He was the devil. And I should know-I had sold my soul to him over a decade before. We were fire and death. And he was the love of my life.

Part One

It was just another crapshoot in Uganda. The goal was to get in and get out-nothing I hadnt done a million times before. A student had been assassinated only 3 weeks earlier by the Opposition party. Civil and political unrest had taken its toll. Once a country that boasted western ideals, it had suddenly gone the other way. And violently. My job was to get in, kill the head of the opposition party, and get out. A nice, fat paycheck was waiting on me once I got stateside-and a little vigilante justice never hurt anyone. I thoroughly enjoyed assignments like this one. My price tag was about to go way up, and my value was what had kept me alive in this godforsaken world thus far.

I stepped into the local watering hole about twenty to eight. A couple of patrons looked up at me appreciatively, but the look on my face must of warned them of my mood as no one got up from their chairs. Johan Wamala Higenyi wasnt due for his meeting with the other organizers for another three hours. They were meeting in a nearby tenement, so close that I just had to look our the window to see my destination. All I had to do was to wait until the end of the meeting and pick him off as he was leaving the venue. There was so much unrest in the country at this time that no one would guess that the shooter was a 30 year old American female. My disguise nearly rendered me asexual. I was covered head to toe in brown rags, and my short brown wig wouldn't arouse too much suspicion. Even if someone did happen to see me, I would melt into the night before anyone could do anything about it.

It would be like taking candy from a baby. The biggest issue would be leaving the country after the fact, but my employer assured me that a plane would be waiting on a nearby tarmac to fly me to the UK. From there I could do home for a while. 3.4 million dollars. My mind reeled at the prospects. I didn't doubt that my employer was good for the cash. Mr. Widmore was an infinetly wealthy man, with businesses all over Britain. However, he did not seem to be a particularly sentimental man, and the assassination of Higenyi stuck a chord with me. It just didn't make any sense. But I knew better than to ask questions. Asking questions bought you a bullet to the head. I wasn't a dumb bunny.

"Give me a mug of the best beer you have on tap, cause I'm not paying for it," I muttered to the bartender in Swahilli as I sat down at the end of the table. As a general rule, I never drank too much before taking someone out. It was bad form, after all. But the money always made my head swim a little bit, and I restled with dreams of buying my own Island and just retiring. Plus, I found that a little buzz kept me calmer when the moment came. The bartender nodded at me and slid the mug across the table. I slapped some bills down. "Keep filling it back up until I tell you to go the hell away." His eyes grew wide at the sight of the bills and pocketed them hastily with a respectful "Yes, miss." The word made me chuckle to myself. I hadn't been a Miss for many years now. Hard to be a Miss when you are sliding your knife into some poor fools skull.

I settled in to the stool and gazed up at the photographs on the wall. There were all pictures of patrons, (who were most likely tourists), and some of the local wildlife. I'd never cared too much for this part of the world. There were too many battles going on at one time. It was a dangerous place to be in general. Which is what surprised me the most about the assignment. Why bother? If I took this guy out, surely there would be someone to take his place. My hand dropped to my shirt pocket which held a recent picture of Higenyi. He must have done something else. Something worth shutting him up over. And the possibilities for that were endless. My bets were on drugs. Most everything went back to drugs.

There was a rickety old jukebox sitting in the corner, playing some song I didn't know. I let my mind drift in time with the music. This is just what I had needed. Not too much time had passed before my ears perked up to the sound of something familar. English. I ventured a glance back at the door flew open and three huge guys all decked out in riot gear flew into the bar. Their passage caused quite a stir with the locals, and several of them got up to leave as soon as the men had passed. They mocked eachother as they came to the bar, and laughed uproariously as the shorter one (still over six feet tall though, I had no doubt and with wicked brown eyes) kicked a scrawny patron off from one of the stools.

"Get the fuck out of here, faggot." He laughed again as the man scurried out of his way. He plopped down into the stoll on the far end while the other guys followed suit.

Then it hit me. It was not just the English. They were American, except for maybe the middle one who had an accent I just could place. But they were all military, by the looks of it. All had the telltale haircut of an infantryman. There was the shorter and pugnosed brunette, who I dubbed "Asshole, almost immediantly. Then there was the accented brunette, who was quieter-but who still reminded me a bit of Animal Mother from Full Metal Jacket. And then there was the last, a tree of a man and blonde-who came to sit by me. He was obviously their leader-the other two would keep looking at him as they told their dirty jokes. I tuned out the majority of it, with only a f-bomb slipping through every now and then. It occured to me that these guys could be trouble for me, especially considering how much I knew good-old-boys could drink. So much for me being inconspicous. The bartender appeared to refill my mug and I nodded at him.

