The Black Rose

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I awoke with a start. Jolting upwards, I glanced around frantically. “It was just a nightmare,” I uttered. A tortuous nightmare that had become my sleep regimen.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“What the?” I exhaled as the banging continued. Whoever that was had a death wish.

Rising unceremoniously, I trudged down the stairs to the sunlit living room. Who could be banging on my door at this hour? I had been in this city less than ten hours.

I grabbed a kitchen knife, ready to stab the perpetrator’s eyes out, I opened the front door. My hair askew, brows furrowed, robe ajar, “Yes?” I breathed exasperated.

“Well, good morning to you,” a seemingly familiar face greeted me.

“I’m Damien,” he announced waltzing into my home.

My hand loosened slightly over the knife’s handle.

“You can put that away, Olivia, or should I call you Alexandra?” He grinned, his lips curling a little too excitedly.

“What time is it?” I demanded.

“It’s nine, o clock, way pastime for you to be awake,” he chuckled sarcastically. My blood boiled. Did he not know who I was? Of course, he didn’t, why would they tell him anything?

I ignored his spunky attitude.

“I got you a coffee and a muffin,” he offered, placing them on the kitchen counter.

“It’s Alex,” I sassed like a child who was in desperate need of a nap.

“It seems someone has woken up on the wrong side of the bed, Alex,” he corrected, his brow rising. “How about you get dressed, and then we can attempt this conversation again?”

I glared at him, silent daggers moving from my eyes to his eyeballs. I clenched the kitchen knife with my fist. Without saying a word, I grabbed the muffin bag and coffee. “Not so fast,” he blurted, extending his hand out.

I reluctantly relinquished the knife, but kept the bag and pounded my way back up the stairs.

I shoveled the sugary puff into my mouth and chugged the coffee. I didn’t need to be a lady here. My mouth stuffed to the brim with a blueberry muffin, I moved to the nightstand and let three pills tumble into my hand. My saviors.

Moving to the dresser, I grabbed a pair of matching underwear and bra. To the closet, I threw on the first pair of pants I could find, which happened to be a pair of white-washed denim overalls, the label ripped out. I picked a rust orange half-shirt off the hanger and dressed. This is what a cool analyst from L.A. would surely wear. I finished the outfit with a pair of dangling rose gold bracelets and cute rose gold flats.

Moving to the bathroom I splashed water over my sleepy face and combed through my hair. I pulled it back in its comfortable, slightly disheveled bun. Last thing. I opened the nightstand drawer, empty. I opened the other drawer, also empty. My eyes scanned the room looking for—

My eyes hit the painting. Could there be? I moved to the girl hanging on the wall and gently pulled the frame from the wall. Like a door, it swung open. Sure enough, there was a safe behind it. I placed my thumb to the scanner and to my chagrin, it opened. Inside was a stack of cash, two passports with various aliases, as well as a knife, cleaning supplies, two wigs, black, yellow, and orange pills, and most importantly a gun. I grabbed the knife. A gun was too obvious.

I shoved the knife in one of the smaller pockets of my overalls and skipped down the steps, the sugar and caffeine providing the perk I needed to tolerate my new forced acquaintance.

“Much better,” he snarked, sizing me up as I trudged down the steps. I hated him already.

“So, what was so pressing you had to show up unannounced?” I asked without an air of hesitation.

“You already have another target,” he blurted, ignoring my snide remarks. “Plus, it’s customary for your new handler to greet you and make you feel…welcome.”

“I feel so welcome,” I sassed, “And I know my next target already, Li Chin.” I retorted with a little extra spice.

We glared at one another icily for a few moments. I longed for him to make the first move. My first stab would be straight to his groin.

“Another target,” he riled, thinking better of it.

“Another? I just got here and haven’t even started on the first?” My brows almost touched my forehead.

“You think all these perks come with less work?” he fumed.

I glared at him, feeling the familiar pinpricks in my fingertips, the flutter in my heart, the hair rising on my arms, the tremble in my hands. I fought the urge. I had to keep calm. I repeated over and over again.

“I can handle it,” I grit through clenched teeth.

“Good, then here is your next assignment.” He handed me another receipt. I glanced. It had two coffees from, “Ridicule.”

