Title: The Last Eliminator
Chapter: Two
Authors: Jordan & Fatimah
Disclaimer: We don't own anything.
Rating: T
Ship(s): Nate/Blair
Summary: AU. Life is a game. It's a matter of choice. It's a matter of
chance. It will never be the same. NB
-
It's one of the many social events of the year on the Upper East Side, and among those invited are none other than Blair Waldorf and Nate Archibald.
A few feet away a small cluster of young women are giggling in his direction, scanning him up and down in his new Armani suit.
Nate hopes that he will not get any blood on it because he intends to take one of these ladies home after the party.
He observes the crowd carefully, looking for the latest Upper East Side socialite who will get the pleasure of meeting the end of his gun barrel tonight. Realizing that his target is nowhere to be found he curses himself and prays that next time he'll arrive sooner.
It can't hurt to be a little prepared once in a while, and maybe even remember his assignment's name.
Well, at least Nate Archibald never forgets a face.
He turns around and drums his hands on the counter. He waits for the bartender to come over and take his order, Nate suddenly sees his victim impatiently heading up the stairs far across from the floor with his arm wrapped around a woman's waist.
He ignores his rational side that urges him to follow them. Instead Nate decides to let the poor guy have his fun.
It will be his last lay anyway.
Heaving an awfully loud sigh, he winks at the cute redhead sitting beside him and continues to wait.
-
Blair is so used to having her male targets grope her that she can't remember the last time she's been turned on.
Once she and Davis reach the top landing of the apartment Blair rushes to push him further down the great hall, and into a dark room away from the people and music downstairs.
She inwardly cringes when she's flung onto the canopy bed, but remains composed for her sake because this is no time for a screw up.
There's never a time for a screw up in her job. One mistake and it's all over. For her anyway.
Davis' hands wander behind her and hastily unzip her dress while his lips roughly attack her neck. Blair stifles a disgusted scream because god, she really hates this part. She has not given this man her fake name yet and already he's halfway done getting her out of her clothes.
Using all the strength she can muster, Blair digs one of her stiletto heels into his shin and pushes him over before his hands can begin trailing her legs.
"Is that how you want to play?" Davis growls from underneath her.
Blair rolls her head to the side, realizing that the pain she has inflicted on his leg has strangely made him hornier.
"I'm not playing," she whispers, reaching underneath the hem of her dress and dislodging her gun from its strap around her thigh.
Blair doesn't wait for the imminent fear to cross Davis' eyes as she forces the barrel into his chest and squeezes the trigger in one fluid motion.
Game over.
For intimate operations such as this one, she isn't able to bring her silencer with her. Therefore, Blair waits a moment after the sudden sound explosion stops bouncing off the walls to make certain she can still hear the party from under the bedroom continuing.
She checks Davis' pulse to be sure that he is dead. Satisfied, Blair slides off the bed, zips up her dress, replaces her gun, and checks herself for any sight of blood before she leaves the room without a second glance.
-
Nate pinches the bridge of his nose with vexation.
He is convinced that his target and the other woman are playing monopoly because having sex doesn't take this long.
"So, what do you do?"
The redhead has decided to engage in conversation with him and as much as Nate enjoys gaining attention from such an attractive woman, he knows he has to complete his job and his head gnaws at him to get started.
"I'm an accountant." Nate replies nonchalantly, taking another sip of his drink. "And actually," he looks down at his watch, "I have to get going."
He throws a twenty down on the table and doesn't look back. The redhead murmurs profanities at him, but he doesn't pay her any mind as he quickly takes off in the direction of the staircase his target had gone up much too long ago.
On his way up the staircase, he locks eyes with an exceptionally beautiful brunette, one whom he recognizes from somewhere, at sometime, but she turns her head and runs down to the party before he gets a chance to say anything.
His soon to be victim was previously bugged by an accidental bump of the shoulder, so Nate tunes into his ear piece and waits for the coast to be clear. And before he knows it, and he's on his way to his destination.
The son of a bitch is on the eighth floor, so Nate jumps into the elevator and presses the button, tapping his feet impatiently while the elevator music and machinery carry him up.
His ear piece goes off, a continuous screeching mantra, outside room 8016, and he pulls out the universal room key to let himself in.
The sight he's met with isn't one that he's ever seen before, and it fills him with desperation. His target lays, face down on the hotel bed, in a growing pool of blood. There's no doubting what has happened in this room, and his employers aren't the forgiving type. He should have been keeping a closer watch on his man, there shouldn't have been an opportunity for him to enjoy his night, that wasn't part of his job description; offering clemency to a man when it wasn't his right to give it.
He leaves the room in a flurry; something sour and morbid climbs up his throat and threatens to overtake him. He rushes out to the elevator, neglecting to share this vital piece of information with anyone on the inside. If anyone at the agency were to find out that he had failed in one of the most simple tasks of the job, the retribution, he would be such a dead man. He just hoped to god that no one ever would.