An Assassin's Weakness

Special Thanks to PF

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A lone, solitary figure stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the thirty-seven-story building in the darkening evening. Rain poured down in thick, drenching sheets, slickening the salty streets of the sleepless city. High above her, perhaps on the top floor of the impressive skyscraper, a light flickered off. The solo feminine silhouette watched, wondering if it was the lightning that had caused the light to go out, or if the tenant was leaving, as predicted. She waited in the rain; the blue streaks of arching lightning from an angry storm illuminating her body and face. She backed away from the building and into the deep shadows that haunted the city, waiting for the man she intended to kill to emerge from the monolith that he owned and built.

She had been called in the middle of the night about two weeks ago, her sister hysterically crying on the other end of the phone. “Meg?” she had asked the woman. “Megan, what’s wrong? Calm down.” A man’s voice in the background badgered commands. “Megan, who’s there? Who the hell is that? Where are you?” She asked the distraught voice simpering on the line.

“I have a job for you.” A man’s voice cut through, Kelly’s whimpering became distant as she was pushed away from the phone.

“I’m listening.” She told him.

“Meet me at your office in half an hour… or Megan will be dead by morning.”

She had hung up the phone reluctantly, unsure of what to expect. She caught a cab to the office, only to meet a man there, a short man with an evil gleam in his eye. He had written her a check for over a million dollars and gave her a name. She had glanced at the name, and recognized it immediately.

“I don’t do high-profiles.” She warned the troll-like man.

“Too bad, it’s a done deal. Or she’s dead.” He motioned towards Megan; she had been slipped a tranquilizer and was sleeping fitfully on the black leather couch on the opposite side of the office.

“How long?”

“Two weeks, max. We’ll be watching you. If you fail, you know what happens.” He avowed with no remorse, no hesitation.

“And why did you choose me?” she asked, irritated.

“He likes women, he’ll like you, and you’re the best for male hits. Rumor has it you trained with a few cells in the Middle East, and the Seals. Besides… that delectable body could tempt the most pious of men.” He snickered, and licked his lips.

“Impossible, Seals only let men in.” She countered.

“Then set us straight.” He growled, looking over her lithe, toned body, taking in the well-toned curves and hollows.

“In your dreams.” She hissed, answering his questioning eyes more than his demand for accuracy.

She had left the office, bent on finding the people responsible for this raid. They knew what she would and wouldn’t do, or else they wouldn’t have threatened her. She only took hits that were necessary. She laughed to herself in the shadows… Necessary, hell, you’ve never had to kill anyone out of necessity in your life, she told herself. Most of her hits were men, only a few women, no children. They were threats to governments, countries, nations. They were evil, she had done her background checks long before being assigned, knowing what to expect before she even got the operation. She’d never had a hit like this before. This man, a business bigwig from London was too high-profile, no threat to anyone besides other businesses and disgruntled husbands whose wives had fallen under the charm of this man to whom she was forcefully assigned. He wasn’t a necessity. She had seen his work; his life had been profiled on several TV biographies. He was in his early thirties, the CEO and soul owner of several dot com industries as well as a partner in more than a few import/export businesses. But she knew him better than that. He had pursued her several years ago. She had refused; she thought she was in love with someone, only to have it fall apart slowly over the five years she had given to the doomed relationship. She still thought of the man that had tried to win her heart, still held feelings for him, but was too ashamed to tell him that her attempt at loving someone else had failed. She had told him so many times that she loved, and not him. She had been so sure of what she was in for…

