Part I
A spittle of blood lands on your hand as you tighten your grip around her throat. She only chokes on a laugh, cold, calculating eyes locked on your own.
"Why don't you finish the job?" She croaks, the pressure on her throat straining her voice.
"Why are you still talking?" You snap, pressing further until she can't speak at all. She kicks up at you, knocking you off balance, and swipes a fist into your face as you fall towards it.
The crack is heard before the pain it felt. The hot, burning sting throbs on the spot she connected with, forcing you back onto your ass as she pulls herself onto her knees, panting and grasping at her injuries on her neck.
You jolt quickly, smacking the heel of your boot on the concrete of the empty parking lot you're in, causing her to flinch. It's truly delicious to watch the grimace that follows, knowing you saw her waver, even just a little bit.
"Scared?" You taunt, smirk already firmly on your lips.
Dropping her hands, she pushes herself up to stand above you, sneer on her lips as she leans over you to snatch at your hair. The sting at the base of your skull as she pulls makes you wince, but you don't react, not outwardly. You're not as reckless as she is. You don't show your hand if you don't have to.
Winding your hair tightly around her hand she tugs harder, forcing your head back so that you look into her eyes.
Her hazel eyes shine dangerously as she looms over you, "You wish."
With a hacking sound, you watch with clenched fists as she purses her lips to spit blood and saliva into your face. You remain unblinking as it hits your cheek, the slight twitch of your right eye being the only give away that it is taking everything within you not to kill this bitch right here and now. But you know your boss would be pissed. And not in the 'you're fired' type of pissed. More the 'you won't see it coming, now you're dead' kind of pissed.
The beep of a car unlocking alerts you both, but instead of doing the normal thing and letting you go, she drags you by your hair behind the pillar nearest to you to hide you both. The force makes you bite back a yelp and reach up to claw her arm.
When she doesn't release you immediately, you dig your nails into her wrist, hard enough to draw blood.
With a hiss, she let you go, "I was doing you a favour."
You don't dignify that with a reply.
She watches you as you stand and brush the loose gravel from your jeans. You can't even begin to describe how annoyed you are by the fact she has a few inches on you. But you suppose it didn't mean much when it came to landing a solid punch to her stomach.
The stranger getting into his car is the only thing stopping you from doing so.
And by the way her mouth splits into a grin, she can tell.
"Silent treatment?" She whispers, leaning close enough to press her forehead against yours.
A slow smile spreads across your lips as you take her jacket into your hands and pull her closer.
Your eyes dart between hers, waiting, waiting, waiting. The engine turning on, rumbling to life, the sound receding as the car leaves the lot. And then you strike.
Thanks to those few less inches, when you tighten your hold and lurch your head back to launch it straight back into her face, you are granted the satisfying crunch of bone on bone echoing through the lot as your forehead connects with her nose.
"Fuck!" She yells, cupping her nose as bright, red blood runs rivers down her lips and chin, dripping onto the pavement.
"Spit on me again, bitch. See what happens," you laugh darkly, taking a step backwards as you watch her try, and fail, to stem the bleeding.
"If it's broken, you're paying to fix it."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," you smile with a wave as you pull open the door to the stairwell. "Send me the bill."
The sound of her laugh is the last thing you hear before you're back out on the street, pavement lit by streetlights and traffic minimal. Your mark had been as far outside of the city you'd ever caught him, it made for a perfect spot to put him out of his misery.
It just so happened that Blondie didn't like you'd gotten to him first.
It was her fault for showing up too late.
Yanking your hood up and using the sleeve of your jacket to wipe your face, you walk three blocks and another before you're sure you've lost anyone following you. Looping back around you find your bike, hidden in a back alley with cardboard and garbage, and kick out the stand.
The things we do for our jobs, you think, pulling your helmet from where it hangs off one of the handles.
Pulling it onto your head you wince as it pressed against your forehead. You'll probably bruise, but it was worth it.
She had it coming, especially after the stunt she pulled on the last job. You hadn't forgotten that so easily.
Turning the key over, the bike roars to life. With a rev, you push off, homebound.
