Deckard

2.

Execution

Mr.America was kind enough to deliver all Sixty-five English pounds- into my account that afternoon with some usefull infomation on my target.  

Currently packing my duffel bag with more guns and weapons than clothes, I glance up to catch Decks eye

"Don't go," he tries to stop me as he leans against the door frame in his sweat pants. I glare at him at his idiocy. 

"I don't want anything to happen, I don't like the sound of this one," he tries as he pushes off from the door frame and sit quietly down beside my duffel on the bed to watch my movements. 

"I'll come back to you," I smile gently as I stop my actions and move to stand between his legs; his warm hands resting on my hips and pulling me a little closer, "Its too easy for you,"

"What if I stop you? Tie you to this bed and never let you go," He almost temps me, but that itch to get out there and hunt down my target was becoming nearly unbearable. 

I begin to sniffle and cast my head down into my shoudler as I try to step away from him, "You're just as bad as them," I cry a little, "I work just as hard as you and still you try to stop me doing my job," I wipe away a tear for drematic effect,  "You're my husband. You're meant to support me and push me to be the best I can, not cage me like a wild animal. That's really upset me, you really have-"

"Okay, okay you can go," He apoligises. His concerend face dropping into one of almost embarrassment as he realises just how guilable he is. 

"You've been talking to my mother and sister too much," He chuckles as he brings me in for a kiss, both of us chuckling as we fall back onto the bed. 

"They've got ot some good tricks," I smile as I lightly rub his balding head, "That offer did sound tempting though," I bite my bottom lip and look down at him past my hooded eyes. His smirk shows just what he plans to do to me. 

○•○▪︎○•○

Some very long 48 hours later I was watching the overweight and heavily sweating man who was my target in the Los Angeles sun. This man surrounded himself with his small army of guards and women who throw themselves at his feet because they want the money that he claims to have- he doesn't have it, I've checked all his accounts and browser history. 

Disgusting.

Sitting at the stop light across the road in my silver Jaguar XF. The engine purring contently beneath the ball of my foot as I shift it back into first gear and cruise around the corner to smoothly park in direct eye line of my target. Watching all the heads in the block turn to watch the beauty rest at the side of the road, I grab my black clutch from the passenger seat and take my leave into the blazing sun. 

A figure hugging white pencil skirt reaches just above my knees with my white blouse tucked neatly into it's waist band as I emerge into the limelight; placing my sunglasses over my eyes as I feel grateful for pinning my hair up into a high bun in the scorching heat. 

Shutting the door to the lavish car, I begin striding down the pavement with my red bottom heels clicking nicely on the tarnished ground as I made my way past my target, his eyes not so subtly tracing my body as I entered the grand hotel and up to the open desk. A vase of fresh flowers now partially blocking the view the target has of my athletic legs. 

Checking in I turn away from the direction of the lifts to the rooms and instead head towards the restaurant further inside, the view from where I placed myself st a table looking out onto the bustling street as I ordered myself a glass of expensive Pinot. With my back to the now curious target- wondering why a lady like myself was alone and unaccompanied- I take out my files and begin absentmindedly flicking through the dry pages of paper with my wine glass perched delicately in my other hand as it's elbow rests on the white table cloth. I never took a sip of the drink; just raised it to my plump lips to maintain the persona I was currently performing.