Deadly Affection

Life unfolds in unpredictable ways, offering a multitude of possibilities that can shape a single moment. These moments, whether significant or seemingly trivial, hold the power to alter the course of our lives, steering us towards either improvement or adversity. Reflecting on my own experiences, a particular instance comes to mind.

Picture this: you're rushing through your campus, gearing up for a final exam, when an unexpected encounter with a man interrupts your stride. Initially, it seems inconsequential – just a brief collision. However, as fate would have it, he accidentally drops his keys, prompting you to return them. In that fleeting moment, you notice his attractiveness, intelligence, and a smile that could captivate any woman. Despite sensing a hint of a mysterious past, you decide not to pry too deeply, understanding that everyone harbors secrets they may not wish to share.

He appears to be the epitome of a typical hot guy, potentially the perfect choice for a college fling to explore your burgeoning inner desires. Yet, as life unfolds, it becomes evident that appearances can be deceiving. What initially seemed like a good decision turns out to be the worst possible choice one could make. This person, whom you might have avoided going on a date with, could have led you down a straightforward path toward becoming a chemist, perhaps eventually building a family.

However, life takes an unexpected turn when you decide to embark on that date. The repercussions are astronomical, challenging and reshaping the very fabric of your existence. The narrative underscores the unpredictable nature of life's twists and turns, illustrating how seemingly inconsequential decisions can have profound implications, altering the trajectory of one's journey in ways unimaginable.

Certainly, there are moments when life appears serene, almost like a dream. Picture this: you find yourself in your neatly arranged dorm room – a single, a testament to your hard work in high school, and the financial stability that followed. There you are, engrossed in your textbook, with him quietly present, basking in the afterglow of an hour of passionate intimacy. The scene unfolds further as the two of you indulge in cannolis you've prepared in his apartment, the place you'll call home after just six months. Then, in an unexpected twist, love blossoms between you.

The progression is swift, marked by his impeccable choice of words and the unique emotions he stirs within you – both physically and intellectually. However, the idyllic facade shatters when you unearth a shocking truth – he is a murderer. Faced with the rational decision to walk away, something inexplicable holds you back. You defy all reason and choose to remain by his side.

Rather than opting for a conventional exit, you make a daring choice to run away with him. This seemingly irrational decision propels you down a path you never anticipated, eventually transforming you into a murderer yourself. The narrative unfolds with unexpected twists, highlighting the complex and entangled nature of the choices we make in the face of tumultuous revelations.

His eyes trail my body, like the thousands of men before him. Like all men do when they see me as if I was a piece of meat. "I've had my eyes on you since the moment you stepped into the room." Of course, you did. I wanted you to. His cheeks are rosy, his breath stinks with the alcohol that I provided him.

I strip off my long black trench coat in front of him. My breathing is even. Not a hint of worry is present on my face for him to see. Under the trench coat is my bright red Merriweather lingerie that matches my tall red heels.

A cliché stripper ensemble, to say the least, but it works. It works well enough for this man to take me back to a hotel room.

"I heard red is your favorite color," I say seductively, using an Italian accent. My role is a poor Italian stripper who wants a chance to get a few dollars from him—a girl like all the others he brought here to sleep with. God, just a little longer, and then I can go back home and relax in my bed. My feet are killing me in these heels.

I slowly walk towards him while he's sitting in his throne-like chair, only in his underwear. My hips sway with every step I take. He watches me, anticipating every step I take as he licks his lips. I can tell just by his face alone that he's turned on. His huge belly covers his penis from my field of view.

My newest target is Martinez Louis. One of the most renowned drug lords in Italy. He owns about fifteen percent of the world's cocaine business. If he died, the distribution of cocaine would decrease significantly for a while.

But, I know, like any logical person, his business is just going to be taken over by someone else—most likely by one of his sons in the coming weeks. I could kill them all one by one with no problem saving a few people from an early cocaine overdose.

But the boss man, as he would call himself, said the client only cares about him. So, to conclude, it's most likely his own family that wants to kill him. So much for the family is the most important thing to an Italian man.

The things people do for power will always amaze me.

But it doesn't matter to me. I'm only here for a job.

I can admit, he was a little bit more complicated than my usual jobs. It took me weeks to get him alone. His security is tight, and the type of women he's attracted to is even tightly niched.

