The Black Rose

It had been three whole days since I last saw Mia and luckily for me, Damien had a vial of orange pills to spare. While the intoxicatingly addicting pills wouldn’t last long, the only crumb of sanity I clung to was writing Mia’s article. I poured hours into writing every word perfectly, every sentence masterful. She deserved nothing but the best.

It was now Friday afternoon, and I was finally ready to send it to her. I hoped she liked it. I hoped it would do her justice, that it would shed light as she aimed to. I had never written an article that had any emotional substance. And while no one would ever read it but her, it meant something to me. I wanted her to be proud of me.

I hit, send and exhaled. Now all I could do was wait for her reply. It was time to prepare for tonight.

I rose from my desk, the silken robe, which I often found myself in more than normal clothes these days, swung as I turned from the chair and sashayed to the closet. I stripped off my robe and grabbed the black laced bralette from the drawer and the matching bottoms. I pulled the goiter doubling gas a knife sleeve to my thigh and cinched it tight. I then moved to the cursed painting above my bed, my thumb pressing a black square in the center of the safe. A faint clicking sound escaped and the door unlocked.

I pulled it open. I grabbed my favorite knife made of carbon fiber, it would pass seamlessly through any metal detector. My fingers feathered gently over the knife’s edge. I brought it to my lips, kissing the cool metal. “Soon,” I purred to her.

I wedged the knife in the goiter, blade up. Closing the safe, I returned to the closet, my hands glided gracefully through the many items until they landed on my choice for the night.

“Bon Jour mon amour,” I uttered. The dress was custom-made for my figure. The material was a lightweight, strong, flexible silk made from the finest French atelier. I slid the dress over my skin, and I felt an instant transformation. The material clung to every curve, yet remained flexible enough to move my arms and legs freely. The black silk snaked its way up from my mid-thigh, covering the goiter, and then continuing its death grip around the curves of my butt, conforming in a perfect V just above my breasts. With the pushup bra, my average pale breasts erupted from the material as if they had miraculously doubled in size. The intricately laced frills that bordered the V of the dress laid sensually against my milky skin.

I gazed at myself in the full-length mirror. I swallowed, taking myself in. The green in my irises danced as I exhaled deeply. My jawline sharp enough to mean business, yet my plump cheeks provided the hint of subtly one needs to get away with murder. This dress was the kiss of death, perfect for The Black Rose.

I sauntered to the bathroom and placed the intricate layers of makeup on my already flawless face. Step two of transformation complete, I could feel the narcissism, the egomania threatening to burst from its short-lived cocoon.

Ding.

My phone chimed on the nightstand. I hurried to see if it was from Mia perhaps. It was from Zhang.

Zhang: the driver is on his way to pick you up. Hope you wore your sluttiest dress. My father is in rare form this evening.

Me: I’ll let you be the judge of that ;)

Zhang: Can’t wait to take you out of it :)

I didn’t respond. I sighed, wishing it had been Mia who said those things. Why hadn’t she text?

Hesitating, my finger opened the app and I hit Mia’s file. GPS showed she was in the lab, again. She never took her phone in the lab. It’s okay, Alex.

I threw my phone on the bed, angered that this device had become so important to me as of late. I twirled. I needed to finish getting ready.

I wandered back to the closet and grabbed the rustic pink furry long trench coat. I put my arms through and let the fabric find its way down my arms. I found the sexy, black high-heeled boots I had chosen just for this occasion. Transformation complete, I turned to face the full-length mirror one last time. I looked like a stylish, enigmatic mob boss, a woman who meant business, a woman who could command a room, or kill an entire household. I moved my face from side to side admiring every angle. My hands glided over the mauve fur of the coat. I was ready to play.

Waltzing from the room, I unceremoniously opened a bottle of expensive champagne and drank straight from the bottle. Tonight, I would be free of Operation Nero. My mind could focus solely on Mia and intelligence gathering on Shadow.

As more and more time passed, I began to realize how much I hated taking orders. How much I hated how little I knew about Shadow or why I killed the targets I was sent. That was about to change.

