A/N: Hello there. I'm just going to get this off my chest: if you're expecting a hentai, you can leave now. This is rated for violence, not other… things. Other than that, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

Chapter 1: Poison Wreathed In Flowers

"So, are you willing?" The balding man studied the lovely blonde woman seated in the velvet armchair opposite him over the rim of his glass of champagne, pushing the wire rime glasses up his nose. He didn't look it, but he had been responsible for the deaths of thousands of people. His name was Sylvester Reynolds.

"I guess…" The woman answered lazily, sapphire eyes hooded and shadowed in the flickering light of the fire. She let out a delicate sigh. "When I was younger, I used to think this was so exciting."

"That's pretty rich, coming from your mouth." The man commented, studying the twenty-one-year-old sitting calmly, looking almost bored in her elegant black satin evening gown.

"I feel so much older than I look…" She murmured, almost sorrowfully. "Mr. Reynolds,"

"Sylvester, dear," His thin, mousy face attempted to form an encouraging smile, but his lips twisted down in a scowl. He sat, slouched over his champagne, staring at the blond beauty before him with hungry black eyes. There was a strong aphrodisiac in her alcohol, but he had a feeling she knew.

"Sylvester," she amended, the silken syllables rolling off her tongue like a chime. "Do you really think I enjoy working for the likes of you?"

"You make me sound like such a bad person." He laughed lightly, but his eyes were intense on her face. The girl was blunt, but he wasn't quite sure if that was a good thing.

"You are." She answered simply, staring him squarely in the eye.

"You're not afraid of me, are you, Ms. Johnson."

"No, Sylvester, I am not." Sabrina said calmly, her fingers tracing lazy circles along the glass.

"Then you are either very brave, or very, very stupid." He said simply, his eyes daring her to contradict him. She did not rise to the challenge.

"I will go to Japan." She said, setting the untouched glass down on the ornate coffee table. "I will kill this man you speak of. L. Ryuuzaki. Ryuuga Hideki. I will make it look accidental. I will do all this, but I will not work with you again, Sylvester."

"And why, may I ask?"

"I have had to stoop down low in order to support myself lately. I have gone from an assassin to a contract killer, and the government will no longer hire the likes of me. I will serve the Mafia, I will serve the Yakuza, and I will serve men with too much spite in their hearts and too much money in their hands. I will serve all these people and more, but I will not serve a man like you. You are even filthier than I." She stood, placing the manila folder on his desk as she passed it by. She stopped at the door.

"I'll see you in hell, Mr. Reynolds."

"Likewise, Ms. Johnson."

The door slid shut behind her, and Sylvester Reynolds smiled for the first time in a long time. This girl was amusing.

--

She should've known. She should've known that he wasn't some pretty boy guard or a piece of eye candy for the Edwards's sixteen-year-old daughter. She should've known that he was with M16, should've known that he would've been exceptionally clever, and that she would need to be even smarter. But, she hadn't. and she was beginning to regret that as she felt the cold steel bite into her pale, exposed throat. Long, delicate fingers threaded through her now-red hair, jerking her head back.

"You're surprisingly stupid for a contract killer." He murmured in her ear, his voice low and sensual.

She sighed. This was supposed to be easy and simple, a quick little warm-up before the big operation in Japan. It was simple. Kill off the Edwards', all three of them, and get the hell out. It didn't have to be accidental. Just untraceable. It would've gone perfectly. Except for this.

He was standing behind her and to her right, one finger resting on the pressure point in her neck that would knock her out instantly, the other hand holding the slender dagger to her throat. She would have to act fast. He wasn't playing around.

She whipped her head around, catching him unawares. She was tied to a chair with a knife to her neck. All she could possibly do was kiss him. And kiss him she did. His lips were surprisingly soft and warm beneath hers, but the kiss only lasted a moment. The next second, he was on the ground, out cold.

Thank God for knock-out lip gloss.

She wasn't quite sure how it worked, but it wasn't effective on females. It had something to do with the testosterone levels in one's body, or something like that, but Sabrina wasn't in a position to waste time pondering the effects of lip gloss. She studied him carefully. He was surprisingly handsome, with dark, messy hair and sickly pale, flawless skin. He had dark bruises beneath eyes she knew were fathomlessly dark and beautifully. Normally, stark white skin and bags under one's eyes weren't exactly attractive, but, on him, they were beyond good looking.

"You know, if we had met under different circumstances, I might have fallen for you." She said before quietly slipping away.

By the time he woke up, she would be on a plane to Tokyo, Japan.

By the time he alerted the others that they had been visited by an assassin, Anthony Edwards would be dead. He would have stepped into his shower at precisely seven-thirty that morning only to find, not water, but acid.

By the time the M16 agent learned of the death of the rich businessman, Lauren Edwards would've pricked her finger on a poisoned needle and died instantly.

By the time the dark-haired man discovered Mrs. Edwards in the parlor, slumped over her sewing kit, Julia Edwards would've found a bouquet of flowers from a boy at school on her doorstep. She would've breathed in their fragrance, then crumpled to the pavement.

By the time the undercover special operations operative realized all this was her doing, she would be half way across the Pacific Ocean.

By the time he looked for a Nancy Adams, she would be gone.

--

She pushed open the glass door, walking into the air-conditioned coolness of the airport. But, before she stepped foot onto her flight, she bought four dozen black roses and sent one to each of the Edwards' relatives and close friends.

They called her The Gentleman because of this.

They did not believe that a female could be such a cold-hearted, ruthless killer.

That was fine with her.

Sabrina Johnson boarded flight 24B to Tokyo. They would never catch her.

A/N: Review, if you please. (This is me trying to be polite. Please review.)