Chapter Text
tw. gore, Murder, death, and sexual language/words
โโ I was never really feared as I should've been.โโ
You counted the equipment laid out on the dingy hotel bed for the 13th time. Your lucky number.
It was an unremarkable Wednesday night, but that would soon change in the next few minutes if all went according to plan. You stared out from the window of the hotel room and circled the vague outline of a podium miles away with a red marker. Tonight's kill wasgoing to go perfectly.
It was an easy assignment after all, take care of a politician who didn't keep his end of the deal. An almost daily occurrence at this point. You'd think they'd be more careful when dealing with the Mafia, but apparently not! Wasn't like you were complaining though.It was thanks to them that you could continue your.. unique line of work: your own way to grant yourself a semblance of worth. To show you weren't someone they could mess with so easily.
Especially to all those f*ckers from the charity gala.
. . . . .
The memory was fresh in your head; probably since it had only been a few days since you were there. After that risky convo with Silas, you searched for your Beau. You considered yourself lucky that he was in the place you expected him to be: the gambler's ring. He loved playing with the odds more than anything.
Too bad the odds didn't love him back.
When you arrived, he was at the head of the table and a couple hundred thousand dollars in debt. He was lucky that his daddy's mafia was as lucrative as it was or who knows how'd he end up by now. No point in wondering though; ifs and buts were her bane. You either made it happen or you didn't.
No one said anything when you walked in, except for Beau who ushered you towards the table as soon as he spotted you. The rest eyed you in foxy interest, a few even sending flirtatious winks your way. Didn't matter, all of them looked like swine to you. You felt the bloodlust brew in your stomach but kept your expression passive, they weren't worthy enough to be privy to your thoughts, no matter how morbid. You were excited to see Beau's reaction though, to witness him go brutal on those you disliked was simple joy of yoursโ but on closer inspection:
He was drunk, more than usual. Slurred speech and harsh table smacks were the dead giveaways. You couldn't help but suspect his drink might've been tampered with. Not enough to poison him but definitely enough to loosen his pockets. All the love to your baby, but he really thought he was indestructible. Fortunately, you thought ahead and brought helpful medication. How lucky of him to have such a caring girlfriend, where would he be without her?
As you neared, Beau reached out and gripped unto your waist with his free hand, pulling you down to sit atop one of his broad legs. His other hand had two dice which he shook vehemently, as if that was going to help his odds.There were other girls there, although they looked more like trophies in their skimpy sparkly dresses and rigid postures. They stayed quiet and meek, even with those dirty hands on them. You weren't like that, you weren't a pretty trophy to show off.. at least that's what you told yourself. Beau wasn't helping with dismissive demeanor.
"Alright baby.. give it a good luck kiss."
He demanded before he brought up the fist with the dice up to your face, inches from your lips. How cute, but you didn't want to do so in front of these people. You politely shook your head but Beau dropped the lovely smile and shot you a glare. You knew that look, he was getting angry and the alcohol would only worsen this condition. It was better to comply, or deal with an angry Beau. The decision was obvious; you wasted no time pecking the crevice of his finger. Small and sweet, yet the audience of yours took it as a whole performance with sly grins and freshly ulterior motives. The need to leave grew more and more, lest you did something you'd come to regret. It was only that strong hand that kept you in place, with the strength of a boa constrictor.
Beau threw the dice on the deck, harshly so he couldn't have time to regret his actions. Those "precious" seconds seemed humorously quick as you viewed the eyes of all the grown men in the room ogle at two small dice.
Sure, those dice held the weight of boatloads of money but they just looked so.. insignificant on the broad Craps table.
The first dice rolled to a stop first. A one. The second tumbled on for a suspenseful while longer. Finally, it rolled its final time. A two.
A losing three in total.
Even worse, it was on an all in bet. What a notion, putting all your eggs into one basket. There was silence as the loss sunk in to the players. The others looked at each other in unease till one says,
"That'll be.. $4800 right?"
You found yourself pushed to the side while the dice leaped into the air as Beau rose up and slammed his hands down on to the table. A furious yell echoed through the dimly lit room. He shouted and cursed till his breaths came out in little puffs. The men around the table seemed to now regret getting him so tipsy. You didn't really mind but you knew you should intervene even with the audience present. You might even convince him to leave then. With this thought, your hands slithered around his shoulders and caressed his chest gently with your graceful yet deadly fingers. In a coaxing way, you whispered into his ear..
"It's alright Beau Baby, don't fiddle with these f*ckers.. we can take our business somewhere else, hm?"
Your buttery words helped him steady his breath and your hands rubbed away the anger accumulating on his chest. His eyebrows were still furrowed but he sat back down to look back out to the table.
The chips on his side were taken and distributed by croupier the as if they were whisked away by a river. You didn't dare visualize how much those chips were worth.
"Ya' should listen to your lil missus boy, today's just not your day, eh?"
A burly voice spoke up from the opposite side of the table, a voice you could vaguely remember as some big shot, not the biggest but big enough to say such words without facing the usual consequences. Probably went by Tony or had a dumb nickname like "Ice Pack Willie." It seemed the Mafia was doomed to have the most ridiculous names.
While you enjoyed the occasional thrill of a fight, you frowned at the thought of facing the people here. Not out of fear, more so disgust. Some looked as if they would get an erection if you punched them. You wouldn't like that.
Although it didn't take anything to get their egos inflated and to have them toss around their words without care.
"She sure calmed ya down though, just like a baby on a breast aren't ya?"
