Getting up for an early flight Monday after basically not sleeping for the entire weekend has me pissy from the get go. But I force myself through the motions anyway. I get ready as if I'm preparing for a long flight - I booked an international flight and that demands comfort over style.

I make sure to keep the curtains open and the lights on for the detective. Wouldn't want him to miss a thing as I get ready.

The tail follows me all the way to the airport, as expected. I won't admit to being a little disappointed when they didn't follow me in, but if the detective's obsession is anything like mine he'll follow the cameras inside. So, I go through the entire motion just to be safe. I make through security, arrive at my terminal, wait for the flight, and even board with my group before going straight to the on flight bathroom to change.

Changing in these miniscule spaces is an absolute pain, but I pull it off anyway. I flip the duffle inside out - reversible duffles are cool as shit - and repack it with the masc outfit I just took off.

When I exit, I head back off the plane. Feigning panic and crying incoherently about a family emergency, I push past a flustered flight attendant and through the wave of people starting to board in the next group that I'd waited for so I could get lost in the crowd.

I maintain the air of a worried woman right up until I exit the bridge, relaxing back into a casual woman for the cameras so I don't draw any suspicions. I walk casually out of the airport and hop in the taxi waiting for me by the front, casting my glance around quickly to ensure I don't have a tail.

Unless the detective has damn impressive international contacts, he now believes I've left the country for a week. And everything from my height to the bag I'm carrying changed between boarding and exiting that flight. He'd have to be a special level of impressive to put the pieces together.

I have the taxi drop me at headquarters where I grab a car I have stashed there. I need something legal, and this one is technically registered to Mel's hospital as a company vehicle, so it won't raise red flags. I finally head to one of our safe houses where I'll be living for the week, arriving just in time for breakfast.

Step one: lose the pigs. Complete.

Frying up a couple eggs and some toast, I sit down with a cup of decaf. I'm absolutely taking a nap after my food settles. I don't have plans until this afternoon anyway.

I allow myself to relax, checking emails for work and coordinating with my assistant. I talk about waiting on my flight to take off to make sure any dicks keeping eyes on my digital communications see evidence that I'm leaving on a trip. I make sure the breadcrumbs are easy to find, but not so obvious to raise eyebrows. It's not difficult so much as tedious, but it's the little details that make the difference.

It will be a little annoying having to be femme for the entire week. I'm definitely more masc than femme in my day-to-day life, and quite frankly my femme itch is thoroughly scratched with all the recent outings. At this point I'd be happy to be masc for the next three months! I'm starting to feel more like I'm playing dress up than embracing my femme side, and it has me grumpy.

Damn detective making things complicated as hell.

No matter, I can relax at the safe house at least and just play dress up as needed when I leave. It's not the first time I've been forced to swing one way or the other on my spectrum to get by.

I clean up and take a nice, long nap to make up for all the sleep I lost and to make sure I'm at my peak for my fun little excursion planned later.

I have to actively try to not let my excitement get to me. I can't afford to slip up, especially now. So, I lay down and rest until it's time to head back out for the next part of this ridiculous mission.

--

It's hard to arrange a neutral meetup location with someone like the leader of the Russian bratva. His territories are complicated because he has good alliances and relationships with so many of his competitors. He's a businessman at heart, and he's used those skills very intelligently.

Thankfully I had a contact that took the work out of trying to find, case, and set up a good location. The warehouse is just outside the Irish sect - and I had to call in a favor to use it, which pisses me off a bit. I try and save those, especially with the Irish. They're damn good for a lot of things, and having the mob boss in your debt can come in mighty handy.

Today, though, I have to accept that it was necessary. Thankfully he owes me more than one favor.

The warehouse is mine for the week with Irish muscle on call as backup in case things go south. Connor also agreed to a temporary truce for whoever I meet here, since he knows who I meet up with could vary.

I, of course, arrive many hours in advance to ensure the location is set up properly, that I have weapons stashed as needed, and that I have a couple of escape routes prepared.

Ivan may be hot, but I'm not an idiot.