The city passes in a blur, your eyes on the road, mind on the kill.
You pride yourself on being clean, quick, easy. Last time it hadn't gone quite to plan. Quinn appearing just before you took out your mark complicated things. She'd caught your eyes, lips quirked in a smile as she approached the suit-clad man approaching the checking desk. She wore a bright, red dress as opposed to your black one, lips to match, and her usual blonde hair disguised with brown.
The sway of her hips slithered to a halt as she pointed him in the direction of the hotel bar.
Your blood boiled.
You hadn't planned for any interruptions, he was meant to go up to his room, you would follow, just happen to end up on the same floor as him, hit the blind spot, a gentle injection of something nice, job done.
But no. Nothing could ever be easy when this bitch was involved. She liked the games, toying with her food before she ate it.
So you did what you do best, you adapt and overcome. The matter of how varies in success, but you've yet to fail a job.
With measured steps, you followed them to the bar and ordered yourself something stiff, not that you would be drinking at all that night, but to keep up appearances.
The mark was eager to impress her, you could tell by the way he was loose and easy with his money, over-friendly with the bartender, cracking jokes to keep the roll of fake laughs coming. It was embarrassing.
The screech of tires and fast-approaching growl of an engine behind you drag you into the present, a quick look to your mirror and you see an all-black car on your tail, the windows too tinted to see inside, law be damned.
If this asshole didn't pass you some time soon, you were going to be killing for recreation.
The car gets closer, close enough to catch your rear wheel and make you wobble and break your first sweat of the night before it pulls alongside you. With a renewed grip on the handles, you caution a look to left.
The window lowers to reveal a familiar bloodied face, "Getting sloppy, Lopez," you just about make out.
With a well-deserved "fuck you" in the form of a finger in her direction, you boot it and disappear into the night. There was no way her hunk of primed shit was going to keep up, so it would be until next time.
There was always a next time.
You're scrubbing dried blood from under your fingernails under a hot stream of water when you finally allow yourself to remember that night.
They were sat at the bar for a good hour before you really lost your patience. With a sharp look down their end of the bar, you saw her lean around him, lock eyes and tilt her head curiously before subtly nodding in his direction.
What she was proposing was stupid. Unnecessarily risky.
So why did you slide off of your stool and approach anyway?
"Hi," you began, charming smile on your lips, "I'm not interrupting am I?"
The man looked from you to Quinn, mouth hanging open, as though he didn't know whether to say no like he wanted to and risk upsetting the woman in front of him, or say yes and stick with just the one woman for the night, but possibly missing out on the threesome he had already envisioned.
"No, we were just talking," Quinn answered for him, gesturing to the other seat beside him. "Please, join us for a drink."
"Thanks, I got stood up," you bowed your head and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "And a bit of company would be nice," you laughed with a self-conscious lilt, mindful to play the flustered imposer as you sat down.
"You? I can't believe it," Quinn cooed, reaching over to squeeze your forearm, eyes dancing with mirth at your tall tale.
"What are you drinking?" The man asked, calling the bartender over with a wave of his hand.
"Surprise me," you answered with an impish smile that had him smiling back. Poor guy couldn't believe his luck.
You soon noticed that Quinn was actually drinking, a detail you tucked away as her laughs became looser, less practised. With a slight shake of your head, you tried to get her attention, but it only drew the attention of both of them.
"Do you not like it? I can get you something else," the man said.
"Oh, it's not that. It's fine, really," you brushed off, catching the evil little smirk on Quinn's face as she tipped the rest of her glass back.
"I think you should finish up," she said. "Get this show on the road."
With both of them watching you, you played along, finishing the concoction in one. The burn only making your eyes water slightly.
Quinn stood first, hand on the man's arm, lids low, smile lazy as she ran it up and down his bicep. No words were needed, the way she wet her bottom lip and bit it, eyes roaming his face before decidedly landing on his lips was enough of a hint.
Now you could see why she drank for real.
Doing your part, you fell in step with them as they made it to the elevator, careful touches, whispered words shared.
