Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 2
?️ Victoria POV
My target is kinda hot.
I smiled as I picked up the tray and headed
to
the kitchen. Handsome men were so hard
to
come by with my job. Whistling, I ziplocked
the two coffee cups and put them in my
waitress apron.
Oh, I wasn’t really a waitress. (Not a creepy
stalker either.)
Speaking of creeps.
“Hey there, kitty cat.” The barista behind
the
counter chuckled. The guy was neither
sweet
nor cute, so when he leered down my
modest
white blouse, I had to resist the urge to
punch
him.
In the nuts. With brass knuckles.
Instead, I gave him a sweet smile. “How’s
it
going?” Mr. Douche.
“Good, good.” He ran a hand through his
hair.
Yeah, baby. Dandruff is super sexy. ” When
did
you start working here? I didn’t see you sign
in
this morning.”
“I came in early.” Okay, I was a good liar,
but
for what it’s worth, I could’ve said “I’m a
pretty
mermaid” and he wouldn’t have blinked.
Not
when his eyes were still on my boobs.
“Eyes
up here, soldier.”
“Hehe.” More dandruff dislodgement. “Sorry
about that.”
I don’t think the moron knew what sorry
meant.
Pity. I’d have to educate him.
Hey,” I said, fluttering my eyelids and
swaying
my hips a little. “I spilt some coffee on my
apron. I’m so clumsy. I forgot where the
washroom is?”
Yeah, because I have the IQ of a suckling
pig
and I’m too retarded to read well placed
signs, I
wanted to add.
I let my knight in shining armour show me
where the little girl’s room was. Turning
around, I made a show of bumping into
him.
“I-I’m so sorry. I just wanted to say thank
you.”
“Why, you’re welcome.” I swear I heard him
mutter püssy cat as he walked away.
I rolled my eyes and locked the washroom
door behind me. Men .
There was a black duffel bag in one of the
stalls. I’d stashed it in here earlier. I placed
the
apron with the cups inside it and stripped.
It took me about two minutes to change
into a
blue cocktail dress and take off my blonde
wig. I redid my makeup, going hard on the
contouring and smokey eyes.
I was proud to say I looked like a stripper
minus the heels.
The walk through the cafe earned me a few
indecent stares. Mr. Douche’s car keys were
in
my left hand. All I had to do was go to the
parking lot, unlock his old rust bucket Chevy
and drive to my apartment.
That’s the Oxford definition of “sorry”, as in,
“sorry, I might have stolen your car”.
Dear Mr. Douche, never trust a clumsy
püssy
cat . Glad to have furthered your education.
The minute I got home, I was almost
knocked
over at the door by a little red head.
“Did you find him? Do you know who he
was?
How old was he? Was he cute-”
My sister didn’t any waste time.
“It wasn’t a date, Ira.” I told her, flopping
down
on the couch. My apartment wasn’t fancy,
though it certainly could’ve been. White
walls,
a fold out couch, a coffee table, two
mattresses. That was about it.
Ira arched a perfect brow. “So he wasn’t
cute?”
“No.” I told her, thinking back to the man in
the black suit. Danny, his friend had called
him. My target had crystal blue eyes, black
longish hair and a jawline that could cut
diamonds
He honestly wasn’t cute.
He was hot. Make-your-panties-catch-fire
hot.
Yet this was my brain’s assessment. This
is
what normal females feel about him , it told
me.
The rest of me was awfully quiet about all
this.
Guess that made me an abnormal female.
Go
figure.
“Details.” Ira quipped, annoyed when I
didn’t
say much.
“It’s not a date.” I repeated. “I was just
scoping out the target.”
She gave my borderline slütty outfit a once
over, skeptical. “Right.”
“Alibi” I explained, rolling my eyes. “If this
blows up in my face tomorrow, I want the
people in the cafe to remember I was
there.”
As the bîtch in blue rather than the waitress.
“Oh, that won’t happen. We’ll be fine.” Ira
replied, absently. It was her standard
response
every time I talked about ‘negative’
situations.
“So do you know who he is?”
I shook my head and gave her the ziplock
bag,
smiling a little. Funny, but if there was ever
a
tall, dark, handsome stranger –
“Ha!” Ira punched the air, triumphantly. “I
knew
it. Does he have a nice äss?”
Did I just say that out loud? Fantastic.
“Very. Very . Nice äss.” I said, a little
exasperated. Anything to get her to work
faster. “Now please find out who it belongs
to.”
Irahooked up her laptop to a DNA sensor.
She
snapped on some gloves and picked up a
cotton swab.
“Which cup is Somerhalder’s?
“Somerhalder?”
“Ian Somerhalder. The email from the client
said Blue eyes, black hair and you said he
has
a fine äss. Hence operation Ian.”
“The red one.” I said, shaking my head. My
sweet little sister was watching too much
TVD.
Ira took it out and swiped the rim of the
cup,
repeating the swipe on the sensor. I had to
admit I’d been a little stingy about giving
her
the hundred grand she needed to buy the
thing.
Now I wonder how I ever did my job without
it.
What is my Oh-so-mysterious job, you ask?
It was a simple three step process.
1) My clients sent me a name or
description.
2) I found the target.
3) The target ended up in the bottom of the
sea.
It was the family business. I didn’t ask any
questions and I didn’t care so long as I got
the money.
Ira was searching for a match across
federal
and state databases. I guess I knew that it
wouldn’t turn up anything.
Which was why I’d put a microtracker on
his
blonde friend. Remember when I came back
to
the table and got snapped at by Mr. High
and
Mighty for no reason? Yeah, his friend had
even smiled at me right before I attached it
to
his sleeve.
It kinda made me feel bad. Kinda.
Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m a terrible person.
I told Ira about it and she brought up the
screen. And ladies and gentlemen, we have
a
winner. A red dot immediately popped up. It
was moving heading toward the docks.
I got up and began packing my – items. By
items, I mean a variety of sharp objects. I
worked best with guns, but there was
something special about sharp cold metal
that
made me feel safer.
Ira wasn’t too happy. “Do you really have to
kill
him, V?”
“You know how this works, sweetie.”
“Let me come with you-”
“No.” She was too young for this.
“I want to see Ian.” She gave me her best
puppy dog eyes. “You know, before you kill
him.”
I smiled, as I changed into a black leather
suit.
“Honey, for ten million dollars, I bet you can
have dinner with the real Ian.”
Victoria : “I’M PRETTY SURE IAN WANTS
YOU TO
PRESS THAT LIKE BUTTON. SO DO IT.
LIKE, RIGHT
NOW AND INVITE YOUR FRIENDS TOO.”
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