By the time the Russians arrive, 30 minutes early I might add, I'm sitting comfortably from a nice high-point on top of the pallet of sand bags that makes up part of the wall I had set up for this meeting.

The pallets creating the makeshift walls are stacked 8ft high with the sand bags, and encircle the area for our meeting. They provide cover in case of unexpected or unwanted attention.

The pallets form an outer and inner ring. The outer ring has walkway gaps between every two pallets, and the inner ring has all the pallets pushed together leaving only two exit points. Inside the center are chairs surrounding a large conference table, all the equipment and materials we need, and sealed food and drink options to get us through the day.

And of course, plenty of weapons - some hidden within the sand bags with markers only I would recognize, and some out in the open.

"Hey there, sexiness," I say, greeting him casually as he enters.

Sitting on the furthest, inner-circle pallet from the door they've walked in, I'm prepared to flip backwards and escape if necessary or jump forward and join them in the center just as easily.

I make sure to look as if I'm not poised to act, though, with one leg dangling over the edge of the sand bags and the other bent with my arm resting on it casually.

The throwing knives around my thigh aren't visible, nor are the two guns in their holsters on my back, but they're nearby in case Ivan or any of his people get any funny ideas.

I've made sure to dress extra distracting with my high-heel black boots that my black leggings are tucked into and my skin-tight black shirt beneath a jaw-dropping red corset. As always, the shirt sleeves come to my elbows to cover my tattoos, but the neckline shows off some cleavage without exposing my back.

I've got a wig as similar to the one he saw me in the first time as possible, but it's lighter brown with blond highlights because it's basically one of the only ones I have left. I've had to order a new dozen and they won't be ready for a while. I've braided it in my usual preferred style and swung it over my shoulder.

My lips and eyes are painted red, and I've decorated my face with what almost resembles a masquerade mask but painted on. After all, Ivan and Aleksandr might know what I look like, but it's best to operate under the assumption others don't know my face.

I love that his whole team is so busy eye-fucking me that, if I wanted, I could take half of them out before they even blinked. This is exactly what I go for when I dress to kill.

"What are you supposed to be," a man beside Aleksandr asked, clearly a bit big for his britches.

I cocked my head to the side, smiling and gave Ivan and Aleksandr both a slight shake of my head when they both went to react. Surprisingly, they both obeyed.

They're clearly waiting to see how I handled the situation. A test, perhaps?

"A circus performer. Wanna see me do a trick?" I asked, my smile spreading wide as I swung my leg forward and back casually.

Snorting, he looked at someone else behind him before looking back at me.

"Sure," he quipped, smirking arrogantly.

Without hesitating, or breaking my smile, I grabbed a knife from my thigh and whipped it so fast that anyone not actively watching me would have missed it.

It sunk into his left shoulder.

Then I flipped quickly backward over the pallet as everyone except Ivan and Aleksandr pull their guns out and try to aim them toward me, shocked at the sudden escalation. All while the idiot I stabbed howls in both surprise and pain.

"Ah ah ah," I warn, raising my voice and standing with my back to the sand bags, "don't make me kill you all. I didn't even nick his artery because I was being nice."

I drop an octave in my voice, "but I don't have to be nice."

"Put your fucking guns away," Aleksandr growls as I quickly navigate to the backside of the second ring and climb up the pallet, flipping back into the same position with my leg dangling over.

By the time I'm back in position, everyone has lowered their weapons and is looking around with a new found caution.

"Aleksandr," I say fondly, nodding at him with my smile back in place.

He nods in return, smirking at me.

"Would you like me to treat the wound?" I ask, eyeing the pale face of the man I stabbed.

He's glaring at me, positively seething, and it makes my smile broaden.

"Fuck you," he spits through his teeth, holding a hand to his shoulder and around the blade.

"Oh no dear, I have standards," I say sadly, shaking my head, "but thank you for the offer."

My eyes find Ivan, and I can't help softening at the look of amusement he's giving me.

"Did you enjoy your cookies?" I ask, fighting the blush that threatens to touch my cheeks.

"Very much," he says, his smirk turning into a full grin.

Nodding, I stand and leap to the pallet in front of me before flipping down into the meeting area. I need to hide my face since the blush decided to show up anyway.