From here on out, we will meet here for your future assignments and updates. It’s maybe a five-minute walk from here, the perfect cover for your work.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” I retorted.

He glared at me icily again but chose to ignore my witty sarcasm.

“And what will you be to me?” my brows curled upward.

“I will be your boss, of course,” he aired as if he had given this much thought.

I scoffed, “Better hope you don’t have to actually act out that profession.” I wanted to add, but I thought better of it.

He licked his lips, a lion poised to pounce. Please do you bulbous sack of shit. I seethed. A long sinewy stare down ensued. Did he know about me, or did he really have that much self-restraint?

“Well, I will leave you to your busy day,” he rose and pushed in the bar stool. Guess he decided to stand down. “You’re to keep up with your normal routines as you did in New York, whatever that was.”

I curled my nose into a mock smile, who was this guy?

I walked him to the door forcibly, doing my best to remain as professional as possible. The next time Nadine showed her devilish face, I would be requesting a new handler, better yet, demanding. At this rate, I would give her no choice. They would find Damien dead in a ditch, or in an alley, or better yet, strangled from his own entrails.

He turned. “Word of advice, don’t get too close to your new target. I know how you have a weakness for—women,” he hesitated as if testing whether this was one of my buttons not to press. It was.

The wheels in my head spun as I willed the thousands of different ways I would kill him, but I needed to remain calm. The time would come. I didn’t alter my face or look away. I stared directly into his eyes, my brain computing a million different scenarios before his punitive insignificant pea brain could do one. When I didn’t take the bait, he continued.

“We want to try and recruit her, so play nice, but not too charming. Call me when you have made progress on Chin and Dr. Semmens.” He placed his hand on the knob to exit.

“Well, I will pine for you in your absence,” I frowned slightly, my fists clenched as to not wrap them around his neck.

“You will do well to keep your immature platitudes to yourself,” he turned his face rigid and serious.

I whipped my knife out quickly and had it at his throat, forcing him into the slightly ajar door, “Or what?” I growled low but playful.

“You can’t,” he muttered the knife dangerously close to his jugular.

Oh, I could,” I chuckled manically. “I’m sure you’ve seen my file.”

“I mean they would kill you for this,” he gurgled.

“Oh, I would love to see them try,” I seethed my lips moving close to his, but I backed away holding my hands in the air in submission. I grinned like a school kid who just got away with bullying.

“I’m just kidding,” I joked sardonically, smiling at him. His face remained rigid, poker-faced, but I could tell he was slightly shaken.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he rasped a red mark where the knife-edge found his skin.

“Yes, sir,” I bowed as he left, vanishing into the elevator.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. He was going to get old fast.

I held the receipt up in my hand and marched down the long-vacant hallway to the living room. The natural light shined through the enormous geometric windows reminding me I was no longer in dreary New York. I needed to explore.

I opened my computer and waited for the screen to pop up. I typed in the order number and hit enter. “Dr. Mia Semmens,” appeared. I moved closer to the picture and my eyes widened. She was attractive. Dr. Mia Semmens was skinny, olive-toned, with long chocolate brown hair. She wore black-rimmed secretary glasses too big for her face. Her eyes were almond-shaped and the purest hue of chocolate one could imagine. My shock dissolved into a sinister grin. I was going to enjoy this mission.

Over the next hour, I bounced between Li Chin and Dr. Mia Renee Semmens. I learned everything I could about them. First, Li seemed like a complete asshole. He had more money than sense, a lot more. He liked to show off his wealth by parading young, pliable women half his age into his clubs or to his other business partners. I sniffed a sex-trafficking ring as well. His son, Zhang, was no better. I tapped the edge of the desk in contemplation. Li lived in Hong Kong, but his son lived here in L.A. It appeared Li bounced across the Pacific monthly to visit his son and to most certainly check on the booming business. It was clear I needed to get close to the son to get to his father. I rolled my eyes. I hated sleeping with men. The only thing that made it palatable was the fact that I could kill them after.

Dr. Mia Semmens however was a savant, someone who I would without a doubt sleep with. “Don’t get too close,” I mocked Damien’s gruff voice. Did he not know I was incapable of feeling?