I took another massive swig of the bottle and then another. I glared at the vial that sat on my kitchen counter. I had six left, which these days, was one more dose. If I was smart, I would take the pills for tonight, tonight was by no means a night to lose control, but I needed to save them for tomorrow. I loathed how much I relied on and needed those pills and how good it felt as they trickled down my throat. The sensation as the orange dust mixed with my blood, coating each cell with a warm blanket of calm.

I took another massive gulp from the bottle and by the time my phone rang, I had finished it all. The driver was here.

Before leaving, I daintily reapplied the lipstick in the hallway mirror, patting and combing through my long straight hair with my fingers. I gave myself a kiss, “Showtime, mi amour,” I twilled.

In the elevator, I rehearsed the plan in my head, or at least how I hoped it would go. Zhang would be easy to manipulate or corral, it was his father and his father’s goons that I was most concerned with. It had been a while since I was ordered to kill such a high-profile target with multiple witnesses’ present. A grin spread across my face with the challenge ahead.

I stepped out of the elevator and swayed through the front desk to the blacked-out Rolls-Royce, waiting like an armored chariot to whisk me away to prince charming. “Good evening, madam,” the driver bowed as I entered.

The Rolls’ cream interior looked elegant and streamlined. A bottle of chilled champagne waited in the center console. I obliged. Who said I couldn’t be properly lubricated for this venture.

Ding.

I looked at my phone. Damien.

The Devil: Text me as soon as it’s complete. I will be monitoring.

Me: Roger that.

I clicked and my GPS signal, as well as my microphone, were now a direct link to Damien. He could track me in real-time as well as hear everything within my phone’s periphery.

I decided to text Zhang.

Me: On the way :)

Of course, texting Zhang only opened Pandora’s box and I had to check Mia’s phone. She still hadn’t left the lab and I began to feel neglected. She really did allow her work to consume her. Maybe she was perfect for Shadow?

Mia had five missed texts. I couldn’t check without setting off alarm bells. I rolled my eyes, taking another massive gulp of the sugary bubbles. My heartbeat to the ticking seconds that would be my countdown.

“One Chin, two Chins, three Chins, four… five Chins, six Chins, watch as they all hit the floor,” I muttered to myself low and deep.

Ding.

Zhang: I am ready!

I gazed down at my phone. The anxiousness and anticipation building. Maybe I should’ve taken those pills.

I glanced up through the thickly tinted windows. We had arrived. The car pulled in front of the steel gate I had recently entered days ago. The gate folded backward and the driver pulled forward. We moved down the circular driveway until he stopped under the arch at the front door. The driver moved around the car and opened the back door.

One black leather heeled boot stepped out, followed by the other. I still had the bottle in hand. I heard a whistle.

“My, my, my, Jennifer, you look devastating,” Zhang rang aloud. He kissed me on the lips, my red lipstick staining his.

“Aw, thank you, Zhang,” I muttered bashfully, my slight southern drawl whimsical and fraught with innocence. “I came to do my part.”

“My father won’t know what hit him,” he gasped.

“Let’s hope,” I grinned wide, glancing up at the two marksmen on the roof and second story.

My arm laced through Zhang’s, and he guided me through the front door. One man by the door.

We walked through the living room and towards the back patio, where eight other gentlemen were sitting and drinking wine by a central fire pit. I was the only woman here.

“Gentlemen,” Zhang announced. “I’d like to introduce you to Jennifer, my date for this evening.” He glared goadingly at his father. Li Chin was a bulbous, squat man with thick eyebrows and beady, slanted eyes. He didn’t stand, he remained seated drink and cigar in hand. He glared icily at his son. “Welcome,” he grunted.

“Thanks for allowing me to crash the party,” I drawled innocently.

“Nonsense,” one of the other rich Asian men, sang, “There is too much testosterone in this house already, besides, you are way too beautiful for Zhang here.” The man joked his red face, a perfect indicator of how much he’d had to drink.

I blushed slightly, squeezing Zhang’s arm.

“Enough, Uncle, don’t scare her away already,” Zhang implored.

“Here, have a seat,” Zhang ushered me into one of the empty seats furthest from his father, who perked up a bit more, ensuring his defenses.

“What would you like to drink?” Zhang asked.

“I can stick with champagne,” I added, pointing to the bottle I left on the counter.

“Two glasses of champagne please,” Zhang ordered the server from behind us. I followed the server who had a mini bar station set up in the corner.