What am I, a fucking teenager?

I place gauze and some basic medical supplies on the table for the moron with the teeny-tiny stab wound so he can fix himself up. Then I wait for them all to enter into the rings and find me in the center, leaning up against the pallet by the exit opposite where they enter.

"We have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it," I say as they file in, dropping my smile and moving into business mode, "We're going to start with introductions and skills, then I'll lead everyone through the situation and we can go from there. I'll start. You can call me Red. I'm an assassin with a lot of skills centered around killing whoever I need to kill as quickly and quietly as possible."

I nod toward Ivan, who nods back while sitting at the head of the table. The rest of his people sit, following his lead, with Aleksander at his right.

Right hand man, literally.

"I don't need an introduction from you, my favorite Russian," I smirk, and then look to Aleksandr, "or from you, darling Aleksandr. So, let's start with you. First name, only, and skill set."

I look at the tall, skinny young man to Aleksandr's right. He's a bit paler than he was when he entered, but he's a pale guy anyway with blond hair and blue eyes. He doesn't scream gang member like the other guys with their tattoos up their necks and on their fingers. He's clearly meant to blend in more.

"I'm Boris. I'm the guy that manages the tech, including drones, security, and finding people that don't want to be found using digital footprints."

Nodding, I look to the guy to his right. He's bulky and looks like his face is always in a permanent scowl. He's older than the guy I stabbed and Boris both based on the speckles of grey at his temple.

"Victor. I handle supplies and weapons. I get shit done."

I smile at his response. I like him instantly.

My eyes move to the man to Ivan's left who's built like a linebacker. He's not quite the juggernaut that Ivan is, but he's a close second falling ahead of Aleksandr's impressive stature.

"Denis. I handle the roads. Routes in, escape routes, and so on. I'm also the muscle, as needed."

My eyes move to the glaring, bleeding mess beside him who has thrown the knife from his shoulder on the table and is currently working on cleaning himself up with the supplies I provided.

He's doing a terrible job of it, but no one moves to help him.

"Lorenzo," he seethes through his teeth, "I handle on-site security, blue prints, and making sure we get the fuck in and out as planned."

My smile falls and my brow furrows at the Italian. I eye Ivan, who smirks at me and raises an eyebrow.

"You're not Russian..." I say out loud, my eyes staying on Ivan for a long moment, then returning to Lorenzo.

"No. I'm not. Got a problem with that? Or do I need to worry about you getting knife happy again?" He spits.

I raise an eyebrow at him, tsking at him as if chiding a child.

"Don't get your panties in a twist over getting stabbed, kid. I'd stab you for burning my toast," I comment, shrugging, "it's really not that big a deal. Plus, I sunk the blade in line with the fibers of your muscle so it won't even take a full four weeks to heal. Didn't hit a bone or nick an artery, cause I'm nice like that. It's barely a flesh wound. You said you wanted to see a trick. Isn't that a nifty one?"

"Fucking psycho bitch!" Lorenzo starts to stand, but Denis grabs his shoulder and forces him back down.

He doesn't even care it's his bad shoulder, which makes Lorenzo hiss in pain - and I snicker.

"Psycho. I like it. Might be a bit mild for what I really am, but who am I to resist a compliment?" I say, my eyes flashing as I let my grin turn just a bit sinister.

Then I relax as if it never happened.

"Which family, Lorenzo?" I ask, casually.

"What?" he balks, looking at me questioning, a flicker of fear crossing his face.

"Which. Family. Lorenzo?" I ask, emphasizing each word slowly to make sure he understands.

"None of your fucking business," he snarls.

"Would you like a matching hole in your other shoulder, Lorenzo?" I ask curiously, tilting my head to the side.

He glares at me for a long moment before he snaps, reaching toward his gun.

Aleksandr, Ivan, and Denis all move to react, but I'm much faster.

I sink a new blade in his opposite shoulder before his hand can even get close, leaping over the table and placing a second blade against his neck.

His scream of pain is halted and he's gasping against the blade now threatening to take his life.

