You know that awkward moment in your life when you're staring into the face of the man who's going to bring your death and you think: Wow... he's handsome. Too bad I didn't get the chance to seduce this one. No? Oh... maybe that's just me then. Either way that's what I was thinking the first time I had ever laid eyes on Clinton Francis Barton.

I had known that I was being watched for days before I even met the man who would ultimately be my demise. I wasn't even on a job at the time. I was just resting in a crappy bed and breakfast on the crappy side of Moscow. Cheap. Filthy. And secluded. Just the way I hated them. I prefered more public areas. I've always found that it was easier to hide in a crowd, even with my bright red hair, the gentle curls that settled at my tail bone and vibrant green eyes can disappear in even a small throng of people.

It was night. It was cold (as usual, it was winter after all) and I had just returned from another boring night at the bar. Looking for someone to share my bed for the night. Just to ease the boredom I felt while I waited for my current employer to contact me with another hit, not a single man in there had captured my interest enough to go back alone. I knew my stalker was in the room before I even opened the door. How? Well, let's just call it a feeling.

The little hairs on the back of my neck rose and a familiar chill ran down my spine. He was in there. I could feel his eyes through the door. Though, at the time I didn't know Clint was a man. Just like how I knew he was on the other side of my door; I knew he was a moment I had felt his eyes on me I knew.

I took a deep breath before I opened the door and entered the dark room. I felt a dark grin curl my lips, my tongue darting out to lick them like I was some tigress about to sink her fangs into a plump looking bird. Instead of the Spider I was named after. I couldn't see him out in the open. He was good at hiding. But not good enough. There on the floor was an oddly shaped shadow that hadn't been there when I left at least two hours earlier.

Now, at this point in my story I know that some of you might complain and say, "Natasha, of course there would be a different shadow in the room, that happens when the sun goes down." But no! You don't understand. After all the years I've been a spy, alive even, you don't think I wouldn't know what it looks like when the sun or moon casts the shadows of objects in a room? I do and this one was different.

I shut the door behind me and felt my grin widen. Leaning against the hardwood of the door I chuckled. A low and velvety sound that often lured my prey into my kill happy assassins fingers. Turning the lock on the door I said, "It seems you are my prisoner now... How stupid of a bird can you be if you have fallen into the web of a deadly spider."

Oh how that line smacked me in the face once I learned what Clint's nickname actually was. It still makes me laugh to this very day. The only reason I had made such a connection was because I knew that the agency had changed tactics after I sent those weak assassin wannabes back to them in bodybags. All ten of them. No doubt those were their best, but they were not good enough. Now they sent this Sniper. A nice change of pace, but I knew he'd be easy to kill especially because he was down from his perch. Stupid of him really. He would have had a better chance at killing me from afar. So, why he dared to enter my room was a little baffling and I will admit that even though the claims of me not being able to feel emotions which was untrue even all those years ago (I could feel emotions but they weren't strong, ghosts of feeling which were easily ignored) I was shocked and surprised and a little voice in the back of my head which was my sickly twisted conscience told me to be worried.

"Hehehe..." The mystery man chuckled in response as he came in from the open window. Again, some of you may wonder why I left the window open in Russia in the middle of winter, well it was to lure him in. And it seemed to have worked. Good. "Maybe you should be wondering if it is you who is the stupid one? What Spider would willing walk onto the same branch as a Hawk?" He reached up and flicked on a lamp. I could just barely tell but I thought I saw the corner of his mouth which was turned up into a smirk twitch. I looked younger than he thought. I knew what he'd would see. An eighteen year old girl. But, I was much older than that. Clearly, his employer had not told him much about me. Did he not believe that an (in his mind) an eighteen year old girl could kill so many people?

I felt my eyebrow twitch. He was handsome. More than handsome he was closer to beautiful. The man's sandy blond hair was cut short, his eyes a blue/grey like the clouds before a storm, his lips were perfect, actually everything about him was perfect. He was a little on the short side, but even through his heavy black jacket I could tell he was thick with muscle. He was older than I had expected. Somewhere in his thirties, maybe. Like I said before. Perfect.

"Oh, is that what you are? A Hawk?" I crossed my arms over my chest to keep my fingers from grabbing my knife out of ankle sheath. It seemed he wanted something other than a quick kill. This one liked to talk. Normally, I wouldn't hesitate to take out someone who wished to end my life, but I almost felt like it would be a waste to end a man as lovely as him. I hated to end two perfectly good hands for killing. Oh well. My inner assassin told me. It would be best to kill him now. Stop standing there and end him! I knew she was right so I began to shrug off my jacket. "What are you waiting for then? Stop talking and try to kill me. n The others didn't waste this much time trying."

I saw his cheek twitch at the mention of those who came before them. He hated the idea that they were dead. Typical American. Their hired hands were known for hot-headed tempers and feelings. Forming bonds with their fellow agents. Pathetic. Getting attached to others left only weaknesses. "I'm not like the others." He replied. I could feel the hatred rolling off him in waves. Good. It would make him sloppy.

I rolled my eyes and stepped away from the door. My heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I gave him a wide berth and never took my eyes off him as I set my jacket aside. I was wearing a black cocktail dress. One that I knew clung to my curves like a second skin, just like I knew the heels I was wearing made my legs look a mile long. Now, let's get this straight. I am not a tall woman, nor am I a "thin" woman. But, I know how to work what I was given and I loved doing it. It showed in his eyes as he dragged them from my face down my body. He found me attractive as I knew he would. There was not a straight man (and occasional woman) in the world that did not find me so.

Cocky words you might say, but I have ample proof. I keep a record. Notches on the inside on my gun cases. Don't even think about asking me how many there are between my two cases because I couldn't tell you. And, I won't count them either. That would take too long and I'm trying to tell you a goddamn story. If you want to know then ask me some other time and just maybe I'll humor you.