"You don't look like a beer girl." The blonde one took his shot of whiskey and slammed it back down on the table. "In fact, you don't look like a girl who should be fucking around in Uganda these days. Don't you know what kind of shit is going down? Girl like you could get killed around here." This must have struck the other two as being funny-they guffawed and the middle one slapped him on the back.

I rolled my eyes and refocused my stare on the pictures. "I'll take my chances, asshole. And i'll take a good beer over one of those little fruity fucks that every bitch keeps ordering these days." I sipped at my beer. "Now, fuck off."

He tsked at me. "Language. I guess i'll tuck my tail in between my legs then, right?" He laughed. "Guess what they said about redheads is true. Or southern girls, I guess you can take your pick." He grinned triumphantly. I didn't need to look at him to know it was there. It dripped from his tone.

My heart stopped. I tugged at the edge of my wig and glared at him. I was def noticed now! How in the holly hell could he have me pegged so quickly? I was so angry that I could have punched him right then and there, but I knew better than to lose it with a guy like this. It was most likely what he wanted. I didn't reply, though, (as much as I wanted to) and this seemed to take the wind out of his sails. He motioned for the other guys to go (and by motioned I mean told them to fuck off) to the pool table and they got up obediantly enough.

"Guess I hit a nerve. I tell you what, let me buy you a shot of some real alcohol, you tell me whatever lie you want, and I'll ignore everything I may or may not figure out about you. Deal?"

I sighed and looked directly for the first time into his bright blue eyes. "Deal. Bartender, bring me a doubleshot of whatever he's drinking!" The bartender laid the beverage down and I threw it back without hesitation. Mr. Blue Eyes followed the movement with some amusement but chose not to comment. I considered this a wise choice. Maybe he wasn't as dumb as his friends appeared to be. I could hear them placing bets from the nearby pooltable-but they didn't seem to be paying any attention to our exchange. This was also wise. I relaxed the tiniest bit. "So, are you marines? Got to be marines. No one willingly orders a four horsemen unless they've had training in drinking."

He laughed; a deep throaty sound. "Not active, but once a Marine, always a Marine." He hesitated. "Except for Will. He's just a fucking tool. Good guy, just not too bright." He motioned for another shot and drank it quickly. "Since you know about me, how about you lie to me about what you're doing here?"

"I can only guess you and your buddies are up to no good. I don't care to know. Just a statement of fact." I sipped at another mug of beer. The shot mixed with 4 beers were def beginning to hit me. I decided to cool it for the rest of the night or I was going to miss my target and my big fat paycheck. "I'm a journalist, though," I lied smoothtly, "And off duty American military hanging out in the slums of Uganda sounds like front page material to me." I smirked at him.

"You're a bad fucking liar." He widened his eyes. "I mean, oh no! A journalist? I'm so scared." His voice dropped on the last word and met my eyes again. He leaned in closer. I could feel his warm breath on my face, and the familiar smell of alcohol reassured-rather than concerned-me."You don't have to be a bitch, you know. If I had meant you harm, I would of already done something about that. You dont have to attack me every second."

Chargined, I looked down at my mug. My hands fiddled with the handle. "Force of habit. Thank you for the drink." I got up. I still had 2 hours to kill, but this exceptionally observant man had given me a bad feeling about the whole operation. I needed to bounce. I scooted around the barstool only to be barred by a long muscular arm. He was wearing a white tank top and i could see the edges of a tattoo on his shoulder. I met his gaze. "If you want to keep that arm, blondie, I would suggest putting it back by your side."

"You saying you'll rip it off? And Blondie?!" His arm flexed and I felt the movement through my thin shirt. He was very muscular, indeed. I smiled at him. It felt like a genuine smile. I was more than used to lame comeons by men in bars. The familiarity struck me all over again. Maybe he was more interested in sex with me than in what I was doing here in the first place. That was okay. There was no harm in a little flirting.

"Maybe, Blondie." I punched weakly at the arm and he laughed.

"I'd like to see that. It that the only thing you'll rip off?" He gave me another one of those triumphant smirks. His cockiness apparently knew no bounds. I laughed again at the cheeziness of it and sat back down. His eyes followed the movement, but he chose not to gloat. Again, a wise move. Maybe I really was underestimating this guy.

"You must like women to fight you. You almost look like youre having fun."

He kept his arm up on the stool, moving his hand to the broad of my back. "I usually scare women or they're too dumb to know better than to run away. I like a challenge."

We talked for a little while the sounds of the bar and the jukebox movement faded into the background. Absentmindedly, he let his hands massage circles into my back as he told me about his service and where he grew up. He grew up in Las Vegas which didn't surprise me in the slightest. His tanned skin screamed warmth and sunlight. He chose not to ask me any questions, and I chose not to offer much about myself. I relaxed into his touch and let him talk. I liked his voice. He was a arrogant Alpha-Male, that was true. But he was also a tough and resilient fighter, if his service was any indication. Finally, he stopped his ministrations, causing me to glance up from my drink. "How drunk do you have to be to dance with me?"

