"I hold no ill intentions toward you or any of your little gang. I have no interest in your boss. It's mine that I'm spying on."

A flicker of recognition crossed the man's face. He used the tip of the gun to push me back a couple steps, responding, "So you weren't kidding when you said you were a stripper?"

"No. And I'm the best he's got."

There was a moment of silence as he considered. I considered disarming him, but doing so would ruin the entire plan, especially if I left him alive. I had to remain undetected by the higher-ups, and that meant finding a way to collaborate with the lower-downs.

"Put that around your waist and come with me. Any funny business, and I'll shoot you without a second thought," he said, and I believed him entirely. With the black sheet hanging unevenly on my hips - proving that I was not, in fact, hiding a rifle underneath it - he pushed me in front of him and guided me down the stairs to ground level with the gun held to my back. As we approached what appeared to be the main entrance into their base, he holstered it and held up his hand as if to tell the others there was nothing to worry about. "He's with me," he mumbled as we shuffled past through the beaten metal double doors.

Directly inside there was a lobby furnished with several sofas and common decorations, like paintings and flower pots. The walls were painted a luxurious burgundy and the dark carpet was well taken care of. At the moment it was empty.

There were two hallways branching in different directions. He took me down one, up multiple flights of stairs at the end of it, and through an unadorned door. It was an ordinary bedroom. "Any funny business," he repeated warningly, just before closing the door and locking me in.

I quickly inspected the room and took precautionary measures. I moved the bathroom mirror to the far wall of the bedroom and opened the window, thereafter placing myself behind a wall where I could see the door in the mirror but whoever entered could not see me at first glance.

Fortunately, it was only the same man who entered a minute later, so there was no need to escape. He threw a bundle of clothing on the bed. "For you."

I moved from behind the wall and picked up the bundle, letting it unravel in my hands. Attire not unlike my uniform at the club - black pants, collar, and cuffs. I glanced back at the man standing in the door, who crossed his arms in indication that he wasn't moving.

"Now."

I dropped the sheet and dressed. Then he took my arm and led me out to the end of the hallway, where there was a closed black door. He grabbed my wrist to stop me there and asked, "What's your name?"

"Claude."

"Claude..?"

"Claude Birmington."

"Be smart, Claude. Your life is in our hands."

Then he opened the door and pushed me inside. There was a large sofa in the center of the room where a man was lounging with three girls in his lap. The entire back wall was a window, likely tinted on the outside, and on the side wall they were facing was a high-definition television screen with surround sound reverberating throughout the room.

From the other side, a younger man emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and another hanging over his neck. He was the first to notice me. "Who's this?" he asked, voice kind and enthusiastic, though I didn't let it fool me for a second. The others glanced over from the sofa, and suddenly all eyes were on me.

"I brought a treat for you all. Miss Ginny's best," said the man behind me. There was a murmur of approval.

"The one on the couch - he's our weapons specialist, Neil Schreider," he said in a low voice beside my ear, now that those being introduced were in front of my eyes and memorable. "The girls from left to right are Leila, Karlie, and Rose. They're deadlier than they look, especially Rose, so take care. Last one's Christoffer Abels. The boss's son."

I assessed each one of them in turn as Leila, the blonde, shifted to watch me over the arm of the sofa. "I wonder if he's a good kisser," she cooed, glancing back at Neil and the other girls to share some sort of inside joke from earlier that night. The girls responded in giggles, and Neil in silence.

He was a veteran of the battlefield, retired to the workshops after suffering injuries to his hands and arms that impaired motor skills to the point of field inadequacy. It was likely that most of the mechanics were handled by apprentices under his supervision, due to the same injuries, but he was the one who knew what worked and what didn't, what guns needed to be deployed for what purpose.

In his eyes I saw that he hated it. His manner of retirement had gradually stolen the life from him, and he filled the void with superficial sex that would never be good enough.

Leila and Karlie were cheap whores that the organization kept around for entertainment, though they had been given some manner of basic combat training. In Rose I observed something different, something deeper, though in a moment's glance I couldn't reckon what.

Christoffer stopped in front of me - a warrior's stance - and beckoned me closer with a finger and a friendly smirk. As I approached I smelled the alcohol on his breath. He was built and scarred like a regular soldier but had the air of a leader. It was in his blood, after all.

