Thank you for reading this. Deception- practice of misleading somebody: the practice of deliberately making somebody believe things that are not true

Warning: sexual content, language, mature read.

Chapter One: Tagged by what is Insufficient

I checked my phone again, waiting to hear from my assigned director. I'd made sure the target was… taken care of properly, and now, I was awaiting my next instructions. I reloaded my gun and checked the silencer before carefully returning it the holster that was strapped to my side.

Although I'd like to take it back out and point it at my head. I had felt that way for a long time. My baby, my love, had been by my side for four years... Until one day, he left. Just up and left with no explanation. He left me a fucking note! Might've well have drove a knife through my heart and twisted it every day for three years.

He left me in a sad wallowing mess that I had been in for several weeks… until Claudia had to come to my apartment and—quite literally—knock some sense into me.

My phone buzzed lightly from my left pocket, and I reached for it. The second my fingers wrapped around the Droid, it rang loud enough to wake the dead and startle me at the same time, also causing me to automatically reach for my gun. I sighed to myself, calming down as the Lady Gaga song filled the large empty house.

"Hello?" I answered the call.

"Agent Trebmal, meet me at the gate." her English accented voice replied.

I hung up and upon leaving, I checked the body; floating in his million dollar pool, eyes wide, a bullet hole in his chest. Claudia would want a full report… she was always a sass like that. I left the house, disposing my rubber gloves. The evidence I had planted in the house would lead to a blond male who is married with three kids. Oh, the progress of the future… the cops will never find him, though; he doesn't exist.

In the field I work in, we are able to make fake finger prints and hair particles that are untraceable. Great huh? Comes in handy, too, for missions like this one. I walked down the LA streets until I was far enough from the house and searched for a taxi. The shrill whistle I made with my tongue and two pointer fingers startled a few people, but successfully hailed a cab.

I slipped into the yellow car as the driver gabbed on his cell phone. "Where too, mister?" he asked, his green eyes staring at me through the rear view mirror, the cell phone—although glued to his ear—was held away from his mouth so he could speak to me.

"The apartment complex on Mason." I answered as he put the car in reverse, turning around towards down town LA. The trip was short and the man dropped me off. I paid him and excited the car, taking my briefcase with me. He sped away, leaving me alone at the shitty apartment complex.

I spotted the Black SUV as soon as it drove up, recognizing it as Claudia's, and I jogged to it. I opened the back door and slipped into the leather seat, next to Claudia.

"Go." she addressed the driver. "Matthew, put it up, please." he nodded and pressed one of the many buttons on the ceiling of the car. A black—no doubt sound proof—divider slid upward, separating us from the driver. "This is off the charts; total black out." she handed me a thick file folder. I flipped it open and found an assortment of papers, reports, newspaper articles, and pictures; the pictures were of a man, blond, always wearing sunglasses and never looking directly at the camera. He looked somewhat familiar.

"I need you to find out anything and everything you can about this man."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"Not much. He's tagged RED."

"RED?"

"Resigned; Extremely Dangerous."

I nodded, understanding. "Why did he resign?"

"Some complications with one of his missions… he didn't want to do it, so he resigned."

"What was the mission?" When she didn't answer, I looked up at her. She gave me a look that informed me that I overstepped my boundaries. Don't let her blond hair and sweet blue eyes fool you, this girl's got attitude. Her cherry stained lips and stripper heels screamed edginess, her khaki skirt and jacket proved business, her hose and red nails showed true woman, the gun in the holster strapped to the inside of her jacket informed aggression—take that any way you like—her British accent showed cuteness… but the permanent sassy look on her face proved that, under all that edginess, business, woman, aggression and cuteness, she was a true bitch. I paged through the file again, frowning.

"Does he look familiar to you?"

"I'm not… sure… are there any pictures of him without his sunglasses?"

"The back." she replied.

I flipped to the last page where I found a loose piece of paper; a picture. A man was sitting on a park bench, smiling a little at the camera, he obviously trusted whomever was taking the picture. Speaking of the mystery photographer, I noticed someone's thigh, clothed in black. I focused my attention back on the man. His eyes were the most beautiful brown, like chocolate, and were staring, adoringly, at the camera. His blond hair was shaved on the right side, the top grown out—like a long Mohawk—and parted, extremely, to the left. Multiple silver loops run through both ear lobes, one cartilage is pierced with several hoops while the other has a steel bar pinned from one side to the other. His Twiggy—if you don't know who that is, then I am ashamed of you—lips looked soft and kissable… I licked my own subconsciously. His lower body faced left, his upper torso turned slightly, facing the camera. His smile just barely showed his perfect white teeth. My mouth dropped open as I stared at the blond in disbelief. Yes… I know him… correction: I knew him… but that's a long story. I felt my throat close up.

"Well? Do you know him?"

I cleared my throat. "Maybe… I know a lot of blonds." well… that isn't a lie…She smirked. "I want you to kill him as fast as you can. Make it painful, though; torturous. Do you understand? You do realize that this will count for loyalty."

I swallowed a lump in my throat and nodded at her request, staring at the picture. Could I really kill this man? I mean, of course I could, but… would I… should I…?

"Is there a problem?" she knew… she knew the story… She knew about him and me… She's doing this on purpose. It was so cruel… so terrible… so Claudia.

She gave me a sideways glance, awaiting my answer. I cleared my throat. "No." I retorted. "No…" I stared out the window, but the picture did not release its grip off my memory. I was so confused. How did they get that picture? It taken it with my personal camera… that was my thigh in the shot… I had taken that picture… the picture of Joe Filtar… of Tommy Joe Ratliff…

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