I laughed out loud at the absurdity of the question. He really was quite charming once you got past the cursing and the bulls*. "Dancing? You def don't strike me as a dancer, Tree." My eyes widened at the thought of him holding me. Just his hand on my back was sending little electrical impulses up and down my body.

"I'm not. It's fucking gay. But I want a good excuse to put my hands on you. I could do it anyway-and you'd want me to," I snorted at this, but he continued on. "But I'm just drunk enough to not be a complete jerkoff." He grinned and ran his free hand through his short hair. "What do you say?"

"I'd say you are a complete and total jerk off. But I'm drunk enough so go for it."

He got up from the stool and strolled over to the old beat up juke box (I didn't even know they still made them like that), and put some money in the slot before coming back. A slow song came over the speakers and he extended a hand to me. I hestitated for just a second before I taking it. His big hand closed around mine and he pulled me to my feet. This was the first time I could really appreciate our total height difference. He was much bigger than I had originally anticipated, putting him a whole foot taller than me. He was also just, for lack of a word, big. It was more than just a little bit intimidating. I swallowed and let him led me to the floor.

His arms wrapped around my waist like a vice, and I could feel his muscles flexing in and out on his arms and his chest. It occurred to me-a bit too late-that he could easily kill me here in our confined space. He could snap my torso like it was nothing. This was a lethal man. This was a man who understood death as much as I did. I let my hand trace one of the scars near his throat. It was faint, almost invisible by this point, but it was caution enough for me. In spite of my reservations, I wrapped my arms around his neck and breathed his scent in. He smelled good. Clean and simple testosterone, that was what this man oozed. He guided me to the music, swaying just a little-nothing fancy. I felt a bulge underneath his shirt, near his throat and I played with it a bit. His dogtag. I pulled it out and stole a glance. He twitched a little at the contact, but didn't choose to comment.

"So Fsgt M Keamy. I guess I can finally make your aquaintance. What does the M stand for?" I righted the little tag in the front and tucked it underneath his shirt. His body twitched again at the contact of my hands on his skin. Internally, I was hopping up and down. I loved the feel of his muscles on me. I reveled in the fact that just my touch could affect this powerful man. I let my hands play at the nape of his neck, desperate for any reason to touch him more.

"Martin. But you can just call me Chris." His hands squeezed on my hips and rocked them against him ever so slightly. I enjoyed the sensation of his pressure and the friction it caused between us. I pulled myself a little bit closer to him, stretching up on the ends of my toes. I pulled his head down to meet my eyes, biting my lower lip as I did so. His eyes tracked the movement like a hawk.

"Chris-I'm Ivy."

"Ivy." His voice was soft, the first time he wasn't radiating badass and arrogance. The change sent a chill down the length of my spine. We stopped moving. His eyes locked on mine, and all of a sudden he was on me.

I didn't even have a chance. The kiss was rough and forceful and everything I could have dreamed it could be. His hands pulled my hips up and onto him and we were moving. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he walked us to the dark corner of the bar with little effort. His tounge swiped at my lips and I greedily granted him entrance. He was dangerous, he was powerful, and he was everywhere. His hands were on my hips, in the small of my back...at one point I came up for air and his right hand came up to guide my lips back to his. My hands clutched at his chest and I could feel his heart racing underneath my palms. Against my better judgement, I grinded against him, ellicting a groan from him. His lips left mine to nip at my throat, causing an almost painful sensation that set me on fire.

All I could see was red. I wanted him. I wanted him so fucking bad. It took everything within me to keep my hands from drifting my hands downwards-that's all it would take, and we both knew it. All it would take is one wrong move, and we'd lose control. Instead I came back to his chest and with every ounce of willpower that I had- I ever so slightly pushed him back. I wasn't even sure he'd feel it, but he did. He broke the kiss with hesitation, and rested his forehead against mine while still holding me against the wall with my legs around his waist.

"Can't." He said, more in response to something he thought than to my pushing him away.

"Can't." I said, with a little more conviction. My heart thrummed with want. "Have somewhere to be," I gasped out. The kiss had left me more than breathless. "DO you think you could-um...put me down." He startled and backed up from the wall a step, allowing me to detangle myself from him. I looked at my watch and grimaced. I had 30 minutes before I had to take Hygenyi out. I took one step toward him a stretched up to plant a soft kiss on his lips. "Maybe we'll meet again in another life." I started towards the door, not looking back, even as I heard his response.

"Maybe we will."