his thumb away, looked at the red on his skin - my red lipstick on his thumb - and did something that made my knees shake.

He put his thumb in his mouth and tasted my red lipstick.

"Red," he said, his blue eyes never leaving mine. "Brave."

And then he grabbed my wrist - not hard enough to hurt, hard enough that I couldn't run - and said to his men:

"Take Kane's body. Clean this room. No police. This never happened."

He looked down at me, his assassin in red lipstick, his blue eyes possessive.

"And you, Raven Dela Rosa, you are coming with me to my mansion in San Fernando. You killed a man I was going to kill. You owe me a debt. And I collect debts in red lipstick."

I tried to pull away, my gun still in my other hand, but he was stronger, a General, a billionaire, a man who owned armies.

"I don't go with men I don't know, General," I said, my innocent face trying to be brave, my red lips trying to be defiant.

He leaned down, his lips near my ear, his scar close, his blue eyes black, and whispered the words that would change my life forever:

"You killed in my city, assassin. Now you belong to me. Your innocent face, your long black hair, your red lipstick, and that little gun. All mine. And I always take what is mine."

He carried me - literally picked me up over his shoulder like I was a small bag - out of the bloody suite in Clark, past his soldiers, past the dead congressman, my red lipstick smudged, my gun still smoking, my innocent face shocked.

That was how I met General Lucian Voss, the Billionaire General who would become my husband, my obsession, and the father of my twins.

That was how the assassin who wore red lipstick was finally caught - not by police, but by a General who loved red.

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