NEW YORK CITY, 1925

Nicotine had a particularly joyous smell to those captivated by the bitterness, filled with desire to consume it during the leisure of the city at night. Tendrils of smoke rose into the air and coalesced with the drawn out puffs making the same route, blanketing the atmosphere with a film of smog batted away by lazy hands clutching onto cigars and thin cigarettes, either unknowing or uncaring that they only added to the supply by doing so. In the dimly lit room, the sound of a woman clad in a bejeweled corset and furs singing to the rhythm of seductive piano could be heard as though she was right beside the group of men gathered around a round table, her voice emitting from between her lipstick painted mouth. It was clear she sang for the scum of New York, the rich and the sadistic, those soaked in either blood or come by the end of the evening and resting in the slums when it came to none else. Others hid underneath a facade of pearls of furs lavish enough to purchase an automobile for the unfortunate if only to cover up status insecurity. The beauty of rising from the grime was the shameless freedom in each stride. Carelessness oozed from every pore and each flick of a cigarette igniting in the smoking room held a dim glow resembling a candle to showcase the difference between the rich and the poor.

Gerard stashed his matches into the depths of his coat pocket and shared somewhat kindly with fellows who never quite earned his full respect with the exception of two. It took a certain practice and skill to earn his entire respect, such a privilege was a crooked nail to straighten with each encounter. He could smell the smoke everywhere he turned and decided to breathe it in for himself if there was no escape. He was immediately soothed by the inhalation regardless of oxygen contamination, complex to his mind how he breathed death, a sentence he profited off of delivering. He supposed himself and smoke were both serial killers concealed by discreetness, only one did the job far slower than the other. Gerard wouldn't be so reckless as to trail at the pace of a slug when money was pinned to his name.

James Euringer, Jimmy Urine on the job, sat back in his seat and stared at the shuffle of cards spread on the table before him. He clicked his tongue loudly against his crooked teeth, the tip of his hat casting long shadows along the side of his face. Beside him, James propped his feet up into an unoccupied chair and chain smoked without much to say in the moment. If Gerard took a closer look, he could see the broken skin of his knuckles and faint stains of blood on his stubby fingers that wouldn't wash away with a simple rinse of soap and water. Gerard knew; some lingered underneath his fingernails like a red plague.

"Aren't ya gonna tell him what we came here for, Euringer?" Bob grunted out around a cigarette sticking crooked out from the corner of his pursed mouth.

Gerard's eyes flashed towards both men in a quick swipe. His fingers around the cards in his hands spread them out a notch and he shared a look with Toro; aces.

"Keeping secrets from me, ladies?" Gerard taunted in a low drawl. He arched his eyebrow and slowly looked up from his deck.

Jimmy reached out for a card from the pile and shoved it into his collection fanned out between his fingers. He quirked an eyebrow back, an attempt to intimidate. The frost in Gerard's stare never melted nor strayed, it was an impossible winter to warm. Many tended to wonder if there was a heart underneath the cashmere suits and the striped ties, that odd prettiness clashing with the hardness of dark hazel eyes and a tight set to his jaw. Poor souls, those who knew him deep within would have thought, but only in their private thoughts. Gerard Way was skilled with a gun as much as a blade. Born and raised by a serial killer taking him in after the loss of his mother at birth and no father to collect his child, Gerard knew no other route than the path of murder. He wielded a gun like a professional by thirteen and he learned to savor the techniques involved in the most perfect murder cases. His empathy was cut short as he grew cold all over knowing he'd been abandoned by his biological father. He admired his adoptive one instead and strove to be his mirror image, God rest his soul if there was a power mighty enough to bring peace to spirits of the afterlife. Gerard continued for the only father he ever knew and for the great liking he took to his despicable tasks.

"Let's not jump into business straight away." Jimmy said. "I want to know something, Way."

Gerard leaned back in his chair, lifting a cigarette to his parted lips to light. "Info is all yours, Euringer."

Jimmy laid down his card stack face down on the table. By doing so, Gerard knew the game had come to a pause. He did the same in a slow flourish of his hand, breathing out a tendril of smoke.

"I'd like to know if Warren is dead like I asked."

Gerard's lips twitched with something similar to a smile. "Dead as can be. You can attend his funeral his brother is planning if you want proof."

Jimmy nodded slowly in satisfaction. Considering his request as successfully completed, he reached into his pocket to dig out his wallet. Gerard licked his lips that buzzed from the cigarette and the taste for money, green he'd add to the wads stashed away in the confines of his vault.

Jimmy slid a thick wad of cash across the table. Gerard clasped his hand around it and shot a glance at Jimmy as he counted the dollars to find the correct amount. When the count was sufficient as promised, Gerard gave off a single nod and pocketed the money without so much as a grin. He leaned back in his chair and gripped his cigarette between his fingers the moment he realized it began to die out.

"Anything else I can do for ya, boys?" Gerard looked between Jimmy and the others beside him with a questioning arch to his raised eyebrows. He smashed the butt of the cigarette into the glass ashtray nearest to him to put out the dim embers glowing inside.

"You sure can." Dewees interjected. He shot a glance towards Jimmy impatiently and gained the interest of Gerard.

"What's eating you?" Gerard tilted his head to the side, a raven tendril of his hair falling into his hard stare.

