THE DEVIL IS A WOMAN

root of all evil

Warning: drugs and smut

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You lay on your king-sized bed in your penthouse apartment, staring up at your million-dollar ceiling as your luxury comforter is pulled over your body. You are surrounded by the rewards of your work - money never lacking. Murder pays well and money buys happiness... right? 

You think back to the conversation you had a few days ago with Yuzuha. 

"Someone hired me... to go after Bonten?" You say quietly into the phone speaker. 

She hums in agreement. You shake your head in disbelief. Nearly five years in this field and no one had ever put a hit on the notorious gang, well-known for their cruelty and violence. It was the one target that you had dreamed of since the start, and now it's finally here.

"Who ordered it?" You ask. 

"Hanma Shuji," she replies. You literally laugh out loud. That rat bastard, of course he's the only one crazy enough to do something so dangerous. You're well acquainted with his insanity and dark impulses, having dated him for a few months about four years ago. You're also well aware that he's been trying to take Bonten down for years, but he must be getting frustrated about his lack of success. 

You have spent the past two days going over all of the information that Hanma provided about Bonten - information that you have been trying to get your hands on for years. He provided you the hierarchy of the gang, pictures, and as many facts as possible... even if some of them are extremely odd. Did you really need to know that Bonten's number two, Sanzu, prefers ecstasy over acid? Well... that one might actually come in handy. 

Hanma didn't specify who to take out specifically, making the job all that more complicated. He simply said to do whatever it takes to make Bonten crumble. You will have to attempt surveillance for a while to get an idea of what these men look for in a woman. They own a club downtown and tend to frequent there. That's where you'll go tonight. 

You don't want to draw too much attention to yourself just yet, so you'll go for a subtle look. You shower and hide your natural hair under a shoulder-length, black wig. You throw on a simple bodycon black dress and black heels. You tie a dagger to your upper thigh, just in case. You toss a fake ID and some cash into your purse. You take a taxi to the club. 

The loud music can be heard from the street. A bouncer stands at the front door. He doesn't even ask for your identification; he just stares at your cleavage and motions you through the door. You make your way to the bar and flag down the bartender. A familiar face squints back at you. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. If you recognize me, please don't say anything. Kazutora clears his throat and taps a finger on the bar, "What can I get you?" He may not know the specifics of your job, but he knows better than to address you like a friend in public. He has had so many different bartender jobs that you started to lose track of them; had you known this was where he was employed now, you would've made sure to come on a night he wasn't working. 

"Shirley temple," you say. You watch as he mixes the soda, grenadine, and vodka into a glass. He hands you the glass and your fingers brush together. He nods once and walks down to the other end of the bar. You swirl your pinky into the drink - a habit you formed once you started wearing a nail polish that turns a different color if it detects drugs or poison. You know Kazutora wouldn't harm you, but better safe than sorry. 

You sip on your drink as your eyes scan over the club. The lights are dim. A crowd dances in the open space while others sit at velvet booths and high tables. You look for what appears to be the VIP area - a group of intimidating men with girls in their laps. Bingo.