At thirty-two years of age, she had made a big name for herself in the world of genetic engineering. Originally from Harvard, she broke free from modern academia and moved to Los Angeles, where she launched a startup in her own home. Within one year, that startup received hundreds of millions in funding. She now had a thriving research laboratory called “Neogenesis”, where she held the record for editing sixty-two genes in a single step (I must note Dr. Swartz did many more to create me, but that isn’t common knowledge obviously). I could understand why they wanted to recruit her, but Dr. Swartz had achieved far more than her. What was the appeal? I brooded for several moments until it hit me. Dr. Semmens must be a match for the treatment. If they could amplify Mia’s brain, they could potentially engineer anyone or anything. My eyes widened. This tiny woman just might become my most important target, and Shadow entrusted her to me.

I dug deeper, but couldn’t find much. Dr. Semmens seemed to keep to herself mostly. She had a few pictures at dinner with friends, but outside of that, nothing. She was almost a ghost. She had no documented relationships, except a slight scandal from Harvard, something about her maybe sleeping with her professor (who between you and me resembled a pig), but I needed more. With several quick flicks of my wrist, I had navigated to her home computer, but was unable to penetrate the firewall. That had never happened.

I decided to try an alternate approach. I picked up my phone and dialed. It rang twice before a young gravelly voice answered. “Thank you for calling Verizon this is Brian, how may I help you?”

“Hello, my name is Veronica, and I am calling from the Verizon RSS retail service help desk. My Verizon user ID is VW387D. I am calling regarding a complaint opened by this store. It says here you are having issues with your kiosk card reader connection.”

“I don’t think so,” Brian mumbled lowly. “Hey, Frank, are we having trouble with our terminal?” I could hear him call to someone else.

“Yea, we haven’t had any issues recently,” he confirmed on the phone.

“Oh, well, I have this support ticket to close. Are you near your kiosk’s computer?” I pressed, giving him little time to doubt.

“Yes, I am as a matter of fact,” he continued, the youth in his voice apparent.

“Would you mind opening up your google chrome and type in this URL?” I had my computer ready.

“Should I have my manager do this?” Brian asked.

“Oh, no, it won’t take but a moment. I just have to follow this procedure to close the ticket.”

“Oh okay,” he fumbled. I gave him the URL which, little did he know, his username and password would now become mine.

“Is it showing closed?” I asked sweetly after he hit enter.

“Yup, it says closed ticket,” Brian reiterated.

“Perfect. Thank you for your time and sorry for the bother.”

“Not at all,” his voice rose an octave.

I hung up the phone before he could ask me any further questions. I took Brian’s user ID and password and with a few clicks I could access Mia’s account and perform a SIM swap. I would now have access to her phone, emails, and messages. Satisfied with my intelligence gathering, I decided it was time to leave the apartment.

Ring. Ring.

My brow furrowed as I followed the sound to my front door. The knife handle pressed against the small of my back. That better not be Damien. I didn’t think I could handle any more sadistic banter without actually killing him this time.

I opened the door swiftly, my nerves and anger on edge.

“Oh, hi,” the luscious Chantel muttered. I’m sure my face was contorted in an unfriendly way.

“Hi,” I smiled, glancing around for a package or something. She was dressed in daywear, not her white crisp shirt and black pants.

“I know this is silly,” she began, “But I have the day off, so I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch? And I would pay for it, it’s the least I could do for your generous tip.”

I sat patiently, watching her face move from joy to nerves to insecurity.

“I would’ve called, but I didn’t have your number, well I guess I do but it would be illegal—”

’I’d love to,” I grinned warmly, throwing her a life raft before she sunk.

“Oh, good,” she smiled. How did someone this hot remain so sweet?

“Let me just grab my bag.” I left the door open for her to enter if she wished. I felt at this point she already knew where I lived and had access to my fake information, so viewing the inside of my gorgeous place wouldn’t hurt, other than me having to inevitably kill her.

“Wow, this is so nice,” she muttered, following me to the kitchen.

“Thanks,” I mumbled. “I wish I could take credit, but I can’t. So, where were you thinking of taking me?”