Of these eight men, four were armed, two were highly intoxicated, and the other two were too enormous and elderly to be of any threat. This would be easier than I thought.

I took the champagne glass and cheered with Zhang, smiling at him adoringly. I let him take a sip first before I indulged. The men barreled on with what men like to call, “locker room talk”. They boasted of their success, their wives, their mistresses as if I wasn’t here, or not a threat. I just smiled and nodded, envisioning their eminent demise, and doing everything I could not to snap. The tremor in my hands grew. I needed to move around.

“Sorry if this is boring or overly crass,” Zhang whispered in my ear.

I turned to him, “Mind showing me where the bathroom is?”

I gave him the gaze and Zhang’s eyes widened.

“Pardon us for a moment, gentleman, I must show her where the ladies’ room is located,” Zhang announced as if I didn’t know where it was already.

Zhang led me up the stairs to his room. Flashbacks of our tepid affair sang through my mind. A grin spread across my face as new visions, visions of what was about to unfold, filled the gaps.

Zhang turned ready to pounce, and I let him. He moved his body against mine and we kissed feverishly. I began to slowly guide him backward, to the bedroom wall, and then into the bathroom. The lights off, the darkness provided the perfect shadow. I reached down, extracting the knife as Zhang bent to lift me to the vanity counter. I wrapped my legs around him as he kissed and sucked the nape of my neck.

“Turn around,” I moaned seductively in his ear.

Zhang’s heart danced as he gulped and obeyed. He turned, his back resting against my breasts. We gazed at one another through the waning darkness through the far mirror on the wall. I began to kiss his neck, sliding my full lips against his burning skin. Zhang let his head lull to my shoulder in ecstasy. I drew my eyes upward, watching as my lips grazed his jugular. With sickening speed, I drew the knife, the blade slicing across his throat like butter. My legs wrapped around his body pinning him against me. Zhang’s eyes found mine through the mirror, filled with shock and fear, his eyes sparkled with the reflection of my dark pupils. As the life drained from his body, so too did my control.

Pushing his limp body into the bathtub, I pulled a satin black rose petal from my bra and laid it on the rim. One down.

Giving Zhang one last glance, I turned towards the mirror, gazing at my wild eyes. Specks of blood lingered on my hands and cheek, but I didn’t wipe it away. Instead, I watched as my pupils dilated, the green long gone. I let me soul sink deeper and darker until the only thing that remained wad blackness.

Turning, I marched militantly out of the bathroom. I moved with purpose to the far hallway wall. The sensory panel pulsed alive and I typed the code to disarm.

“System disarmed.”

I slid open the second story window gingerly. I put one leg through then the other. Closing my eyes, I let my ears take over. I could hear faint footsteps drawing closer. One, two, three, four, five, six, I whipped around the corner. One slice six inches above my head and the man’s throat became two. He grasped his throat, gurgling in protest and I stabbed again to the chest, puncturing his heart muscle. He died instantly, falling as I moved to shoulder the weight. I couldn’t make any loud noises.

Extracting his gun and silencer, I shot one lone bullet to the far end of the second story. I could hear the faint thud of metal penetrating the scalp. The second marksman fell with a thud to the ground, his fall cushioned by the bushes below.

I had to take the next two with speed and precision. I pushed myself onto the railing of the second story, and with one solid thrust, my fingers grasped the roof’s edge. I hoisted myself deftly upward, my feet touching the roof’s surface. My eyes locked on the guard just in time, as he turned, I sent another bullet sailing midair, penetrating his skull. Bullseye. The second guard turned, and I sent another bullet flying, except this time straight through the heart. I ran, covering the distance in half the time it would take an average human. I shouldered the weight of the third guard’s fall, and then the fourth. I grabbed another gun and silencer from the roof. A girl could never have too many.

Jumping down from the roof, I climbed back into the same window, walking gracefully down the hall, humming my song lightly, “One Chin, two chins, three,” I stopped and turned at a passing mirror. My hair slightly disheveled, I put it back in place. I reapplied my lipstick ignoring the blood splatters and the black pits that had become my eyes.

