She called to him.
He turns his head down the dark ally. Dressed in her black knee high leather boots, black leggings, shorter then should be legal ruffle of a skirt, and black leather corset – not many men would not turn at her call. She is wearing a black, full length cloak, but she had pushed it aside so he could see her fine, firm figure - long wavy brown hair, pouty lips, full hips as well as bust, and her almost black eyes.
He turns down the ally, slightly drunk and alone. Just how she likes them. She moves deeper into the shadows and he followed. Once he knows he can not be seen from eyes on the main street, he asks her in a slur of drunken lust, “How much?”, as he places a hand on her full breast. “For you?” she says, as she wraps her arms around him, she leans in close to his ear and whispers, “It’s been paid for.” The spark in his eyes burns brighter as he places his face into her cleavage.
Giggling with glee, her one thought is ‘Why do they always go straight for the tits? Oh well, at least they can’t scream while they’re there.’ She bends her knee and he holds on to her thigh, hiking it higher as she pulls the dagger from her boot. With her free arm, she pulls him deeper into her breasts, stifling any cry that might slip. Her blade hits home, as it always does, through the lung, puncturing the heart. As his heart beats hard with lustful adrenalin, the blood fills his lungs, drowning him. She hears the soft gurgle sound in the back of his throat and knows to let him go. As he hits the ground, a small cough, followed by blood, spews from his mouth.
If she had not let him go, she would have had that blood all over her. Weather from her training, experience, or both, the only blood on anything of hers was the blood on the dagger. She wipes her blade off on a clean spot on his shirt and places it back into her boot. She steps over the now dead man, out of the ally, and onto the street. Wrapping her cloak around her and clasping the gold she received for the assassination, a small smile creeps across her face. She thinks to herself, ‘A bed for the night, a hot bath, and a good meal. All in all, not a bad night.’ No man would share her bed tonight – nothing in life was as satisfying as a good kill. She would sleep well tonight.