Her eyes fell down from the ceiling and windows back to me. “Well, I was thinking we could take a stroll down Rodeo Drive, maybe grab a drink with lunch?”

“Sounds divine,” I swooned, escorting her to the front door. Truth be told, I had always wanted to waltz around Beverly Hills, spend too much money on designer clothes, and grab lunch in the middle of the day as if I had nothing better to do. Once again, Annie’s dream.

I grabbed the keys from the table, and we entered the elevator. Chanel hit parking and we fell floor by floor.

“You look nice today by the way,” I added serenely.

“Oh, thanks,” she muttered bashfully. “I just came from a casting call.”

“How did it go?” I asked, feigning curiosity and genuine interest.

“I think it went okay. I mean physically I am right for the part, and I guess I carried my lines well, but who knows these days,” she shrugged.

“Well, I’m sure you did great,” I smiled, suddenly hoping Chanel had a touch more narcissism.

Hitting the bottom, the elevator gave way to a garage that looked more like a bunker.

I let Chanel lead the way since she knew where my parking stall was.

“Holy shit, Olivia, you have a nice car,” she squealed.

I wanted to reply with an “I do?” but I thought better of it.

Instead, I went with a simple, “Thanks”. Little did she know I was witnessing it for the first time myself.

Before us was a blacked-out Porsche Macan with an ebony and camel leather interior. I swallowed. I didn’t have a car in New York. In fact, it had been a while since I had driven at all.

“Would you like to drive?” I asked exuberantly as if I was doing Chanel an enormous favor.

" Really?” she beamed. “I would love to!”

I tossed her the keys and moved to the passenger side.

Chanel and I drove to the heart of Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, windows down, our wide sunglasses, our luxury car, and an air of sophistication made us look and feel like celebrities. I imaged this is how Annie might want to feel.

Valeting, Chanel and I strolled the famed drive, bobbing in and out of wildly expensive boutiques, me, of course, purchasing several times (some for me and some for Chanel, Damien will be thrilled), until we settled on a spot for lunch. This part of Rodeo drive appeared as if a square of Paris was literally cut out and transplanted to California. The narrow alley was paved with aged cobblestones, and the quaint restaurant’s patio was placed smack in the middle. Chanel and I chose to sit outside, to admire the other perfumed, expensively dressed patrons in luxury sunglasses.

“This is one of my favorite places to eat when I’m out this way,” she chirped as if she was out this way often.

I glanced at the menu, nope not in Paris. The menu offered an array of dressed up Americanized food.

“What is your favorite thing here?” I asked since she frequented this establishment.

“Oh, I normally get one of the salads, can’t indulge too much,” she winked.

I feigned a smile and browsed the menu. In the end, Chanel and I both ordered the Asian salad with the Falafel plate as an appetizer, and a bottle of red wine for dessert.

“I never asked,” I began, taking a sip of the California wine. “Why did you want to spend your only day off with me?”

She gave a blushing smile, and I was hoping inside it wasn’t for the money.

“I don’t know. I just felt a different vibe with you. You seem off, in a good way,” she hastily caught herself. “I have lived in L.A. for a few years now, and the people here may look different or dress different, but they are all the same. You intrigue me. I don’t know if it’s because you are from New York, or because you are incredibly rich for an analyst, or if I just envy that someone our age can be so successful while I struggle to get by.”

I gulped. She was treading dangerously close to not believing my facade. “Well, you intrigue me too,” I interjected before she could ramble on too long.

“I do?” she smiled amiss.

“Yea, I mean you’re gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but you are driven, and you know what you want,” I trailed. I hated to admit, the courage it took her to knock on my door was a wild turn on.

“To new acquaintances then,” she beamed and raised her glass to mine. We clinked our glasses together and I watched in earnest as her heather blue eyes sparkled in the natural sun.

“So, what does an analyst actually do?” she asked inquisitively.

“I don’t know,” I aired whimsically. She chuckled loudly to my delicate sarcasm, her sweet voice music to my ears.

“I am a freelance analyst. I work with day traders, stockbrokers, and sometimes the government. I help mostly with cyber security.”

“All sounds exhilarating,” she bemused.

