Tit for Tat

“Exquisite,” the politician had whispered, hand trailing down my sweat-slicked flank.

I’d said the same of his cocaine, ignoring his slow slide to the floor. He’d had too much – wine, powder, me. I’d dressed, stepped over his body, and left, assured the hotel cameras were disabled.

“So,” Belial asked, “which of those poisoned him?”

I smiled at the fallen angel. “Trade secrets.”

“You’ve no honor left to cloak yourself in such conceit.”

“Want me to dial up Satan? What would that cost you? Better to just give me my promised reward.”

He paled, then began my transformation into addiction-free addict.

_________
Next

Following Orders

According to his lingering perusal, the politician liked my figure. I cast a baleful glare at the damned angel behind me. His master had slipped away, unnaturally. If you want the Number of the Beast, it’s on my phone, but you won’t like it when he answers.

The rich always have excellent drugs. I lured the politician to his room by making him think it was his idea – and that he’d get into my non-existent panties.

It took so little to help him overdose, I almost felt bad, but a job is a job, and I can’t quit this one.

___________
Next

Esprit

Deft fingers turning ancient dial, quiet clicks echoed in Malcolm’s head.

“Hurry up!” Sal hissed.

“One shouldn’t rush delicate work.” The last tumbler fell into place, satisfying need for perfection.

“Cops could show at any minute.”

“Then you won’t have done your job.”

“Fucking ponce.”

Malcolm opened the safe and laconically placed stacks of bills into Sal’s shaking hands. The younger man zipped it up and turned away, anticipating dissipation.

Thin wire across delicate throat, pink bubbles erupting from surprised lips, Sal fell.

Bonds tucked into his inside jacket pocket, Malcolm stepped over the body and into a finer world.

Cause and Effect

Standing at the door, Linda felt time slow, ensuring she bore witness to every moment:

Drake, splayed across the bed, arms at odd angles.
Drake, bathed in sweat, streaked with blood.
Drake, eyes glazed, staring heavenward.
Drake, undone by the whip and the woman riding him.

Closing her eyes, she saw it all again, a travesty caught in the amber of memory:

Drake, raging at his own nature.
Drake, mouthing promises.
Drake, on his knees, begging.
Drake, undone, first by her resistance, then the snub-nose revolver he’d insisted would keep her safe.

Funny how right he was in the end.

Born Again

My appetite’s been out of control forever. Food, drugs, sex – I craved it. The last malefaction paid for the others. Drugs defeated damage done by food binges. Looking at me, you wouldn’t have known I was hollow, empty space waiting to be filled.

He understood. “You’re a bundle of addiction, but I’ve got something better.”

“Wassat?”

“Murder.” Such evil from an angel’s mouth.

Damned if he wasn’t right. I know the crafty fucker is using me, but it gratifies in ways the drugs never did. When I figure out his endgame, Heaven’s fallen moves to the top of my list.

___________
Next

Confession

“Is there something wrong?” 

I ticked off salient points. “We’re in Las Vegas, which in and of itself was an abominable decision. You hit on possibly the only woman in the bar who shouldn’t go anywhere with you, much less to your room for a quickie. Which you did after losing your part of the travel fund attempting to impress her.”

He interrupted. “She has a name.”

I opened my arms. “Look at all the fucks I don’t give. Why? Because you didn’t check to see if her name came with a ‘missus’ in front of it before you played tonsil hockey by the elevators!”

“She wasn’t wearing a ring.” A weak protest, best ignored.

“No, she was dripping with diamonds, including sewn into her goddamned dress. Was that not a clue?”

“Sexist of you. She could have bought those herself.”

I snorted. “Women are generally smart enough to invest their money elsewhere, because they know how to show themselves off with more class and less danger. Jewels are bought by their very well-connected husbands, should they be lucky enough – or un – to have such.”

“You’re just jealous.”

I took a deep breath.
Two.
Didn’t help.
Another.
Slightly better.
I let it out slowly.

“No, you fucking moron. I’m pissed off that you put me in this situation.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.


And that, officer, is why I shot my brother in the ass.  I did not, however, shoot the guy in the bathtub. I just borrowed his gun.

_______________
Written for the Thursday Threads challenge. Check out the other entries, too!

ETA: And it won!

The Mechanic

Slipping inside her, I knew I’d never feel anything finer. She was almost too old for intrusion, but someone had found the charity to make her relevant, even appealing.

A quick jack, and I knew all her secrets – plus those of the last guy. His imprint remained after he’d trampled her. She was torn up inside, just like his last ride.

Bodies would come next.

“I’ll make this right, Sugar.” Immersed, I tapped the ignition to get her pistons moving. Fossil fuel pumped in time with my blood: hot, eager, needy.

Sugar would be restored. Her previous passenger would not.

Revelations

“Did you find it yet?”

She looks at me across the chaos we’ve made of the place – papers spilled over dishes cleared from tables next to cushions flung from couches. The china cabinet remains unsullied, because I don’t want to be haunted unnecessarily.

She holds up a journal, old leather cover cracked, pages loose. “There’s this.”

“Girl! You see why I called you in. I tried for a year to find it.”

She looks at me like she usually does, lips pursed, slight frown, eyes trying hard to keep from rolling. “You’re the worst damned thief I’ve ever met.”

I’m not, of course. Well, I am bad at stealing things. That’s not my job. It’s hers. It’s why I hired her. That, and the curve of her waist where it meets her lush hips and the way her hair hangs over one eye with the perfect curl resting just above her breast. If I said so, she’d punch me in the face. I think. She might shoot me.

She’s the most exciting woman I’ve ever met, and I’m more than half in love with her. Which is bad, I know. Business and pleasure mixing and all that. I just can’t seem to care.

She tosses me the book, and I lunge for it. A single page escapes, flutters mid-air, hangs there. As it descends, I scream.

“What is your problem?” she snaps.

She couldn’t know. I never told her what's in that book, but she’s about to find out.
 __________________

(written for Thursday Threads challenge here)