He stumbled forward and met my lips, but the motion there wasn't drunkardly. It was passionate and gradual and completely natural, so that the receiver was left wanting more whether their thoughts agreed or not. Those types were rare. I'd been told in the beginning of my career that I was too abrupt, and had to teach myself otherwise. It was a rite of passage into employment at the club; during training I'd been forced to make out with Miss Ginny far more times than I would ever like to imagine.

Most people didn't have the capability to learn a kiss like that. It was something one was born with.

Suddenly I thought of John.

"You're in luck, Leila," said the natural kisser who was not John, but rather the heir to the hitman who was scheduled to kill John if certain circumstances came to pass. "He lives up to his name thus far. Speaking of which, your name is...?"

"Claude," I responded, trailing my finger along his jaw as I walked past. By this time, the man who'd found me on the rooftop had retreated back to the hallway and closed the door. "Of course, I'll be whoever you want me to be."

"I want you to be the dirty boyfriend who's down for threesomes," Karlie giggled. "And foursomes...and fivesomes..."

"There are six of us here, including myself," I said, meeting her at the back of the sofa. She was dressed in a shredded silver dress with hardly enough fabric to count as more than a bikini. With gentle hands, I brushed her blonde hair aside and massaged her shoulders. "I'll manage my time tonight so I can devote adequate attention to the needs of each and every one."

"Yourself included?" she asked, voice husky. Practiced. Close enough to Neil so as to have the desired effect, or so she thought. He didn't even seem interested. His eyes were glued to the action movie on-screen, and even then it looked more as though he were watching the reflection of the light on the screen rather than the movie itself.

"Of course. I'll put on a show," I answered, moving sidelong to drape my arm over the lackluster man's shoulder and kiss his cheek. He didn't react; no tension, no relaxation - nothing. He was completely desensitized to this sort of treatment. "Though I'll warn you ladies that I haven't had much experience with the opposite sex."

Rose, who was sitting closest to Neil, took my hand and guided it down the length of her body. Breast, stomach, hip, thigh, all thinly covered by a layer of black fabric. Like Karlie's, the dress was for looks only. Feel-wise, she might as well have been wearing nothing. "I'll teach you," she said to me, Brazilian accent thick. As she moved my hand toward her sensitive areas, I noticed the wedding ring on her fourth finger, shining brightly against unblemished bronze skin.

An imperfect marriage, but one that she had no intentions of giving up on. The ring was regularly cleaned but still bore the subtle indications of constant use. He had loved her and pampered her when they were married, judging by the size of the diamond. However, the health of the relationship had fallen below par recently, for obvious reasons. Neil wore the matching silver band.

She was staring straight at him even with my fingers rubbing her through her dress, taking over as I learned the rhythm that pleased her. Almost as if she were trying to make him jealous. To make him feel something, anything at all. After a minute she looked away, realizing it was pointless and letting herself fall to sensation instead.

I tilted her chin toward me with my free hand and kissed her lips. Perhaps it was out of pity. Perhaps it was just years of experience kicking in as always, applying itself to an unfamiliar gender that wasn't so different after all.

As the evening drew on, I took turns and successfully entertained all but one. When I kissed Neil, he gave me nothing in return. When I ran my fingers through his dark blonde hair and tugged and bit his neck, trying to elicit a satisfactory response, the most I achieved was a content hum and a tilt of the head. When I reached lower, he led my hand away.

"Don't feel too bad about it," Christoffer said, pulling me back onto his lap. They called him by his middle name, Erick. He had joined us all on the sofa and hogged most of my attention up to that point; I couldn't tell how much of it was the alcohol and how much was his personality. "It's hard to crack that tough exterior. Not a whore's come through here who managed it. No offense."

"None taken."

"I can tell you this, though. Once you make it through, it's worth all the effort."

Erick smiled. A sad smile. I saw Rose glance at him out of the corner of my eye, subconsciously hugging closer to Neil's arm. Then I realized that the television screen's reflection had not been empty earlier that night. Erick had been standing there, looking right back in silent understanding.


By request, I stayed the night in Erick's chambers and was there the following morning. When he awoke he stumbled to the bathroom, but emerged minutes later fresh and shameless. His voice was bright as he told me good morning and lay back down at my side.