“I can assure you it’s not,” I laughed. “I actually find it boring.”

Chanel took another sip of her wine and shook her head.

“Then why do it?” she asked.

“Because it affords me this,” I looked around at the many bags, the fancy restaurant.

Chanel nodded as if she understood. “I get that.”

“Why do you want to be a model or actress?”

“I just want to be somebody,” she shrugged deeply. “I want to feel special.”

I gave a slight smile, “Then you shall.” She smiled back.

Once our food arrived, Chanel and I talked airily about the pros and cons of being famous. I’m not going to lie, but I found her mind quite as appealing as her physical features. She had a down to earth, simple, yet complex demeanor.

After lunch, Chanel and I began walking back towards the car, when she reached out and grabbed my hand. While her warm, silky, smooth skin felt like a breath of fresh air, part of me wanted to reach for the knife wedged on my left side, and end this blasphemy. Hold hands? I didn’t hold hands. I only slept with beautiful people in the comfort of their own homes, and then left them high and dry in the morning. What was wrong with me?

“Is this okay?” she asked, the worry lines of her brow prominent.

I was at a loss. “Yes,” I murmured, but deep down this wasn’t okay. She was getting too close. Why did I go to lunch? Why did I have to find women so attractive?

We held hands all the way to the car, and when she finally let it go was when I took my first breath. I didn’t want this intimacy, mostly because I knew it would end in her death, but also because I was incapable.

The entire car ride home, I couldn’t focus. All my brain could imagine was different discrete ways to kill Chanel and dispose of the body. What would Damien think? I already knew. He would try to kill me himself, yet he would fail.

“Are you okay?” Chanel asked worriedly as we pulled back into the bat cave they called a garage.

I gulped. I didn’t want to talk anymore, I just wanted sex.

Without answering, I grabbed Chanel’s arm and swiftly moved my lips to hers. Her breath hitched, her heart beat faster. We kissed passionately. She smelled of honeysuckle. I didn’t even stop to ask her if this was okay, I just kissed, and she kissed me back. Our lips and tongues explored every inch. I could feel the heat rising. I unlatched my belt buckle without even looking and daintily pulled myself into the backseat, and Chanel followed.

Our lips found each other again. I wanted her in this car, right now. My legs straddled her waist, and she pulled off my top, then my bra. Soon, it was a maelstrom of clothes flying everywhere. The car windows fogged, seat buttons were accidentally pressed, but the sex was wild.

“Holy shit,” I exhaled slightly sweaty, I wiped my mouth. Glancing at Chanel, her shining complexion and heather blue eyes were hypnotic.

“For a computer nerd, you sure are competent with your tongue,” she purred seductively.

“And next time I will show you how talented I am with my fingers,” I groaned, moving to kiss her billowy lips.

Now, I wish I could say this is where it ended, but we moved this party from the car to my loft, where we may or may not have had sex a few more times. In between those thrilling times, we divulged in a couple of episodes of Beverly Hills Housewives, which I to my chagrin found entertaining.

It was now well into the night, and Chanel had fallen asleep in my bed. I lay awake gazing at her near-perfect form, basking in the moonlight. I had already broken one of my rules and it had been but twenty-four hours. I couldn’t kill her she worked in this stupid building.

I sighed lightly to myself. Stupid Alex, so stupid. You can’t keep it in your pants for one night. I wish I could say this was the first time I had royally screwed up, but it wasn’t. The first screw up was with a young woman named Bella in New York. She was actually the first person I met when moved to the city (oh the irony). Bella and I frolicked in my apartment, and throughout the city for a few months until she turned up dead in an alleyway. I didn’t come as a shock. Nadine warned me of getting too close with someone.

The second time, I ended it, humanely. No need to let it drag on or delay the inevitable. I glanced over at Chanel’s sleeping form. This sweet girl had no idea what this analyst was capable of, what these hands had done. I gazed down at my shaky hands. Oh shit, pills.

I moved to the nightstand and extracted the vial. The small circular pills found their familiar path to my hand then to my mouth. I signed as they went down. The orange chemicals coating my stomach and making their way through my bloodstream, quieting the darkness. Now was no the time to lose control.