For this job, I had to disguise myself as a stripper, who doesn't mind doing something extra for cash, so he would even give me the time of day. After stalking him for what seemed like an eternity, I came to this conclusion.

His type is particular—redheads or red, to be more exact. The rumor around the girls indicates that if you wear red under the dark lights, you're bound to catch his eyes. This rumor explains the ginger wig I brought and the lingerie. If he likes red, he's going to get it. Every night he's in a new strip club looking for his next prey.

The women all flock towards him so they can have his next illegitimate child and a large check every month makes me sick. To bring a child into the world for money never sat right in my soul. And these men are all the same no matter if they are married or not. They can never resist a beautiful woman.

This guy's life is worth one hundred thousand dollars. I'd say I'm being underpaid for the job, but I don't have the balls to complain. Our HR department is non-existent, and complaints are warranted with tossing out the window or a knife to the chest. Silence is better.

He lets out a heavy breath causing the room to smell foul. You would think, based on this smell alone, that he was dead already. The more he breathes, the more putrid the air around me smells.

"What do you want me to do to you, baby?" The words that come out of me are foreign. Baby? What do you want me to do to you? My arms go around his sweat-covered neck, and I straddle his lap.

"I want you to make me feel good."

I lift myself slightly from his lap and dig into my nearby bag. Papers, guns, knives, and whatever else I stuck in it touch my fingers except for the only thing I want. The item that guarantees a quick, easy, and clean death.

My fingers touch a circular silver object. I almost fall from his lap when I remember I have these. I pull out the pair of handcuffs. This makes everything a lot easier. I twirl the handcuffs in my hands and continue to sport a seductive smile.

"Oh, I'm going to make you feel so good."

The fucker promised me a thousand U.S. dollars for one night, but I'm getting paid a hundred times that for this job. It's easy math and an even easier job just to kill him.

I grab one arm and then the other, pulling them behind his back and cuffing them. You're locked now, trapped in my web of death.

I think if you're a drug lord, you shouldn't let a random woman lock you in handcuffs or even bring a bag into the room without getting it checked.

What if she turned out to be an assassin?

I purr into his ears. I feel the vibrations in my own body. I am excited. I am eager to kill this man. "Do you want to know why they call me Tiger?" I bite at his lip and he bucks. He wants me. He wants to be inside of me.

"Why," he huffs.

"Guess," I kiss his cheeks—one by one, but I can tell he wants me somewhere else. Most likely on my knees.

"Because of your hair." My fake hair makes me look like a natural redhead—a rare commodity in Italy. I shake my head, reaching for my needle. His eyes are only focused on my own. I lean forward, my breast touches his chin as I force him to look at me.

"No, wrong. guess again." I will be your last memory, Martinez. You should be happy. Not many people can say they saw a demon who looked like an angel before they died.

"Because you're so fierce?"

"No," I say, whispering in his ears, dropping my Italian accent. "Because Tigers always catch their prey." I stab him in the neck with the syringe. The needle is big, big enough that I know it hurt when I pressed it into his skin. He attempts to touch his neck, but his handcuffed arms stop him.

"What did you do? Who sent you?" He screams.

I lift myself off him ignoring his screams. "I can't tell you that, Martinez. Frankly, because I do not know myself. Also, does it matter? You're going to die soon. It doesn't quite matter, in my opinion." My accent is now completely gone, and it's just me. My regular voice, he now knows I'm American.

His thrashing soon stops, and he relaxes in his chair. Why is he so calm? He's about to die in less than a minute. My targets are usually screaming for help until they draw their last breath but him? No, he's calm—a nice change of pace.

"You're taking this well." I will admit I'm curious as to how he can be so calm. Maybe this is a calm before a short storm of him thrashing and somehow managing to get out of the chair. "Why are you so calm?"

"Why?" he laughs. "Because I know when I've lost." I put my trench coat back on. "I should have listened to my wife. She told me to retire and leave the whores and the drugs alone. You know," he says, laughing. "She told me to stay in bed today because she had a bad feeling. Now, look at me. I'm about to die handcuffed to a fucking chair in my underwear."

"Well, you should have listened to your wife. Never question a woman's institution. You might have lived another day."