This is an old story I wrote about a year and some change back.

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Inappropriate Language
Abuse (physical, mental, emotional, sexual...), assault, rape, pedophilia, racism.

The midnight summer air was humid and suffocating as I followed on the heels of Mark Soros's stumbling chunky physique to his motel room. He was drunk and smelled of cigarette butts, alcohol, and death. His sunset-colored Hawaiian shirt was tucked into khaki pants that were pulled up high on his waist. He reminded me of the "See, nobody cares" fat guy from Jurassic Park.

Hall lights flickered on and off as we trekked closer to his room, there was minimal conversation and I was cool with that because conversation really wasn't my strong point, plus I was trying to keep my head down as to avoid security cameras which there weren't many as far as I could tell. Besides, who would want to spark up a conversation with a man that staged his wife and two kids' death in a blazing house fire in order to collect insurance money so he could take care of his other younger wife who lived on the other side of the map. And now he was about to cheat on her with me, go figure. Politicians really were the worst of the damn worst.

I pulled down my tight black dress that kept inching up my sweaty thighs, wouldn't want him to catch whim of the throwing knives I had snugged tightly in my garter belt. I almost used them on his ass at Tipsy's bar a few times when his hands crept up the back of my dress to cup my ass. His touch was so fucking disgusting and grimy, not what a real man's touch was supposed to feel like at all.

We came to stop at an orange door with a black number 2 on it, I watched impatiently as his drunk ass fumbled with the keys to open the door. Mark Soros was a complete piece of shit and within the next few minutes or so, he would be a dead piece of shit. My irritation began to grow immensely as he fumbled with the keys again, I snatched them out his hands sticking the key in the hole and turning it, opening the door. He gave me his best attempt at a sexy grin, but he came off looking like the joker, Jack Nicholson not Heath Ledger. I would have totally boned Heath Ledger clown makeup and all if I'd had the chance. May he rest in peace.

I let him walk in ahead of me before shutting the door and locking it, I immediately recognized the smell of decomposition and cigarette smoke. As soon as i turned around I was pinned against the door my hands held above my head, his full body weight pressed against me and his mildew tongue plunged down my throat. I fought the urge to puke in his mouth.

I needed time to assess the tiny room for an exit, hopefully, the bathrooms had a small window I could squeeze out of once I disposed of him. I pushed hard against his blubbery chest, anger flashed in his blue eyes before he attempted to come at me again but this time I pushed him back forcefully, "Wait, I breathed heavily, can't a girl freshen up first?" I spoke in a sweet voice, my eyes throwing daggers ahead of my hands. He watched me with a hungry gloss in his eye for a second before stepping to the side.

His musty smell burned my nose as I took hurried steps into the small smoke-filled room I passed up a brown dresser against the cinder block wall with a small tv bolted down onto it across from the bed, a small closet with small dots of blood splattered on it, and a nightstand next to the bed. A bathroom was positioned in the corner of the room opposite the closet. I had seen a lot of motel rooms but none like this one.

I shut the bathroom door and locked it. Like I thought, there was a small window in here. I shivered at the thought of that sleazeball shoving his tongue down my throat, I might just cut it out of his mouth as a trophy. I gazed in the mirror, my ruby red lipstick was smeared all over my lips, the gold glittery eye shadow had no more glitz. The long, straight, jet black synthetic wig with a Chinese bang had my head itching like I had lice and was lopsided, and the light floral perfume had all but disappear. I looked a hot awful mess.

Pushing the girls up and tugging my dress back down I headed back into the room. Mark was lying on the bed with his legs spread out in nothing but boxers. Taco-meat chest hair covered his torso, literally from his neck on down. It was everywhere, his legs looked as if he were wearing black tights. Bile rose in my throat and I pushed it back down. He patted the spot next to him, I inhaled and exhaled deeply plastering a tight lip smile on my face as I slowly moved towards him.

"C'mon over and give daddy a blow job." he stammered staring at me lustfully. "You know you black bitches like that shit."

I arched a brow, "Bitches?" I asked slowly walking around the bed to where he lay.

"Yeah, I heard bitch is like a term of endearment to your kind." he smiled rubbing a hand up my left thigh and squeezing my butt. I cringed inwardly. My anger rose so far up that I thought the top of my head was going to pop off like a 90's cartoon character or some shit.