She was propelled into the gates of the present as a man in an expensive gray suit emerged from the front doors and was greeted by a limousine. He glanced across the street; she had hidden herself well in the shadows. He didn’t see her. She wore all black, a tight leather cat suit, black gloves, black boots. The only thing he could have seen was the unsheathed, eight-inch gold stiletto knife strapped to her thigh, and her face, sallow in the blackness, seemingly hovering in the air, her glossed, full, red lips, and her large liquid jade eyes. Her hair was a dark shade of brunette, almost black, and slicked against her skull from the torrential downpour. If he had seen her, he gave no indication. He stepped into the limo, and was sped away into the humid night. It must have stopped raining while she was thinking of the past. She waited until the glow of the rear lights had given away to a foggy shroud of an eerie crimson glow in the steam that arose from the warm pavement. She stepped out from the shadows hesitantly, watching the dual ruby glow become more and more faint. She crossed the street, walking calmly towards the building. A basement window was her target as she circled the huge building. She had obtained the blueprints from a contact that owed her a favor. She headed towards the alley, turning into the dusky, poorly lit lane that ended with a chain-link fence. The tear in the fence had been made the night before. She had been here until the early hours of the morning, preparing for this hit. Either no one had noticed, or they hadn’t bothered to fix the fence. She wondered if they had found any others of her carelessly left evidence. She had been careless in hopes that security would be tightened and she might not be able to go through with the hit after all. No such luck, she concluded. She pushed through the hole in the fence, and walked over to the basement window she had found the night before behind a wooden plank and several metal bars that were welded to the frame. She had torn away the wood, and hacked through the bars, plucking them from the frame. They lay in a jumbled pile beside the window well. They hadn’t been touched, no one had noticed the breach. She leaned down, peering into the window, taking her time. She had at least three hours before he would return. And if security dared to become competent, she had a surprise for each one of them. She rolled onto her back and positioned her elbow against the left pane of glass. She pulled back and with a swift movement, her elbow crashed through the glass. She examined the broken shards, then looked at her elbow. Only a few cuts, but she would have to keep the blood from dripping. She reached into the well, and groped for a latch. She slid it out of place, and heard the clatter as it fell to the cement floor. The window fell open. She gripped either side of the window and ripped it off of the rusty hinges and dropped it to the ground. She eased herself onto her belly and climbed through the frame and into the basement. She felt around in the darkness, sliding onto the floor, crawling on her knees, lifting as she brushed the crushed glass and wet dirt from her body. She unzipped the front of her bodysuit, and pulled a penlight from between her creamy breasts. The light flickered on and she scanned the room. She found a set of stairs in the opposite corner. Beside the staircase was a box, just where she had told him to leave it. Her contact had been advised to leave a fur coat in the box, so that she could walk through the building without suspicion. She opened the box, pulled out a black fur coat that draped the floor. She hurried up the stairs and pried the locked door open with brute force. It led into a room for the janitorial service, which had been relieved for the evening. She walked around assorted boxes and cleaning equipment, making her way to the door that led to the lobby of the building. She opened the door, leaving it unlocked as she closed it again and walked down a short hallway that led to the lobby.

The lights from the room temporarily blinded her eyes. She stopped momentarily, using the excuse to compose herself. She walked up to the desk where a thin security guard was reading a ragged paperback book. She tapped her red fingernails on the desktop, waiting for him to finish reading a sentence before he looked up at her. She looked a mess, she thought to herself. She should have tried to dry her hair, or at least comb it. She hastily ran her hands through the wet strands, pushing it out of her face and back. The guard looked at her, smiled as he looked away, and then glanced again. She smiled back at him, one of her devilish grins. She knew she was gorgeous; it was a weapon she used more often than not. The guard stuttered a bit as he spoke, obviously nervous.

“C-can I help you?” he asked sheepishly. Ah, she loved it when men were weak. It made her job that much easier.

“I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a tangle.” She admitted whole-heartedly as she leaned closer to him over the counter.

“Oh?” he squeaked.

“Well, you see, I was supposed to meet Mark Neilson here, I’m afraid I’m late, and I don’t know if he’s left yet or not.”

“He left about fifteen minutes ago, Miss…?”

“Kayd Kavanaugh. Oh dear, I have to see him. You see, I left my purse in his room this morning…. You know what I mean.” She smiled, knowing what he must be thinking.”

“I’m sorry Miss Kavanaugh-“

“Kayd.”

“Uh, yes, miss … I can’t let anyone up unless they have permission from Mr. Neilson. Let me see if he left any requests.” He started to shuffle through some unorganized papers on his desk. After a few more shuffles, he looked up at her, a slight disappointment in his eyes. “I’m afraid he hasn’t left any instructions to let you up to his office.” He explained.

