Chapter 1

Bang Bang Guns Go Bang

Sometimes there’s a mess that some people can’t get clean. No matter how hard they try, the problem is still there, mocking them, staring them right in the face.

That’s where I come in.

I would like to say that I am an artist, because that’s what I do: I create art. I spend hours concocting brilliant and intricate schemes to kill, maim, and murder countless messes (or marks) on the daily basis. I would love to say that I am an artist for when I succeed in killing a mark, it truly is a work of art.

But I am not.

I am a world class assassin. I know over eight world languages, have a black belt in karate, am a damn good sharp shooter and street fighter. I am so good that in my ten years in the job, I am one of the few proud fifty assassins to ever have one hundred uncompromised missions. The most surprising thing however, is that I managed to accomplish all of these feats by the tender age of eighteen.

Yes, you heard me correctly, eighteen, young right. Well that’s all apart of the fun; it makes me not only an more valuable assassin, but it also gives me an advantage over my poor unsuspecting marks, for who would ever suspect a eighteen year old to be a ruthless killer. From what my boss tells me, I am considered the best assassin of my generation.

Before this my life was nothing but a series of disappointments. Now I am right were I want to be, intoxicated by money, sex, booze and blood.

 -o-

‘Fat ass’ I thought glaring at my self in the mirror as I tried to squeeze into my new leather mini and red halter.

Here I am, balls deep in Siberia, trying to play girlfriend to an “arms dealer”( more like spy associate) so I can accomplish my goal- kill the buyer, but I cant fit into the damn stripper get up my employer requested I be in. “Shit!” It’s bad enough that I have to be in the cold unforgiving waste land, but to wear a fucking leather mini in thirty degree weather so that I can kill a useless mark, that’s just crazy.

So I take off the skirt, and put on a lightly tight strapless dress. ‘Great, now I look like a 140 pound beached whale, just lovely.’ Then its make up, hair, shoes and badabing, hot black girlfriend is ready to fit in with all the other Russian party goers. Grabbing my kit (purse containing one knife, one dose of cyanide, and a beautiful custom made nine mil.); I left my hotel room to try and find my partner for the evening.

The mark tonight was an Irish man by the name of Patrick O’Riley. Patty was wanted by the Irish, the U.S., and the Russian governments for extortion, minor drug trafficking, and fraud. However, his major infraction (and the reason they want him dead) is that dear Patty boy was a major financer of foreign rebellions and a big time arms-dealer to the third world idiots.

If things go as I plan, Patty will be dead with in an hour and I will be on my way to England one hundred grand richer and ready to get my next mission. ‘YAY!’ As I walked out of my hotel to meet up with my date the sudden sound of Slipknot’s ‘Before I Forget’ hit my ears making me roll my eyes as well as cringe over my ruined mood. I would have ignored it but after the seven minutes of non-stop ringing I couldn’t take it anymore.

Ripping my clutch open I fished out my phone and answered it with a rude ‘hello.’ “Well that’s not the way to talk to your boyfriend who has missed you so much” a sweet tenor stated in mock hurt.

My left eye twitched all the while the grip on my cell tightened. I didn’t know if I wanted to sigh or curse at my rotten luck.

“Hey Jase, baby I am sorry, but you caught me at a bad time” I said with false sweetness hoping that the idiot who called himself my boyfriend would get the picture.

“Oh well, I was just calling to see when you got back. I miss you so much and...”

URGHH!!! He didn’t.

Don’t get me wrong, Jase is a very hot, sweet, and talented boy, but he and I are on separate pages. He wants a long term commitment and I want a fuck buddy who will put out when I need it and shut up when I don’t.

“Look Jason, I am busy. I will call you back as soon as I can” I said not only cutting him off during his rant but hanging up on his ass as well. Turning off my phone I ran to the car garage, found my rental, and drove off to meet my partner.

- o -

“You’re late” called a deep baritone of my partner for the night, Sergi. I rolled my eyes. “Yea well you try to drive in high heels you ass, and let’s see how you fair.” I sneered turning up my nose.

Sergi laughed a deep sensuous laugh and proceeded to link arms with me. “You remember the cover story?” he whispered, his mouth a bit to close to my ear. I nodded dumbly and Sergi led us into our final destination: Anno, a hip rock/metal club.

As we walked in to the club I got a better look at my partner: chiseled features, a body to die for, ice blue eyes, and a sea of raven hair that managed to hide his eyes. I felt my pulse quicken as I started to become very aroused at the thought of a naked Sergi.

And he must have been looking at me too when he commented “You look good”, that sexy accent of his driving me wild. “So do you” I replied as we entered the club eager to finish the job given to us.

Hours later, I finally made it back to my room. Patty was ever the easy kill, as an Irish bloke he really couldn’t hold his cyanide as well as he could his Guinness. And like I said earlier, Sergi was too yummy to pass up, so after a quick romp (the best way to burn post kill energy), I stumbled back into my humble adobe, half drunk and tired as hell.

I quickly did a status report followed by a security check before I packed all of my shit, stripped to my skivvies, and took a nice long nap. And by five-thirty A.M. the next day Danielle Fargus, the International model girlfriend of the Notorious arms-dealer Victor Serankov, was no where to be found.

‘And such is the life of a high paid assassin’