sin in a Suit

The bullet missed my temple by an inch. I didn’t flinch. I ducked and rolled across the marble floor, glass from the skylight crunching under my boots. The skyline of Manhattan flickered behind me, but I kept my eyes locked on the shadows. He’s here. Damien Black wasn’t supposed to be here. Not tonight. I moved fast—smooth, silent, my body pure muscle memory. Land. Scan. Weapon in hand. The second shot came quicker. I flipped behind the grand piano as the bullet cracked through the marble where I’d just stood. My breathing slowed. My heart didn’t race—it calculated. This wasn’t a surprise. This was a trap. He was waiting. “You’re good,” a voice echoed from the shadows. Calm. Male. Cold as steel. “But not good enough.” His silhouette stepped into the orange glow of the city lights—tailored black slacks, bare chest, gun in hand, and a smile carved from the devil’s jaw. Damien. f*****g. Black. I rose slowly, gun raised, stance ready. “You’re not supposed to be home.” He shrugged. “Neither are you. Yet here we are.” I didn’t blink. “Lower your weapon.” “You first.” He tilted his head. Calculating. Amused. Arrogant bastard. His eyes scanned me like I was something to be studied, unwrapped, and destroyed. I moved left. He mirrored. I faked right. He stepped back. Damn. He was trained. Not just some billionaire with a body count—he moved like an assassin. “Who sent you?” he asked, voice silk and venom. I smiled. “Santa Claus.” “Cute.” A shot fired. I ducked and returned fire. Glass shattered. Alarms shrieked. Lights flickered. I dashed behind the bookshelf, pulled out the flash chip I needed from the secured server hidden behind the decoy wall panel. A ten-second download. Ten seconds in hell. Footsteps approached. Slow. Confident. He was hunting me. Eight seconds. I turned and fired twice. He dodged. One shot grazed his shoulder. He hissed in pain—but smiled. He likes pain. Four seconds. “Tell me your name,” he said again, casually, as if we were on a f*****g date and not playing kill or be killed. “Why?” I snapped. “So I can whisper it while you sleep.” The audacity. I lunged. We clashed. His arm locked around my waist. My knee jammed into his ribs. We crashed into the steel-framed bed, his grip brutal but controlled. His gun skittered across the floor. I had the upper hand—until I didn’t. He rolled us, pinning me with his weight, one hand wrapped around my throat, the other catching my wrist mid-strike. We were breathing in each other’s mouths. “Who trained you?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He pressed harder. I choked—but I grinned. Then bit his lip. Blood slicked our teeth. He paused. So did I. Something shifted in that second. Something dark. Something electric. He kissed me. It wasn’t gentle. I kissed him back like I was carving my name into his soul. Then I headbutted him, hard. He staggered. I grabbed the drive—download complete—and sprinted for the elevator shaft. I didn’t use the door. I jumped. Freefall. Four floors. Caught the maintenance cable midair. Slid down, gloves burning. Escape complete. Almost. --- Eclipse Underground Base – 3:11 a.m. “You were seen,” Vincent growled, slamming a fist onto the glass table. “What part of stealth didn’t you understand?” “He kissed me,” I muttered. Vincent blinked. “What?” “He. Kissed. Me.” “Did you poison him?” “No.” “Why the hell not?” I stared at the chip in my hand. “Because I wanted to know if he felt it too.” “Felt what?” “The pull.” Vincent leaned in. “Aria, this man is a ghost with a fortune. He’s ex-black-ops, off the books. He runs the most untraceable arms trade in five countries. You’re not supposed to feel anything.” I smiled. “Then I’ve already failed.” --- Damien’s Penthouse, One Hour Later Damien stared at the blood on his lip in the mirror. He didn’t wipe it away. He liked the sting. “She’s Eclipse,” said the voice in his earpiece. “I know,” he replied, lighting a cigar. “She got the drive.” “She got what I let her get.” He pulled a second flash chip from his safe. Identical to the one she stole. “But this,” he whispered, “is the real game.” --- Cliffhanger Back in my safehouse, I finally reviewed the stolen data. My heart stopped. The files weren’t intel on Damien Black. They were files on me. Every mission. Every lover. Every kill. Even before Eclipse. Even… before my memories began. And at the bottom of the file—a childhood photo of me holding hands with a boy. Damien. The caption read: Project Sin – Subjects 01 & 02. My blood ran cold. He didn’t want revenge. He wanted me. And I had no idea why.