"I love you," she purred, the words dripping from her lips like honey, "You're the only one for me. You're special, you know that?"
He laughed, stretching so he could place his hands on the back of his neck, just below where his curly brown hair had been shaved away. "How did I get so lucky as to have you in my bed?" he asked the gorgeous blonde who was straddling his lap.
"I don't know," she replied with a chuckle, pulling out the scrunchie that held up her long locks, letting them cascade down over her shoulders. Leaning down to kiss him, she slipped her hand beneath the pillows he was laying against, subtly pulling out the pocketknife she had cleverly concealed there. Bright blue eyes, never revealing her intentions, she slid the blade into her sleeve and sat back up, running her hand over the noticeable bulge in his pants.
He smirked at her, eyes expectant. "If you fuck anything how you kiss, I'm in for a wild ride," he joked, ice blue eyes flickering over her bust and tapered waist.
She nodded along, providing him with a realistic enough looking smile as she turned heavily lidded eyes back to his face. "Baby, you have no idea how wild a ride you're really in for," she murmurred with a smirk, the slight flash of a silver blade the last thing he would see as she plunged the knife into his heart.
He groaned, eyes wide as he couched slightly, blood beginning to drip from his pale pink lips. "Why?" he asked her, voice strained as he took his last few breaths.
She bent down to kiss him once more, spreading his blood over her lips like a gloss and spitting the excess back on his face. "It's nothing personal," she assured him, swinging a long leg over his still warm body, "You were in my way." Hopping off the bed, she pulled on spiked, black, heeled boots and a red leather jacket, pulling her cell from the pocket and calling the first number on the speed-dial.
"It's done," she uttered into the microphone, hearing only static back. Picking up her bag from the doorway, she pulled a cloth from inside, beginning to wipe the cramped hotel room down for prints as she waited for a response.
Finally a muffled reply came over the static, a man's voice, gruff and unfeeling. "Your next target is the head of a tech company, Maxwell Lord. You have four days. I expect you to take less," he said harshly, before his tone softened slightly. "Do not let me down, Isobel."
"Do I ever?" she asked, hanging up the call with a swipe of her right index finger. Walking out of the room, she let the door swing shut behind her, not even looking back at what she had done.
Known as the siren, Isobel Addison Greene was one of the most highly sought after assassins in the world. She was good. And she never got caught. She'd even pin the crime on somebody else if the client desired. To this day, she had committed 120 murders. Well... 120 that are known.
Unlike most revered assassins, she was smart enough not to have a calling card, a mark left on the body of the victim or at the sight of the murder. She would just disappear.