"It's eating a lot of people," Jimmy sat back in his chair, rubbing at his chin ridden with stubble. "Tell me, how's business been lately?"

Gerard tightened his jaw. He wondered if Jimmy knew about the scarce amount of requests he received over the past few months. Though he carried a more than adequate amount of funds, he valued his orders and his payments, he built his reputation well without revealing the true identity of himself. As the days carried on, the news and the city were rocked with explosive chatter about the mysterious murderer taking vengeance over the men of the lowest kind, the spit grazing the filthiest ground paved crookedly by the sewers. She was a woman, her sex was the only detail anyone was informed of, a beautiful daisy luring men towards her web before she ended her reign of lust with blood splatters and no lingering evidence to trace the murders back to anyone. She seemed to cherish slow death and the grotesque art of blood smearing near every reachable surface, leaving her dead abandoned and found when their bodies began to decay. The Black Widow, they called her, a name bestowed upon her and her infamy just as Gerard had been named when no soul could identify who took all of his victims.

The Angel of Revenge.

The Black Widow was wiping valuable business clean with her less than flattering yet fashionable methods of murder. Her cold-blooded focus was set on men alone, it appeared, typically men Gerard would have been paid off to kill if it weren't for her rapid and frequent strikes seeping a trickle of fear into even the strongest of men.

Trust no woman, they all said among themselves. They selected life over sex, a wise and yet shamefully pitiful sacrifice to those who never ended the night without a woman on their arm.

"I think you know the answer to that." Gerard kicked back into the chair and sucked his cigarette. "Someone else has gotten comfortable gobbling up all of the best possible targets."

"Someone else?" Bob scoffed. "This isn't just anyone. It's the Black Widow."

"I know what they call her." Gerard snapped with the brittle chill of ice so thin and frozen. Tendrils of smoke puffed out through his mouth as he spoke. He needed an entire pack of cigarettes if he was going to get through a conversation about the woman running him out of business. He was lucky enough that Jimmy and his pals trusted him well, placing the money in his hands as long as the target in his mind was as good as dead in a satisfactory amount of time.

"I'd say you're bothered by this little quiff." Jimmy observed through narrowed eyes. Always looking closer, deeper, tilting into Gerard's business like it was any of his own. Gerard surprised his own self by not having killed the man yet out of sheer annoyance. What halted his hand moving towards his gun each time was the thought of money, business. He resented the curse of greed holding him at the blade's edge.

"What's it matter to you?" Gerard's sharp gaze split through the air to lock with Jimmy's.

Jimmy chuckled in a fashion that was almost fond. "I know you like your money, Way. You like your blood and your flashy house, your women, too."

"Can't think of a single man here who doesn't." Gerard flexed his jaw and heard Ray breathe a laugh through his nose.

"Fair enough." Jimmy nodded slowly. "I like you, Gerard. You get the job done fast and you don't hesitate."

Gerard gestured with his hands and nodded once,  radiating an air of arrogance collecting at the corners of his smirking lips. Beyond their nook, he could hear the song shifting into another, the sound of the door swinging open to announce the entry of someone new. He didn't glance in their direction, he kept his focus on the man sat in front of him.

"I have another job for you." Jimmy tapped his fingers on the table. "I think you'll benefit splendidly from this."

"Oh?" Gerard's eyebrows shot up in mild curiosity.

"Everyone will." James laughed gruffly on the other side of the table.

"Especially you. What if I told you there's a way to get business back on track so you can run this city again?"

Gerard's attention was captured without a single sway of hesitation. He leaned across the table, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"I'd say that I'd bump off the fuckin' president for you if that's what it'll take." Gerard lowered his voice, speaking surely. Jimmy turned his mouth up in amusement.

"It's not the president." Jimmy flickered his gaze elsewhere and settled it there. He nodded sharply towards that direction. "It's that sweet choice bit of calico over there."

As his face hardened, Gerard turned his head to follow the line of his eyes and see what, or who, he fixated onto. He found the prize across the room, sitting at the bar near the stage where the singer still swayed in her song. It was a woman perched on the bar stool with her back to the people gathered at the tables scattered around the room. She wore a sparkling black dress searching above her knees with beads lined in a zigzagging pattern along her slender waist without much of a curve. Her string of pearls draped along the back of her dress as well and her hair was a short black bob too lustrous to be natural, curling in towards her neck. Her legs were folded and encased by sheer stockings accentuated by black high heels polished to their finest shine. She was sitting still besides her smoking, a cigarette between two gloved fingers.

"A lady." Gerard looked her up and down. "It's not like you to ask me to shoot down a woman."

He wasn't opposed to it, necessarily, only surprised that Jimmy's focus strayed so far from arrogant, powerful men and all who crossed him.

"That's not just any woman." Jimmy tore his gaze away from her to give Gerard an odd look. "That's our very own Black Widow."

There was a dwindling chill flooding Gerard's bloodstream. No trace of fear swarmed into him as it would with any other man steering clear of every beautiful woman making it abundantly clear that she searched for a fun evening. What he felt was shock, firsthand, at the grandest reveal being centered around the simplest woman he could imagine. Her dress may have been tighter and short enough to be be scandalous to society if she moved a certain way, but there wasn't a dominating energy rolling off of her in waves as he imagined there would be if he ever saw her for himself. