Red Hourglass : Dark Coming Of Age Romance Thriller

Prologue

My assigned target was Mr. Torn. He was in his fifties and married with two young daughters. Torn was a hedge fund boss and he'd expropriated significant numbers from his clients' funds. The missing billions had been wired into fat offshore bank accounts in the names of his wife and daughters. The whole thing irked me.

I began my surveillance. He kept his laptop with him in a briefcase, and he went to the same bar every Friday night. I watched from across the street as he left the bar week after week with a different young brunette each time. It wasn't my concern, but knowing that made my job much easier. My real concern was that the money he'd squirreled away in those offshore tax havens didn't belong to him.

* * *

I was finally ready to catch my prey. A few of the girls he'd left the bar with were wearing yellow, but there were no yellow dresses or accessories in my wardrobe. Yellow reminded me of vomit.

I did my make up, covered the crescent scar on my abdomen with concealer, and put my brown hair up in a sexy, loose bun. I wore French lingerie and stockings under my red cocktail dress, and I secured a black belt around my waist to offset the red and highlight my hourglass shape. I slipped my tiny feet into the blood-red platform stilettos that matched my dress.

I did a last check in the mirror before I left my apartment. A woman's got to look perfect to catch her man.

I hailed a taxi and went to Torn's Friday night haunt. Then I positioned myself at the bar and waited. I knew it wouldn't be long before he slithered up to me.

"Hey you seeexxxy hottieee," the money man slurred. "May I get you a driiink?"

"Sure, that would be nice."

I turned and flashed him a fake smile. His shifty face made him look like a shrewd snake, and his voice made me want to puncture his long neck with one of my stilettos. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have wasted a minute talking to him.

"How about a glaaasss of red wine?" he asked.

"Merlot, please."

The man had some class, but still, he was a thief who'd siphoned the hard-earned pensions of ordinary working people into his own pockets. He looked me up and down. His green eyes highlighted the sinister undertones of his classy guy façade.

"Veeery goood." He sat down on the barstool next to me and waved to the bartender. "Two glasses of Merlot. Sooo, what brings a seeexxxy girl like you here?"

"I'm new to the city, just checking out the bars."

"Manhattaaan is the place to beee." He sipped his wine. "Just loook aroound. It's the center of the worllld. There's money to be made on eeevery corner. You picked the right city to beee in."

"Perhaps, but I've noticed that there's a lot of homelessness ... and poverty."

"That's because they're the looosers at the bottom. This city is meant for winners." He flicked out his tongue and licked his lips. "Only wiiinners make it in the Biiig Aaapple."

"True." I remembered my younger days, sleeping in the subway like a pathetic sewer rat, almost starving to death. "We're all seeking the high life here."

After a couple more of glasses of Merlot, he was sloshed.

"Leeet's you and meee head somewhere else," he said, putting a cold hand on my shoulder. "You are increeedibly seeexxxy with that hourglass body of yours ... in that red dressss."

"Sure, why not? I have nowhere else to be."

"I'll keep you warm." He slid off his barstool and wrapped his arm around my waist. Then he zigzagged his way to the door and opened it for me.