"How about that girl of your's play instead! If she hasn't already taken all your money, haha!"
A laugh passed through the group while Beau stayed silent. It seems they were emboldening each other. This wasn't good. You gently tugged on the sleeve of Beau's dress shirt, urging them away from this inciting crowd.
But alas, your efforts were in vain as a cold hand pushed you away once again. This time, rougher with a scorned fury that made you take a step back, away from the table, away from him.You looked up at your lover's face, aghast, only to find narrowed eyes of contempt staring back. He had a scowl on his handsome face that shouldn't have been directed at you. What did you do? It was their fault yet he didn't say a word to them.
His back now faced you. Without a word, he waved you off as a thick wad of cash slammed onto the table. He was going all in again. Those pigs looked amused with themselves, some even daring to signal you towards them with mock pity.
"..Very well. I'll see you Beau"
You weren't about to be left speechless, so you kept your head high and sauntered out of that suffocating room. You were only human though: your fingers dug into your palm as a harmful outlet of your anger. Laughter was the only sound that echoed as you closed the door of the room.
. . . . .
It was definitely a punch to your gut being dismissed in such a way. Even when Beau "apologized" in the car with a bottle of sweet champagne. But its sugary content couldn't still the torrent in her heart. Nor did his kisses and caresses; they only replayed that detestable stare of his in her head. Maybe she had gotten ahead of herself when she claimed she was much more than those trophy girls. Now, the question was what really was her role?
But you didn't dwell on it for very long. Meager thoughts were of no use. You preferred the blind rage instead. It would help with getting the job done. You closed the lights in the hotel, save for a red light that dowsed the room and your form in its crimson glow. You pulled out a phone from the pocket in her leather jacket. It opened immediately to reveal a livestream playing:
Reporters all awaited eagerly under a podiumโthe very same podium she circled earlier. Large, sharply dressed men walked up onto the stage as the clamor rose. It was almost time.
You stalked towards the bed before falling atop the covers, flat on your stomach. You pushed your face deeper into the mattress. A temporary bliss took over, as you allowed your mind to refresh in the chemically fresh-scented bedspread. Words in a relic of a voice sounded in your head.
Channel those emotions into a point. And let the rest be as still as possible.
She inched closer to a high-precision rifle that was set up atop of the bed, facing the large window. It was large and long, almost as big as her. She rolled up to its trigger, her cheek pressing against the cheekpiece as she stared straight into the scope. It aligned perfectly, good.
Loud shouts came from the livestream as a person walked up the stage, all smiles and waves. You could see him walking through the scope on your gun, which stalked him like a prey. You pulled the co*cking lever till the bullet was lodged safely into the rear with an affirmative click. Your teeth gnawed the inside of your cheek in tense anticipation as the adrenaline ran through your veins. Almost in position. Almost time.
Use that point as the bullet, let it shoot out of you.
The target stopped at the podium, he tapped the mics before looking proudly out into the crowd. You aim right on his head. Your finger falls from the trigger guard. Right onto the trigger.
BAM! CRACK!
The sounds echoed the once silent room. Not from your silenced gun, but from the window breaking into a web of cracks. You immediately pulled back and glanced at your phone. All seemed peaceful until.
Blood splattered unto the livestream camera as something bore a hole into the politician's skull. Screams followed as panic took over. People ran for cover and a few of the bodyguards hopelessly tried to help the poor man. It was all for naught. You could never miss.
With a slight hum on your lips and a "job well done" expression on your face, you began taking part your rifle and packing all the equipment back into a black duffel bag. Needless to say, you felt relieved. Like all the worries had just got shot out of a window and into a man's head. Either ways, no longer your problem!
You put your disguise on, a frumpy wig, some skimpy clothes, sunglasses and a black mask. All different from what you wore checking in. You likely only a few hours till the police began scouring the city for the killer. Not that you were worried.
If you weren't wrong, that had to be your newest record: 2.1 miles. Now this was was definitely a cause of celebration. You tied your long boots as the livestream kept playing next to you. A woman was sobbing loudly whilst holding the dead body, probably a wife or something. It was irritating so you turned it off with a free hand.
Having everything taken care of, you walked out of your hotel room. The halls were empty, on account for how late it was. And this hotel had real crappy security cameras. Someone would definitely be yelled at after your little stunt. All in all, you ran into no trouble leaving the establishment, something you were a little disappointed on. It seemed every assignment was getting easier and easier.
As you walked out into the street, you could hear the sirens race across the city to the crime scene. They always were such slowpokes. Nonetheless, you tugged your hood up and walked down the street, heading towards the safehouse.
That is.. till you passed the an electronics store. The myriad of televisions in the display all had the same story repeating
"BREAKING NEWS: POLITICIAN GIUSEPPE ARPAIA SHOT DURING GO GREEN EVENT, GUNMAN UNKNOWN, SOURCES REPORT THAT THE KILL WAS MA-"
You frowned when they said gunman.Never, in any one of your kills, did they say what you really were. That might've been on account of how good you do your job with leaving no traces, but still! It was a dumb thing to be mad about, you knew that, but the way those bastards glossed over you at the charity ball, the way Beau turned you away... Well, you couldn't help but get all riled up again. You needed to fix it.
The adrenaline in your body was still racing, and was now coupled with the thrill of a new record. So, you slipped out the red marker from before. You popped it open and brought it to the glass window of the shop as the newscaster still blared out at you. For the first time in your entire career, you left behind something. A message:
"Gunwoman."
โโ I suppose they thought, why be afraid of a mere girl?โโ
