Amy Dumas stepped out of an elevator on the bottom floor of what appeared to be just another plain old big city office building at exactly eight fifty nine. Right on time.
Amy entered the conference room in Sector 7's headquarters to applause. The lovely redhead simply smiled and bowed. "Thank you, thank you very much," she said in her best Elvis voice.
Sector 7 was the government's female counterpart to Sector 6. The women who were hand-picked weren't just beautiful; they were gorgeous. It wasn't enough to be smart; you had to be a genius. Not to mention, all the ladies were well-studied in various areas of hand-to-hand combat, espionage, and the ability to change any identifying aspect of their personality at the drop of a dime.
The ladies of Sector 7 were nicknamed the Concrete Roses—the prefect combination of flawless looks and the unbelievable talent for ass-kicking.
There was Amy Dumas, a veteran codenamed Lita, who was by far the best of the girls when it came to self-defense. A native of Atlanta and a fifth degree black belt in jiujitsu, she could kick your ass a hundred different ways and she was always thinking of more.
Mickie James, codenamed Cowgirl, spent her childhood riding horses in the hills surrounding Richmond, Virginia. A former Army Ranger, she was a master survivalist as well as a trained sharpshooter. There are those who have mistaken her Southern hospitality for weakness; however, there are no first-hand accounts of that, because Mickie shot all those people.
Melina Perez, codenamed Hollywood, was by far the most hot-tempered. Hailing from L.A., Melina was a former gymnast whose unreal flexibility allowed her to slip in and out of places others couldn't. She was also a master of torture and interrogation tactics, which she'd learned from her father, a former head in the Sinaloa Cartel.
Stephanie McMahon was probably the most unlikely member of the Concrete Roses. Yes, she was beautiful, but one would think that someone who came from such a wealthy background wouldn't even consider doing what she did for a living. Codenamed Princess because of her privileged childhood, she could, surprisingly handle knives and blades better than anyone who had ever passed through the Roses' doors. It's been said that no one else has ever looked so good slitting someone else's throat.
Maryse Ouellet, codenamed Vixen, was a feisty Montreal-bred new addition to the team who craved the finer things in life. A master manipulator, she took espionage to a whole new level. She wouldn't just trick you into thinking she was someone she wasn't while she was undercover. No, that was never enough. She was more likely to get you all flustered, kill you before you could blink, and snatch your Rolex. Why? That was just the way she rolled.
Trish Stratus, codenamed Diva, was the leader of Sector 7. A native of Toronto, the boss lady's killer looks gave way to her killer talent for handling explosives; she could rig and blow up just about anything. An extremely capable leader, the girls couldn't remember a time she had steered them in the wrong direction.
"Good morning, ladies," said Trish, who stood at the head of the long table. "First things first, I think it's only fair we congratulate Melina, Mickie, and Maryse on successfully wrapping up the Del Rio assignment yesterday. Job well done, girls."
"We try," joked Melina.
Mickie playfully punched Melina. "We did a good job thanks to my old friend sodium chloride." She winked.
Trish rolled her eyes. "Anyway, there's no time for you guys to catch you breath," she said, "We got our latest assignment just this morning." Trish handed the girls' manila folders to Amy, who gave them out. Trish stepped to the left of the projector screen and hit the lights. Three pictures appeared side-by-side on the screen. They were of three couples, but while the women were different, the man wasn't. He was tall and expensively dressed with dark hair in every picture, and every woman was a beauty.
"This is Wade Barrett," said Trish, "he's a British national wanted by Interpol in connection with the murders of three of his ex wives."
"Holy shit, three?" Mickie asked, her eyes wide.
Trish nodded. "Unfortunately." She hit the button on the remote, clicking to the next picture. It was Barrett standing beside an Asian woman. They both looked happy.
"This is Barrett's first wife, Gail Kim," said Trish, "her family is filthy rich; both of her parents are millionaire shareholders in a big Korean electronics company. She and Barrett were married about eighteen months ago after dating for three weeks, and she was found strangled to death in their home in Toronto a month later."
Amy gritted her teeth. "Goddamn, this guy doesn't waste any time does he?"
"Oh, it gets worse," Trish said. She clicked to next photo. It was of Barrett and a tall, athletic looking blonde woman. "This is Michelle McCool, Barrett's second wife. He married her three months after Gail's murder. It say's here she's from Florida and her parents are both on the board of trustees at Florida State University, her alma mater. They made their fortune in real estate development. Two weeks after the wedding, Tampa police found her strangled to death in the yoga studio where she attended classes."
Stephanie rolled her eyes. "How could this guy possibly have been free? There are too many similarities between the first and second wives' murders."
Trish held up a finger. "One more." She clicked to the third picture, of Barrett and a pretty Black woman. "This is unlucky wife number three, Alicia Fox. Like Michelle, she's from Florida. She and Barrett got married two months after Michelle's body turned up. Her parents are in the music business; her dad made money working with a bunch of big Motown artists back in the day and her mom sang backup for a lot of the same artists. Three weeks after she and Barrett were married, Alicia was found strangled in her dad's private recording studio."
"So, what does Interpol want us to do? Bring him in?" asked Maryse.
Trish nodded. "That, and stop his fourth wife from becoming his next victim."
"He's getting married again?" Melina asked.
Trish clicked to yet another picture of Barrett and a woman. "This is Barrett's fiancee, Kelly Blank. Another Floridian. She and Barrett are getting married tomorrow..."
Amy held up her hand. "Tomorrow? What are we doing, stopping the wedding?"
"Not quite," Trish replied, "stopping Barrett is more like it."
Mickie's eyes narrowed. "How?"
"Barrett is having his bachelor party at the Hard Rock in Vegas tonight," said Trish, "we're going undercover and infiltrating then."
Stephanie groaned. "Don't tell me we're going undercover as strippers!"
Trish winced. "Yeah..."
"Fuck!" said Stephanie, "If this asshole's got me pretending to be a stripper, please tell me we get to waste him when it's all over."
Trish smiled. "Well, we do have a red notice..."
"Score," said Amy.
"In short," Trish said, "we show up half-naked, we kill Barrett, and get the hell out. Understood?"
The ladies nodded.
"Alright then," said Trish, tossing her folder on the table, "I'll see you girls at the landing strip in an hour."
Amy smiled. "Vegas, here we come."
A/N: So now you've met all of the girls. You'll go along with them on their mission in the next chapter. R&R !:D