Quinn took the lead as you made it to the mark's room, taking him by the tie as she yanked him deeper into the modest space. You took a second to lock the door behind you before you followed them, stepping over the loose articles of clothing left in their wake.
It had taken you a lot to go along with Quinn's process, to trust her to do her job, your gut screaming at you to leave. Let her have this one.
Then she gave you that look, the one alight with a challenge.
Closing the distance between the three of you, you allowed her to grip at the hem of your dress as she pulled it over your head, the light scratch of her nails running their way up your side, making you suppress a shudder.
She admired your forethought to wear matching underwear, as she ran a finger over the strap of your bra before hooking it under to pull it up and snap it back. All the while, a satisfied smirk on her face.
So you had a contingency plan. What kind of contract killer doesn't?
The mark was lay on the bed, watching, groping the bulge in his underwear. Vulnerable and unsuspecting as Quinn turned her attention back on him, taking your hand as she came to kneel on the edge of the bed, finger already beckoning him closer as she trailed her other hand over your hip. The touch had no right to make your skin prickle with heat the way it did. Not only was it completely wrong, but it was also another hazard.
To be unfocused was fatal.
You glanced down and met her eyes as she snaked an arm around his neck to encourage the kisses to her neck and chest. Her gaze eating you up before it spat you out, her soft touch on your hip became a gentle push as she shifted her eyes to the floor beside the bed.
His tie.
In one fluid motion you took off your shoes and picked it up, wrapping it around your wrist as you wound your way behind him, hands rubbing along his back, arms, chest as Quinn's lips ghosted his only to pull back with another, sordid smile. His hands firmly on her thighs as he chased the connection, too drunk on Quinn to wonder why you hadn't gone for the reach around.
With light, teasing strokes, she ran her hands along his shoulders, up to his neck, and into his hair as she adjusted to straddle him. Her ministrations making him moan, as she manoeuvred herself firmly on top of him.
"You like that?" She teased, eyes meeting yours as she took the tie held in your left hand and loosened it to gently wrap it around the mark's neck. When he began to pull away from where he licked and sucked at her skin, she captured his lips in a fierce kiss, throwing him off-kilter enough to not notice how she passed the ends of the tie back to you.
As carefully as you could, you wrapped what was left tightly around your fists, waiting for her cue.
After only a moment more of playing into his moan with her own, she broke away from him with a nod in your direction.
It was signal enough for you to quickly pull your arms across his neck with the tie once more to get the best hold before he inevitably struggled against you.
Pulled taught you slammed your arms into yourself, the strangled yelp of the mark being your main indicator your hold was enough to do the job. But the difficultly lay with maintaining that hold.
To add more pressure you fell back for more leverage, trapping your legs beneath him. Not something you would have wanted to happen, but not something you couldn't handle.
The burn in your arms intensified as he writhed, all circulation already cut from your fingers. If Quinn hadn't been on top of him he would have already flipped you, but she did a good job of playing dead weight as she leisurely reached up to grab a pillow to hold over his face.
"I can't bear to look," she commented drably.
No wonder she had you doing all the hard work, she just got to watch you sweat and still get a check.
The mark's body went heavy on top of you, his movements slowing to a stop, giving you a moment to relax and regain feeling in your extremities. Adrenaline pulsed through your veins as you blew out a breath and fell back, letting the tie loose.
It felt like an early job. It was sloppy, messy, inefficient... exciting. When was the last time you'd felt a rush?
You felt rather than saw Quinn move along his body to lean over you, the shift reminding you to move your legs.
"Wakey, wakey," she hummed from above you.
Opening one eye you were met with her intense stare.
You remember thinking that if she were about to try and kill you that you would be fucked, she didn't just have to choke some guy out like you had. You were at a disadvantage and she was just the kind of person to capitalise upon that.
But she didn't. No.
Instead, she brought her face within inches of yours, eyes dancing along your lips before she connected them. You were taken aback, but you didn't push her away. The adrenaline from the fight melting into arousal that you couldn't explain.
You were breathing heavily into the kiss, still recovering, leaving an opening for her to deepen it. Before you could fully register what was happening and stop it from going any further to maintain whatever grain of professionalism you still had, she was already being lifted.
