Death and Dating

❂ The Dance Floor ❂

I enter the club as the pink and purple fluorescent bulbs burn my skin. The scent of cheap alcohol hits my nose and I wrinkle it slightly in disgust.

God, sometimes I hate my profession. I mean, the pay is terrific. I'm EXTREMELY comfortable with my income, but my life is still lacking as a result. Hell, I graduated college as a 15 year old, and this is what I'm doing with my life. Being a child prodigy was so not worth it. Now, my diploma from Yale just rots away while I run around killing people for money.

I find my way to a stool at the bar, shoving past all of the drunk people grinding against each other. I'm still surprised I managed to even get into this club. I'm very clearly not old enough, but I guess nobody really cares. I assume my fake ID is more convincing than I thought.

I eye down the bartender and they start shuffling my way. I need a drink if I'm going to make it through the night.

"What can I get you?"

"I'll have your fruitiest drink," I respond with a smile. I'm not really the biggest fan of alcohol, so I tend to always get the girliest drinks at bars. The bartender nods and turns around to make my drink.

I glance around the club and then eye my outfit. I was told to wear the flashiest and shortest thing I own, which left me with few options. I ended up wearing a white, skin tight mini-dress. It's covered in flashy sequins and I only ever really wear it for occasions like this. It compliments my tan skin and dark hair well, and I always end up getting guys paying for my drinks.

I'm still lost in my thoughts as the bartender brings me back my drink, now paid for by a dude sitting across from me. I thank them and then go fishing in my purse, looking for the photo of my target.

I sip on my bright pink drink, eating the several raspberries floating in it as I try and match the faces in the crowd to the one on the photo. It's dark and everyone is mushed together in a pit, so I know that the only way I'm going to be able to find my target is to enter the belly of the beast.

I place the photo of my target back in my purse. I've already burnt the image in my brain, one of the perks of having a photographic memory. I always remember my targets' face. I check and make sure my gun is still in my purse. It is, the stickers on it gleaming in the small light exposing it to my eyes. I thought the gun itself looked too scary, so I completely covered it in stickers. Now it's slightly less threatening. Well, it's still very threatening to the people I've used it on, but still.

I sigh as I down my drink, slap some money down on the table as a tip, and head out to the dance floor. I've got a better chance locating my guy this way. I've got his eyes, facial structure, jawline, stubble, everything about his face on repeat in my brain as my eyes flick from one face to the next.

This club is full of attractive people. One perk of being bi is I always manage to find at least one person attractive everywhere I go. I've got so many options yet still can't manage to find anyone to love me.

But, that's besides the point. I've got to find this guy.

Then, as if it were on cue, I bump into my man. Quite literally, I ram into him with full force, making me stumble a little bit.

Lucky for me, this guy catches me and lifts me up. I grab onto his arm and I'm lifted up back into a normal standing position.

"Are you alright there? Sorry to bump into you." He says, his voice thick with a new york accent. While I live in NYC, I wasn't born here, so I don't have an accent.

"Don't apologize, that was my bad." I sigh, laughing a little. I have to flirt slightly if I want things to go my way.

"What's your name?" He speaks, slightly louder because the music is making it difficult to hear each other.

"Frankie! You?" I ask, knowing well enough that this dude is named Charles Robert. He's 26 years old, and is in big trouble with the company I work for. Something about not paying back loans? They don't tell me much, just give me the photos, a location, and the numbers of the clean-up crew.

"I'm Charles, through everyone calls me Charlie! Care you dance?"

I nod, my shoulder length hair bouncing a little. I straightened it tonight, making my hair slightly longer than it typically is. My hairs always kept fairly short though. If it's at the shoulders or shorter, it's more difficult to grab from a distance. I learned that the hard way.

Charlie sweeps me out to the dance floor and grabs my hips as we bounce around. Soon enough, my back is pushed against his front and we're dancing the same way everyone else is.

"How old did you say you were?" He asks, still having to scream over the music.

"17," I say with a smile and he laughs, assuming it's a joke.

"Funny, but seriously, how old are you?"

"I'm 22," I lie. I want to be younger than this guy but still clearly old enough to be allowed into this joint.

We dance for a little while longer before Charlie starts to whisper in my ears.

"Hey, how about we get out of here?" He says, the wind from his words tickling the hairs living the back of my neck.

"Sure, I'd like that," I respond, smiling. My plan is working well.

"I'll rent us a hotel room, baby." He says, grabbing my wrist and whisking me out of the dance floor. We take a seat at the bar again and he goes on his phone to book us a hotel.

These guys are almost always married, so hotel rooms are common.

"Where are we going to stay?"

"Pine and Oak Suites."

That's the answer I need. I'll have to call headquarters and tell them to hack into the security cameras and turn them off.

"Hey, I'm going to go to the ladies room. I'll be right back." I say politely, grabbing my own phone out of my purse.

I go into the restroom and dial the number for my coworker in charge of the technological side of this process.

"Hey, we're staying at the Pine and Oak Suites, can you take care of that?" I ask vaguely. This bathroom is full of people, and while their all being loud, I don't want anyone figuring out what I'm talking about.

"Got it! Good luck tonight," my coworker responds. I smile and hang up. It's showtime.

I run back to him as he's calling an uber. Once the car comes, we get in, go to the hotel, and check in. He's booked us a large suite, probably one of the reasons why he's in so much debt. This dude clearly doesn't know how to spend his money properly.

"Want a drink?" He asks, glancing to the bar in the room. He's going to drug the drink, it's obvious by the way his eyebrow twitches when he lies and the plastic bag hanging out of his back pocket. I comply though, I have to make things run smoothly.

Once we've had our drinks, me pouring mine out in a nearby plant, he starts getting in a sexual headspace.

"Lay back on the bed, baby. Let me take care of you." I say, smiling. He nods and grins a horrible smile.

As he lays back, taking his shirt and pants off, I turn around to grab my gun. I quickly load it  and turn around. He's still staring at the ceiling as I begin to speak, pointing the gun to his head.

"Hey, maybe next time, pay off your loans. Oh, wait, there won't be a next time. Sorry!" I say, pulling the trigger.

The bullet quickly nestles inside his head and I put my gun away. I installed noise blocking features on it last year when I started this job, so there wasn't any gunshot sound.

I quickly grab my phone and call the cleaners. Then, I grab my things and head out of the fire exit. Before I go home, though, I have to report the job to headquarters.

New story tingzzz! This story is very different from my other one, but I'm really proud of it! I think it's something new and fun :) I hope you enjoyed 🥰