Freddie Bianchi and Juliette Dupont are polar opposites.
She's hot, he's cold. She makes jokes, he takes them to heart. He's only an inch taller than her, and she makes fun of him ever chance she gets.
He calls her a dumb blonde, and albeit she's he...
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After securing the device on my knee, I could freely, and without restraints move around.
It hugged the side of my knee, helping with bending, all that important shit. It was specifically made for me by a group of well trained engineers, made for the every day life of the world's best CIA agent. I left my cane in the car and strolled up the stairs of my apartment building.
I passed by Carl, who was a very talkative and happy-go-lucky guy, but in the confines and privacy of his apartment, he made porn. With men.
"Hey, man!" He smiled and shook my hand. He was a solid five foot five at best, and his hands were almost always clammy or sticky. "Carl," I smiled at him, and his eyes flickered all around my face before he dropped my hand and said the worst possible words anyone could ever hear.
"You'd be a great porn star,"
I choked on air. He laughed at me, sticking his hands in his jean pockets.
"Just saying man. If you ever need a little more dough, give me a call. That is if you're not opposed to the idea of doing it with men,"
Deciding it was better to be honest and let him down slowly, I nodded, "I don't subject myself to society's ideologies of sexuality. I fuck who I wanna fuck, regardless of their gender. But, I'm involved with someone, but thanks for the invite, man,"
His green eyes searched my face for a full minute before he nodded and smiled. "Yeah, well it'll stand for however long I do,"
I left the porn star and escaped to my apartment. My brain was clouded with the conversation all the way to the front door.
I opened the door, but stopped dead in my tracks after closing it behind myself.
I left my key with Steele for safekeeping. I walked into my apartment without my key.
Jesus Christ.
Slipping my suit jacket from my shoulders, I double-checked my gun in the back of my trousers as I checked the machine on my knee, deciding to wait out the threat. If there was any.
Maybe I didn't lock up. Maybe.
Maybe.
Leaving the lights off and using the light from the outside streetlamps to cast a delicate shadow into my apartment, I slipped two fingers behind the blue tie around my neck and loosened it before tossing it onto my couch. Next were my sleeves, and I circled my apartment very slowly as I did, using the corners of my eyes to survey and assess my surroundings before I made move to protect myself.
It was deathly silent in my apartment. Almost unusually so. Usually, it wasn't this quiet.
I turned my back got the kitchen, making my way to my bedroom but I was halted.
Halted by the cool, steel pressed against the back of my head.
I tensed, then when I heard the clicking back of the trigger, I said a quick prayer and subtly made the Catholic cross on my chest. I felt the gun at the back of my trousers being pulled out, the heavy metal falling to the floor with an annoying scrape across my expensive hardwood floors.