"Sleep well, handsome?" I asked.

"As well as I could."

"No bad dreams about Neil's accident?"

"Not tonight." After a moment, he furrowed his eyebrows and looked over at me. "How'd you know about that?"

"His arms looked as though they'd been through a wrestling match with a barbed wire jungle. His fingers didn't move right." I paused before continuing, reading the bewilderment in his eyes. "I hope I'm not breaching a sensitive subject."

Erick rubbed his eyes and let out a low sigh. "No, no. I mean, it is a sensitive subject, but I don't mind. No one else will talk about it, especially Rose. She just gets angry if you try. I think she hates me especially."

"What reason would she have to hate a charming man like yourself?"

"She has reason," he said simply, and it seemed like he considered confiding in me further. He changed the subject instead. "It was a damn grenade. By some freakish luck, his body armor protected most of his chest and face, but his arms were filled with shrapnel. They almost had to amputate one."

"So he's lucky he survived."

"Yeah. He wouldn't call it luck, though. He'd call it condemnation."

Neil's line of work had depended entirely on his hands. Now he couldn't aim, couldn't build, probably couldn't even use a knife and fork at the dinner table as elegantly as he once could. I imagined having a chunk of my brain cut out of me, and for once in my life I could empathize completely.

"Was he always so...?"

"Quiet?" Erick finished for him. "Pretty much. You think he's lifeless, emotionless, and then you're caught in the right situation with him and he shows you he's got the biggest heart of anyone you've ever met."

"This is an organization of hitmen."

"Yes, and I suppose, in a way, he's sinned just as much as the rest of us. But he's got a strong sense of right and wrong. Won't accept a mission with an innocent target. Honestly, I don't know why he stays. He's the only thing right in a society founded on wrongness."

"Is that why you love him?"

He stopped, and again came that sad smile, barely playing at the corners of his lips.

"I don't know. I have to get ready and go. Meeting in an hour," he said, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

"I could come back and visit when I have downtime from the club."

"I'd enjoy that. Take it up with my accountant, Clara. First door on the left when you go into the hallway. She should set you up with a passcard so there's not trouble every time you enter the base."

Fantastic. The wonders a willing body could achieve.

"Any chance you have some clothes I could borrow?"

He reached into a drawer and threw me a predesignated stack of clothing. The maids really did the work for him. "Keep it. I've got a dozen more. There are some shoes by the door if you need them," he said. I pulled on the outfit - a simple combination of black pants and white button-down. Miss Ginny would not be at the club when I arrived back, so I could just change and dispose of these to avoid any recognition.

I met with the accountant, who told me that she would have an official passcard printed for me next time I came if I passed all the background checks. Until then, I would just have to tell the guards to hold me and call for Clara Johnson.

If the system searched for Claude Birmington, it would come up with nothing and raise permanent red flags. I cleared my throat and offered her a kind smile. "Is there any chance I could skip the background check? There are parts of my history that I would prefer to forget. I would hate to have Erick's pleasure ruined by irrelevant data that I am not and never will be involved with again."

"I'm afraid the background check is mandatory."

"And if I bring you a check for five hundred pounds?"

"Seven-fifty. I won't do it for any less."

So this was an arrangement she made fairly often. I wouldn't need to worry about her betraying me. "We have a deal."


As I came through the back door of Miss Ginny's, I caught a glance of the bar and stopped in my tracks. The club was mostly unpopulated at this time of day, but John was sitting alone in the center, looking dejected, drink in hand. Anderson had been instructed to tell him I wasn't there. This was the first time I had seen him since the date in Wales, but I suspected it wasn't the first time he'd come here in search of me and left empty-handed. He'd texted me a dozen times, called twice, and left a voicemail. Of course, it would have meant his life if I answered any of them.

I locked myself in my room before impulse could take me to him of its own will. There was a pain in my chest. A cold, clutching sensation. So this was what they meant when they spoke of heartache? The poets, that is. And here I thought such a thing didn't exist. That they were all lunatics.

Maybe they still were. Maybe I was joining them in lunacy. After the short and altogether irrational experience I'd had with it, lunacy seemed the closest synonym to love.