"Oh shit," she cried as the guy beneath her shot up, knocking her off of him and onto the ground.
Eyes wide, you scrambled to stop him from getting up, but he batted you away, still disoriented but with the adrenaline of fight or flight surging through him, his hit was effective in stopping you in your tracks as the ring on his finger caught your cheekbone, splitting the skin.
Worse had happened to you, so you were quick to chase him over the bed, but as he stood with a wobble, he set himself up perfectly for Quinn to take him like she was a line-backer, shoulder slamming solidly into calves with a grunt.
Forcing him back with a clatter, he fell into the small dresser beside him, swiping everything off the top and landing on his back with a whine as Quinn climbed on top of him to get a punch in.
But she didn't get a second.
A solid fist swiped up and connected under her jaw, sending her backwards, skin scratching across carpet.
Whist Quinn stalled, you rooted through your clothes to find your switch, you never did a job without it, you never knew what might happen.
The lumbering man heading for the door being case in point.
"Fuck," you grunted, ripping through the clothes, finally finding what you were after.
The rattle of the door told you he was about two seconds from fucking this whole thing completely.
Wasting no more time, you flew around the corner to where he stood unlocking the door and sprinted at him, using the pure power of your calves and thighs to leap onto his back and wrap around his waist, switch in hand. He reeled back, smashing you into the wall and forcing you to claw into his bare chest to get your hold back. Ignoring the jolt of pain sent up your spine, with deft movements you flicked out the blade and locked your forearm around his neck to pull it up and back before he could rip your arm away, exposing him for enough time to drag the blade across his throat.
Sharp metal on skin was like cutting paper.
The gargled yelp he released died as quickly it escaped, blood splattering up the door, wall and ceiling. His delayed attempt to protect his neck ghosted by the way his arms fell to his side as you pushed off his back and let his body fall into the bathroom's doorframe, his skull cracking against the wood, his body settling with a thud.
A feeling of indifference passed over you as you watched blood pool around him, soaking into the carpet, spilling onto the linoleum. You just wished you'd done the job properly the first time.
When you turned you saw that Quinn had given up her wig for her natural blonde, hands on hips as she surveyed the room, "I'll call it in."
Your forearm was slick and sticky against your skin, drenched in blood that you tried flicking onto the carpet.
It's not like it made a difference at that point.
"This is your fault."
With a roll of her eyes Quinn dug into her clothes and pulled out a phone, "You could have said no."
"And let you get my paycheck? Yeah, okay."
She stood to her full height as she waited for the call to connect, kicking at your dress as she did, "Looks like we'll both be taking a cut now anyway."
You smacked her foot away as you snatched up your dress to pull it back on, her pout as you did making you suppress an eye roll of your own. "I'm sure you're used to that if this is your usual work ethic. I hope you didn't drive here."
"Oh get over yourself, you just killed a gu- Hi, Arthur. Yeah, me again," she said with a rehearsed laugh. "Oh Santana's here, do you want to say hi?" She asked as she walked over to the window, peering over the edge, the flex of her calves pulling your attention all the way up to the garter that sat nicely mid-thigh.
Her ass was the next thing your eyes fell on before she looked over her shoulder at you, forcing you to look away.
"He says hi."
You ignored her and her smirk as you collected your things, ready to get out of there.
"She says hi back. Such a joy to work with."
The scoff that escaped you drew her attention once more, she pointed at your arm where you'd smudged blood all over it.
Whatever, you thought, stalking into the bathroom, careful not to tread through blood, to wash it off in the sink. As you exited you saw her sat primly, fully dressed, at the end of the bed like she was waiting for the next train.
You scooped up the mark's blazer to cover your arm and dress, pulling it around you as you stepped over him to reach the door.
"It's been a pleasure, it really has," she called after you.
"Whatever," you said under your breath, slamming the door closed behind you.
The shower's water running cold shocks you back into reality.
Pulling a towel around you as you step out from under the stream, you catch your reflection in the mirror, a purple patch sat comfortably above your right eye.
Why does that make you smile?