TARGET [Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction]

Chapter 5 : The Devil's Invitation

[3rd person POV]

It was nearly evening when I trudged up the final few steps of the apartment block towards my flat. Today had been different, in some good, and some bad ways. I was a bit richer now and not unemployed, but at the risk of my identity being compromised. I wasn't too sure how I felt about it though, which was the worrying part. Yes, I'd probably just landed maybe the biggest job yet in that my earnings from this will mean I'll never have to work again, but something didn't feel right. My employer, although keen and too rich for their own good, was hiding something. He hadn't gone into too much details about the project, probably for my own good. But it still made me feel uneasy.

The tower block which I'm currently residing in is a horrible place in the rundown end of Southbank in London. Easy to pick a pocket to swipe but terrible at finding a decent place to stay. Concrete buildings everywhere, void of all character and charm. I told myself I wouldn't sink this low again, but then when money is short, what else can you do? I'd chosen probably the smallest flat in the whole building, which was next to the trainline running straight out of Waterloo station. Having a window straight out onto it comes in handy when I need to get rid of things. Simply just pop it straight onto the roof of the passing train and it'll be gone in the blink of an eye. The neighbours I have above, below, and on both sides are hookers, and very busy ones at that. The night is usually filled with their doors being hounded on by hungry customers, with the endless sound of squeaking mattresses. Good job I'm only a light sleeper. They don't bother me much anyway, they aren't my type.

Approaching my door, the first thing that I always do is check my hidden CCTV camera that is disguised in the lift call button opposite my flat door. The lift doesn't work since I ripped out the electrics when I moved in, and that was nearly two years ago. Shows you how much work ever gets done around here. I take out my modified iPod out of my pocket and connect the wire into the mini USB port behind the button, and download the footage. It immediately flashes up on screen and fast forwards through it, stopping at any movement of people passing by, or the postman aimlessly shoving junk mail under the door. But what most catches my eye is the hooker who stops outside my door. I pause the footage and watch it in real time. The dirty haired blonde totters into vision, her skinny white jeans barely covering her arse as her chest practically pops out of the small vest top she's wearing. With eyeliner that could rival a raccoons, she pulls out a small pink envelope from her pocket, looking at the screen of her phone in her hand. I can see she is obviously reading something on her phone, probably instructions, as a few seconds later, she bends over and slides the letter under the door, before disappearing out of view. I frown, looking at the time recorded, and I can see the northern lass only popped that letter under about 20 minutes ago.

Disconnecting from the camera, I return my iPod to my pocket and retrieve my key, before opening the door. The door easily unlocks, swinging wide open to reveal the small pile of papers in front of me, the letter sitting invitingly on top, like a present. My feeling of uneasiness returns with every second I spend standing there, just looking at it. Why would something like this end up coming to me? I close the door behind me, scooping up the pile, placing it down on my slightly broken IKEA table, before sitting down on the wooden chair, the letter in my hands, spinning it over, inspecting it. The pale pink envelope is about the same size as my hand, and feels like it doesn't have anything inside it. The only thing it has written on it is along it's sealed end, the letter D in what look like red ink, but I know it's not. This person means business. I rip open the envelope in one swift movement of my hand, and a small piece of white card falls out. Scrawled in the same ink as the envelope, the card read:-

'La Bella rose', 7pm
Come meet your new friend
From the Devil

On cue, my phone vibrated in my pocket with a text message. The devil, my arse, I think as my eyes remained fixed on the note as I pull out my phone, the latest message popping up on the screen, off yet another unknown number.

[ Devil has a ring to it, don't you think? Now go on, I'm paying you to work, remember? D. ]

So my new boss has called himself the devil? If things couldn't get more ironic, I'd probably be a millionaire and have a knighthood already. Well anyone who decides that their ideal way of communication is through blood written letters, then yes, he can take that name all to himself. Well, looks like I'm going out again. I pocket the note, before glancing at the time. It was nearly 7pm now, but I knew where the restaurant was. It wouldn't take me long to get there. I'm not exactly dressed right, but I suspect that won't matter. Pulling my coat around me, I head back out of my flat, locking the door behind me just as the creaking beds next door start. At least I won't have to listen to that all night. Pulling my collar up, I head back out into the streets of London to the location as Big Ben chimes away, the toiling bells almost sounding the beginning, or the end of something. For me, it was the start of my job, but for the person concerned, the one I shall set my sights on, it would soon be their end.

[ A/N : La Bella Rose ... why does that place ring a bell? Must be killer place to go and eat ;)
So, the Devil has made himself known, but who is he? And who is this other man? What could this all be?!
This is where I now sit back, relax, and let your minds panic. Muhahaha
Thanks all of you that are reading it so far! Do let me know what you think, it makes my day seeing all if your comments.
Vote, comment, share.
Love you all xxx ]