Cherry || b.barnes

01 || The Crimson Club

The hard, flawless material of the black gun in my head recoils in a familiar way when I pull the trigger, the sound almost having become something like a melody in my wars when the bullet sinks into the skull of the older, bald man. Sprinkles of red decorate every inch of my exposed, matching the color of the room's lighting situation and furniture, tan skin that is merely covered by bright blue lingerie, straps connecting the slip with the high, transparent socks. I don't even care about wiping the crimson dots away, knowing it will do no good except coloring me like a poppy.

A second later, I feel a little more comfortable. The black, long mantle may takes a part in it, but the major part goes to the dagger I can finally put back in its sheath around my upper thigh. Over the last years, arming has become the only thing not once failing me, making it becoming a part of me I wouldn't want to miss. It's what other's would call their lucky charm.

»I won't ever do a mission like that again.« I growl after tapping on the invisible earpiece, making sure Raphael gets the reproachful undertone of my voice.

A deep chuckle erupts from the other side of the line, making me roll my eyes. »You looked stunning dancing around that pole, and you know it.«

Already outside of the dark, reddish lit room, I sneak along the façade of the brick building in the most criminal part of New York City. Cold wind ruffles my dark brown hair, making me snap it out of the air, hoping the people storming the room after the loud sound of a pistol didn't see it blowing in front of the curtain-covered window. As fast as I dare, I turn around, gripping the edge of the roof I barely reach with my fingertips. It is a foolish move, one that could cost me my life, but I have been in worse situations – jumping on the black high heels, I instantly curl my fingers around the stone, lifting me upwards just in time. I can hear breathing from below, more heartbeats pounding with the adrenaline rushing through human veins than there should be; they must have gotten that the window is open, peaking out their heads and trying to find the person responsible for the dirty murder.

»Firstly, I bet you enjoyed the show, and secondly, doesn't mean I'm going to repeat it.« I snarl, standing upright and starting to run. It isn't all too comfortable in heels longer than the blades on most daggers, but to say it would disturb me all too much, or even delay me, would be a lie.

»Don't jump. They already called the police, and they're right below you just parking in front of the club.« Raphael orders, probably ensuring my safety due to a hack of the cameras surveilling the narrow streets of the district. Or at least, the ones that are still functioning.

Thing is, if I don't jump, I have to go all the way back to have enough swing in my movement to get over the three meters cliff in between the two buildings. I can do a lot, but a three meters jump out of a standing position isn't one of the things. So, as usually, I ignore every advice and hop over regardless of the consequences. They should try and catch me.

»Idiot« Raphael murmurs, and I can hear a faint buzz in the background becoming louder by second, before the slight smell of something burned creeps up in my nose. He must have blown a fuse to distract the officers and grant me safe passage.

»You know, I care more about what they might have seen if they had looked up, than being seen in general.« Because the slip, or rather, thong I wear underneath the thin fabric of the coat leaves the most intimate zone of mine more undressed than dressed.

There's no response to this while I oscillate myself onto several balconies, before leaping down onto one of the dark streets. The smell of decayed food and urine crawls up my nose, only fueling the urge to leave this part of the city that never sleeps behind. These heels will be the death of mine one day, but I bite my tongue and just continue running to the base.