“But I need my purse! It has all my money in it, and I can’t pay for a cab back to my place, I live on the West End! That’s a fifty-dollar cab fare.” She pouted.

“Oh… well, I have some money I can loan you, I’m sure that Mr. Neilson would want me to.” He exclaimed, happy to be of service to a beautiful woman in distress.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

He handed her a fifty-dollar bill that he had pulled out of a drawer. Petty cash. She leaned into him, as if to tell him something personal. He leaned closer to hear what she had to say. As soon as he was close enough, she pulled a junkie’s syringe from the pocket of her coat… thank God her contact hadn’t failed her. She plunged it into the guard’s flabby arm and pushed the milky fluid down.

“What the-“ He was out before he could finish his sentence.

He’d be out for at least three of four hours. Just long enough for her to finish her job, or be caught. She rounded the desk and dragged the man into the hallway where she had emerged. She opened the door to the janitorial room and hauled the man into the room, yanked the keys from his belt, and shut the door behind her as she walked towards the elevator. She found a key that matched the lock on the elevator console and inserted it into the keyhole, turned, and pressed the button that would summon the elevator. She waited impatiently as it slid down the shaft, coming slowly towards her. She was startled by a ding, and the doors opened. She shoved the keys into her pocket just as an elderly woman dressed in a gray business suit smiled and transpired from the elevator. She looked at the unoccupied desk, then at her again.

“Where’s Tom?” she asked Kayd.

“I think he was called up to another floor for some minor emergency.”

“Oh, well, I’ll find him later.” She announced and walked towards the whirling glass doors. Kayd watched as she slipped into one of the revolving doors and walked into the night.

She stepped into the waiting elevator and pushed the top button. She caught her reflection in the steel of the elevator. She looked hollow, but she had ever since she had returned to the states. Life wasn’t worth getting up in the morning for anymore. Her red lips made her skin look like alabaster, pale and smooth. Her eyes were much too large, too green, and too hollow. Her dark hair lay clumped in damp curls against her face and neck. She opened her coat to look at the blade strapped to the leather-clad flesh of her muscled thigh. She knew that she stood out, no matter how she dressed. But when she dressed to please, she knew she was irresistible. It brought no satisfaction to her; she only cared about one opinion. He was the only person she wanted between her thighs.

As the elevator hummed towards the top of the building, Kayd thought about her hit. Rumor had it that he stayed here, in his office building most nights. There had been an article about him in some magazine, as she recalled. He had admitted to having a bedroom adjoining his office. He worked late nights, and usually entertained several female clients and other women there. He had a home somewhere in the suburbs, but his visits there were far less than frequent. She had watched him for several nights, keeping tabs on his whereabouts, as well as his habits. He would return for the evening because it was a weeknight and he usually only went home on weekends. God, she hoped that she had been right about tonight. The stainless steel doors rolled open and she found herself in a dimly lit vestibule. A single lamp sat on a table beside the mahogany door that led to his office. She knew that this was his private office, where he rarely did work. It was more for uninterrupted study, and housed the bedroom and study area that she had found in the blueprints. She fumbled for the keys in her pocket, trying several until the locked clicked and the door stood ajar.

She stepped inside, into the dark room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the lights of the city at night. She strolled around a white sofa, a few beige chairs, a table, and an antique wooden desk until she was looking over the sparkling lights. She smiled as she detected his familiar scent, the musky, spicy scent that marked him. It lingered in the air, overwhelming her with memories she had wished were dead. She looked at a gold-rimmed clock near the door. He wouldn’t be home for at least an hour and a half, maybe longer.

She decided to investigate, do a little searching. She closed the drapes that lined the windows and turned on the lamp on his desk. A painting that she had made him so many years ago hung on a wall next to a doorway that led to his private chambers. She smiled again, knowing somehow that it would always be close to him, even if she wasn’t. She draped her coat on the back of the sofa and took off her boots. She pulled off her socks and sank her bare feet into the plush carpet. She padded across the room and into the adjoining chamber. The bedchamber was large, with full windows like the office. A king-size bed sprawled in the corner of the room, a table next to it with several scented candles on it. She walked over to the table, lifting a candle to her nose. She knew the smell… the smell of her perfume, of rain. She wasn’t sure if this could be unconscious on his part or not. Had he done this on purpose? Keeping her close in every way even if he couldn’t have her?