"Tsk tsk, Lorenzo. You're not very bright and you are so very young, so we're going to have a little story time before we decide what to do with you. You ready?" I ask gently, as if speaking to a tantruming child.

Which, in every aspect it feels like I am right now. I reach down and grab the gun he'd reached for, ensuring the safety is on before sliding it across the table to Aleksandr.

"Once upon a time, there was an assassin who didn't give a fuck about anyone in any room she was standing in. She stabbed people for kicks and killed them for klondike bars. She had no loyalty to anyone, and didn't give a shit about the politics or inner workings of any of the gangs who hired her. Some people might say she was a little bit psycho."

A couple snorts around the table made me smirk, but I didn't move my eyes from Lorenzo - though, I made sure to keep my peripheral focused on the table in case of any slow or sudden movements.

I also make sure to keep an ear focused behind me, since standing too long in one place is a great way to die.

I pull the blade from his shoulder quickly, tossing it on the table to join the other one and making Lorenzo cry out. He quiets quickly when I move the blade at his throat.

"One day, she got hired by a big bad, ridiculously sexy Russian to help with a little job he needed taken care of. So, she arranged a nice little neutral meeting spot with all kinds of fun toys and plans to share with him and his lovely friends. Because in addition to being a little bit psycho, she was also very, very, veeeery good at her job."

I pause, pulling the gun from behind me and putting it up against his temple without moving my knife from his throat, leaning down close to his ear on the other side and eyeing everyone else around the table.

He freezes, his breath coming in quick gasps because he knows I'm absolutely ready to end him if he so much as flinches.

"She also came with all the information on everyone attending the meeting before they arrived. So when she asked for names and skills... it was a test. When she asked the Italian who used to work for the Moretti family which family he hailed from... it was a test.

Because she's a bit paranoid, you see... and paranoid psychos tend to kill people who fail their tests without worrying about second chances."

Every single pair of eyes at the table is bugged out except Ivan, who has a full on, shit eating grin like he just caught and ate a canary. Aleksandr is the only other one sporting a semblance of a smile, although he still looks more shocked than anything.

Everyone else? They range from freaked out to furious... and it's fucking delicious.

"So, how about this? I'm going to let you live, because I have a very busy day and disposing of bodies is very tiresome. However, you are no longer on this crew because you failed my test. If I ever see you again and you so much as sneeze in my direction, I'm going to feed you your own tongue, so maybe - in the next life - you'll remember to use it a bit more wisely. Hmm?"

With that, I remove my gun, clicking the safety back on then leap backward to scale the pallet beside the exit quickly, before re-training my gun on Lorenzo's head. He barely had time to turn around before I was crouching on the top of the sand bags with my gun aimed, daring him to try me.

His olive skin is pure white, now, and he's looking from Ivan to me and back, while everyone else is just staring at me. Some twitch toward their guns, but no one is dumb enough to touch them.

He's crossed his arms over his chest so he can apply pressure to each of the wounds in his shoulders, and the blood has stained his hands like he's doing a terrible Dracula impression.

"Lorenzo, you heard the woman. You're off the crew. Head back and get those shoulders looked at," Aleksandr comments, nodding at him as he pulls out his phone and types a quick text, "Misha will be here in a few minutes to pick you up. Stand by the entrance and wait for him."

Aleksandr puts his phone back, looking back at me with a smirk and shaking his head.

"S-seriously?" Lorenzo sputtered, anger seeping back into his face.

"Absolutely buttercup," I quip, keeping my smile - which I'm pretty sure has become pretty creepy to everyone else in the room at this point, "Now get moving before my nice streak runs out."

With one last, long look at Aleksandr and a sweeping glance at everyone else, Lorenzo stands up and walks out muttering foul things in Italian.

Pulling out my second gun, I train it on the ground beside me towards the others as a warning that they should continue to behave while I watch Lorenzo head to the entrance - not releasing my aim on him until he slips out of the room.

Nodding in satisfaction once he's gone, I return my gaze to the table of men, sliding my guns to their holsters, and leap back down to the ground.

"Well, that was fun! But we have real work to do now so time to get serious."

--

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