This story contains a large amount of sexual frustration and pent up aggression so beware.

Summary: She was an assassin just as he was but for all the wrong reasons while he did it for justice and liberty. She did it solely for the riches it offered. After receiving a mysterious letter the two assassins go on a mission only to find out they had been sent by the same person to kill one another. Now in search on the man that wanted them both dead the duo form a relationship on uncertain grounds; will he be able to survive her devious and kittenish ways and she his dynamic sarcastic ego?


Kill the messenger

"Prologue"


His eyes were as cold as steel in the gloomy darkness of the Boston night; the man in the blue coat watched from his position on the shipment yard with the look of stratagem painted on his old features as he watched a menacing white hood shuffle past the few Bostonian's that inhabited the street. A devious smile tugged at his thin pink lips, the mysterious man held a small neatly folded piece of paper between his pointer finger and thumb careful not to wrinkle the letter.

The white hooded man that he had his sights on for the past few minutes was walking in the direction of the shipment yard. Old leather boot clad feet trudged against the damp ground that had been hit by the sudden drizzle that poured from the sky hours ago.

"Wait Sir!" The old man quipped, if he didn't act fast the hooded assassin would have passed him without a moments thought. Complying with his request the assassin stopped, the older man squinted his eyes trying to get a better view of his face but it was obscured by his hood only revealing the scowl he bore.

"What?" The assassin spoke his voice was cold and unambiguous obviously not interesting in mere conversation.

The old man held the letter in his hand up to level with the taller mans face. "A letter." he spoke a faint English accent escaping from his lips. The assassin furrowed his eyebrows from beneath his hood, standing still he eyed the letter in the mans hand with a questioning look. "From womb?" the assassin asked.

The man shrugged "Haven't the slightest clue." He stated analyzing the slip before handing it over. The assassin watched as the man retreated onto the far side of the shipment yard and round a corner. Confused by the event that just transpired, he fingered the red wax and opened the letter, allowing his dark eyes to skim over the fancily written words. The sender had remained anonymous but the enclosed message had been clear enough. It was a mission that required his immediate attention...

Folding the parchment, he tucked the letter into the pocket on the inside flap of his coat and stalked purposefully for the docks with only one goal in mind: to find a woman named Dahlia and prevent her from trafficking weapons into the city by eliminating her.'