The bed was unmade; the blankets were strewn across the mattress. She lay down on the cool, slick sheets, inhaling his scent. She had always wanted him pressed naked against her, though she never had given him the opportunity. The carnal thoughts surprised her as she thought of his body that had lain here only this morning. The pillow still bore the hollow where his head had been pressed against it. She thought of what his body must feel like pressed against hers, naked skin, hard bodies. She could feel the heat quickening between her legs. She thought back to the long nights they would spend talking about it, but never engaging in sex. She had wanted it so much, but she had reminded herself she was in love with another man, someone she was afraid to leave, someone who needed her. His words would filter through, revolve around her. She could almost feel his hands on her breasts, grazing her nipples, moving along her stomach and downward, to her wet and aching womanhood. She had wanted him there, to bury himself in her warmth. She could feel his lips on her mouth, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as she arched her back, pressing her breasts against the soft hair that sprinkled his chest. He would wrap his arms around her arching torso, and kiss her neck as her head feel back against the sheets, pulling her tight against him as he relentlessly pressed his engorged manhood into her wetness. He was the only person she shared her desires, her darkest needs with. He knew her inside and out, as though she displayed herself only for him. Sharing her body seemed the only thing left to give to him. Kayd pushed herself out of the dream quickly, knowing that it could never be.

Remember Megan. She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge, peering down at the carpet. She let the blood rush to her head as it pounded his name in her ears, over and over. Oh, what the hell. She lay back down against the cool sheets, reveling in the feel of the soft satin against her bare feet, neck and face. She unhooked the golden blade that was strapped to her thigh, setting it on the table next to the bed, then unzipped her cat suit down to her navel and shrugged out of the snug fit, peeling the damp leather off of her arms and back. She lowered it past her toned stomach, down her shapely hips and long legs. She stepped out of it as it crumpled at her feet. She wore no panties tonight, wanting to feel sexy, even while she thought of that cruel and gruesome task she might have to perform. She never wore a bra. Mark had told her once how much he loved it when she didn’t wear a bra. After that day, she hardly ever wore one again. The feel of her nipples against the fabric of her clothing kept the back of her mind aware of his presence in her life. Every time her nipples hardened and men stared, she wished that it were his eyes that bore holes into her shirt and caressed her budding breasts. It was a small punishment for the hell she must have put him through, denying him time and time again, even though she knew somewhere deep within herself, she was killing something that deserved life.

As she lay back down on the sheets, nude and vulnerable, she thought of him, of his warm flesh moving over her body, what it must feel like. She thought of the things she had told him, her innermost fantasies and wishes. He had never forgotten her desires, reiterating them when she felt the need for his lust. He knew what she wanted, how she wanted it, and when. He knew her mind and her body. He knew where she wanted his hands, his mouth, his manhood, the very heart of his masculinity. Kayd imagined him there with her, watching her, moaning softly as she splayed her hands across her stomach, roving over her bosoms and chest, pushing her breasts together, pulling them apart as her knees came up and she felt the cool air on the wetness of her femininity. He had always wanted to watch her, to sit on the edge of the bed as she put on a show for him. His eyes would have darkened in color, to a dark blue. His jaw would clench, as if he was straining to hold himself back. And tonight, he would have been especially pleased. She had shaved her mound for him, knowing that she would see him, even if he didn’t see her. Another small punishment. She tossed her head on his pillow as her fingers found the pearl of her clit, massaging it in a circular motion while the other hand rubbed her breast. She looked at the ceiling, wishing she could see his face above her, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed as he focused on bringing himself to an almost painful orgasm inside of her. She wanted to put her ankles on his shoulders as he drove himself into her uncontrollably, mercilessly. She wanted him to use her forcefully, to make her pay for the torment she had put him through, all those nights that he had to sleep without her, tortured by the memory of her voice, her words.