I walked down the stairs with grace and confidence. The rest would need a less intimate death. The server who gave me the champagne had just entered the kitchen. Now was the time. I opened the sliding door, and just as the drunken men’s faces honed in on the bullet staring them straight in the face, I pulled the trigger, firing eight rounds. Eight bodies lay lifeless on the floor.

I turned just in time to spot the wild-eyed server. Damn. “You should’ve stayed put,” I drawled impatiently.

I launched my knife, his forehead, the bullseye. The tray of wine glasses crashed to the ground with an alarming sound. Everyone inside dead, I pulled a handful of black rose petals from my bra and sprinkled them across the ground. Stepping over the limbs, I placed the two guns in Zhang’s uncle’s hands, grabbing his from his side. The front door opened as the remaining guards and driver ran in. Their guns trained ahead, but they were no match for me. I fired three rounds. Their bodies fell lifeless to the floor. I sighed triumphantly. Giving one last ceremonious glance to their vacant faces, I grabbed the champagne bottle from the chiller and moved towards the door.

Whipping out my phone, I text with my left hand.

Me: It’s done.

As soon as I sent the text, I took off in my boots for the gate. Meeting it in seconds, I waited and waited. Where was he?

Then the gate sputtered and revved to life. I zipped through the narrow opening and jumped into the passenger seat of Damien’s car.

“Well, hello there,” I sang.

“Are you drunk?” he spat.

“Only on bloodlust,” I grit through my teeth.

“How did you get out of there with blood splatters on your face?” Damien seethed as we drove from the scene of the crime.

“I had to improvise,” I shrugged, my bottom lip puckering. My hands steady like a practiced surgeon. I took a big swig of the bottle.

Damien slammed on the brakes and I flew forward, champagne sloshing all over me.

“What the hell?” I yelled, “This coat is vintage.”

“What did you do?” he harangued.

I didn’t respond.

“Will you drive,” I muttered defiantly. Damien didn’t move.

“Fine,” I huffed, opening the car door before he could accelerate the vehicle. I trudged forward. Damien pulled the car ahead and parked. He got out slamming the door.

“What did you do, Alex?” he roared. I could see the veins in his temple pulse in the car’s red taillight glow. His face moved inches from mine but I didn’t back away.

“Careful,” I seethed. “I’m on a roll tonight.”

My hand lowered to my left leg. Damien glared at me, his eyes bulging, his teeth chattering with anger. At this moment, I saw it in his face. He knew I killed every one of them.

“What?” I groaned seductively. “Do you not want to know the truth anymore?” The tone of my voice turned chilled.

Damien gulped slightly, reevaluating his next moves. I inched closer, my lips centimeters from his. “Careful,” I uttered. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

With swift force, Damien’s arm rose to deliver a deadly chop to my throat, but I was faster. My hand wrapped around his thumb and pointer finger and I twisted. A crack and a gasp followed. Damien’s wrist had broken. I followed with a swift knee to his groin, and he cowered low.

I swallowed, gathering myself and slowly lowered to his level. I grabbed his chin harshly, so he was forced to stare at me. “Never ever try to hit me again, is that clear?” Damien shook with pain and rage. “Is that clear?” I gripped his cheeks tighter.

He nodded.

“Good, now get in the car. I’m parched.”

Damien crawled to a stand but I didn’t turn around. I got in the driver’s seat and waited for him to stumble forward and flop into the passenger seat.

“You broke my wrist, you bitch,” he huffed.

“You’re lucky that’s all I broke,” I jeered lightly.

With his good wrist, Damien thrust open the center console and reached for a bottle. With his teeth, he filled a syringe and jabbed it into his arm. Slinking back in the seat, he finally calmed. Several moments of silence passed as we drove to my loft.

My mind replayed the scenes over and over as I calmly drank the rest of the champagne. The gunshots found their targets, the slash, and the stab of the knife. The feeling of the warm liquid splashing against my face, the cold frigid stares, the sensation of death filled me. My eyes blazed, my heart raced.

“I killed them all,” I muttered.

I didn’t turn to see Damien’s face. I could see it just fine in the periphery. His frightened eyes glared daggers into my right cheek, “What have you done.”

I didn’t respond. I knew tonight would come with significant backlash, but I didn’t care. Tonight, the soldier had become more than just a pawn, she had become the Queen.