Wicked Games

1-Eliana

Chapter One | Eliana

I'm a murderer.

A good one though.

I kill people for a living.

It's all I've ever really known, death and destruction follow me.

Of course, these people are never innocent. Most of them are involved in illegal activities which makes killing them a lot easier.

Inhaling a deep breath, I stare up at the five-star hotel situated in the centre of busy New York. I pat the side of my leather trench coat feeling for my gun and check my surroundings subtly.

A particular mayor is residing in this hotel room tonight and he is next on my list.

Seventh floor, room 438, Mayor Lamb.

I snort.

Mayor Lamb is a bad man. Cheats on the woman he has been married to for twenty-two years, abuses and belittles women and sniffs cocaine on the regular.

Shaking my head in disapproval I walk into the reception of the luxury hotel, getting all kinds of looks from the people staying there, my heels tapping against the cream marble floor, the sound echoing throughout the area. I keep my head high and smile at the receptionist as I make my way over to the desk.

"Hello, how can I help you?" She plasters on a bright smile, and I return the gesture with a smile of my own, leaning forward.

"This is really embarrassing," I whisper, watching her face morph into concern. "My husband is in our room, and he had a bit of an accident you see with his..." I nod down at my lower region and the lady's eyes widen and I can feel the heads from the guests checking in next to me turn to face me.

"I see." The lady nods.

"It broke." I blurt out and the woman gasps. "He's in a lot of distress you see and while he was squealing in pain on the balcony the key cards went over. Please don't ask what he was doing with them, it's so embarrassing?" I plead with her, fanning my face.

"Y-You want another key, ma'am?" The woman questions her face going a shade of red and I nod my head. "Can I get your name and room number?"

"It's under my husband's name, Derek Lamb and it's room 438." I try to say with a straight face and while the woman types on the computer I turn to face the disturbed guests next to me, a husband and wife who look to be in their late fifties. "Sometimes our fantasies get a bit out of hand." I wink and the wife looks a second away from passing out, her husband having to steady her as she stumbles back on fragile feet.

"Okay, ma'am here's your new key card. Enjoy the rest of your stay." She hands me the keycard with a soft smile, and I thank her before strutting off to the lift.

The ride up to the seventh floor is long and awkward, to say the least.

"You a hooker?" A teen asks me, and I stare down at him — yep, stare down at him. He's got to be at least five foot four, and with my heels on I'm nearly a foot taller than him. I raise a brow at the curly headed boy, his hair a sandy brown colour.

"And what makes you think that?" I cross my arms over my chest, having the urge to shoot him.

"You're dressed like one."