Deadly Desires

Careful what you wish for

"What do you do for work?" The pretty blonde asks me, gazing up at me with those big brown eyes.

I chuckle as the lie easily passes through my lips, "Something in finance. You know with the stock market?"

Of course, she doesn't know, no one ever knows what the hell I'm on about that's why I select that lie. People always tend to believe the easiest answer.

One of the many flaws of humanity.

She giggles a little, tipsy from all the martinis I've seen her consume, "Oh yeah totally."

I grin again as I lean against the bar, it's one of the reasons I bought a penthouse in this building. It had everything a person could need: a gym, an outside park, an indoor pool and a bar that was often filled with girls like Darla here on a Friday night.

One of my many ideas of fun.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Josh walk towards us, he has a determined look in his eyes and I try to focus back on the girl in front of me.

"Nikolai, you have mail." He says standing behind me, like a fucking ulcer that won't leave me alone. I swear to god every time I speak to someone of the opposite sex at this bar Josh seems to appear behind me like a walking and talking cockblock.

I glance down at his hands and try to bite my lip, I should cut him some slack. His girlfriend was getting pretty suspicious about what he was out doing late at night. It's not like he could tell her what his real job was. For fucks sake he told me one of his closest friends was a lawyer.

Jesus Christ.

"I'm busy, can't it wait?" I ask.

Darla turns to look at him curiously, he's dressed as an usher. That's his cover so of course she's slightly confused. I'll tell her the amount she's drunk caused her to hallucinate if she brings him up to me later.

"It's mail," He repeats, putting enough emphasis on the word so I knew exactly from whom and what the letter would contain.

I sigh as I take the letter from him, "Darla, order yourself a drink," I tell her absently.

She turns away to catch the attention of the bartender and I break through the wax seal to open the letter.

Mark Bradley. 45 years old.

Angel fundraiser, Saturday night, 8 pm.

Never a real signature just the stamp of a skull so I knew who the note was from. Attached to the letter is a small picture of Mark so I'd know who to shadow.

I sigh as I tuck the letter into my suit pocket, missions were dull when they took place at significant events. I couldn't have fun or toy with my targets. Just a quick clean-up, nothing too flashy to attract the news and nothing too brutal to get the FBI excited.

I turn to glance at Darla who is chatting to the bartender and whatever interest I had in her washes away. I quickly walk away from the bar and take the elevator up to my penthouse.

Her ego would be hurt, though I imagine knowing I paid for her drinks would soften the blow and then she'd move to the next man who showed her interest.

All I wanted to do was shower and go the fuck to bed.

*******************************************************************

"Don't you look dashing," Alex says as I climb out of the taxi.

He's standing on the curb in a navy blue suit, I notice he's managed to tame his wild blonde curls for tonight.