I smiled seductively at him, the same smile that earned me an invitation to this hell hole of a room, he moved his hand over my right thigh easing it on up towards my cookies, "Well I can tell you one thing, black women do not like to be called bitches..." I watched as his eyes widened to the size of two full moons when his hands grazed over my knives, I smirked feeling a sense of pleasure from his fear.

"Who are you, Bitch?" He barked, scooting away from me.

With quickness, I snatched a knife out of the garter belt and implanted it into his throat watching as blood begin to spill out the wound. I enjoyed watching him scramble out of the bed hitting the floor with a hard thud. I walked around to where he was and kicked him in the side, he tried to speak but nothing but a waterfall of blood pooled out his mouth. I detested fools like him, using people for their own gain then disposing of them when they were no longer of any use to them. They secreted death so they deserved nothing less than that in my eyes. I implanted another knife into him this time into his heart, he only had minutes to live, kneeling down I watched as the color drained from his hideous face and his pupils dilated, "My name isn't Bitch, I spoke in a calm but deadly manner, "It's Blue... but you won't need to remember that." He began choking on his blood letting me know he was just about finished. I yanked the blade out of his heart and implanted it into his head watching his pupils grow large instantly and the life drain out his eyes. I stared at my handy work for a moment, before standing up and going over to the closet.

I was going to cut the fuckers tongue out his mouth but I really didn't want to touch him again, plus time was running out and I needed to leave before the clean-up guys aka Triad Assassin Co. got there or it would for sure be my ass. The big man was getting sick of me taking my time with the jobs he gave me.

I know I shouldn't open it and I knew I needed to get the hell out of dodge before the cops showed up or worse. But the curious part of me wanted to know who or what was in this closet. Turning the knob slowly, the rickety closet creaked opened and the repugnant smell leaked out feeling the room with the smell of death and bringing me to my knees. What little food I had in my stomach came spewing out my mouth onto the floor.

After heaving a few more times, I composed myself stood up holding my arm up to my nose which did little to mask the smell. I stared at the decomposed bodies of two little girls and a woman, they were naked, and their hands bound behind their back. The girls were no older than ten. If I could shed tears for them I would. My feelings ceased to exist the minute I became an assassin.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Startled, I swung around to the door just as it was kicked open. My eyes widened in surprise at the six-foot Puerto Rican clad in black jeans, a black shirt, leather jacket, and white g-Nikes. An NOPD police badge hung around his neck, his brown heavy-lidded eyes were wild with fire as he pointed his 9 mm gun at me.

I guess being a cop for so long, made him eventually build up an immunity to the smell of death because he didn't blink at the smell just kept his narrowed gaze on me. New Orleans tended to do that to a person. The city of death is what I liked to call it.

He glanced around me at the decomposed bodies in the closet than at Mr. Dead dickhead on the floor. Annoyance flashed in his eyes, his suspicious gaze boring a hole in me, "Did you do this, Blue?" He asked in a heavily accented Spanish accent that made my heart flutter.

I shrugged nonchalantly, "Not all of it, Officer Friendly. " I replied snidely.

"Which part did you do so I can book your crazy ass for it."

"He killed the girls, I killed him," I replied easily. It wasn't like he didn't know what I did for a living. The only part I could never figure out was why he never took me in. We had talked about me giving up the assassin biz but that was mostly him talking, and me being enticed by his cologne or the way his goatee contrasted against his caramel skin, or maybe it was the two braids braided up into a man bun with the shaved sides that gave him a manly yet youthful look.

"You said you would quit." he bit out tightly, walking all the way in and closing the door with his foot, keeping his gun pointed at me.

I took a small step towards him raising my hands up in mock surrender, "No, you said that, Alejandro." I spoke sardonically. He took a step closer than I took another step closing the gap until the gun was pressed firmly in between my breast. The more I stared at him the more I could see hurt, anger, and disappointment in his face. What was this?

"Did you kill her?" He ground out through his teeth.

A look of confusion appeared on my face, Kill her? What the hell was he talking about? "I've killed a lot of people dude... be more specific." I answered, getting annoyed.

He moved the gun beneath my chin, finger on the trigger, his eyes glistening with fiery tears, "My wife."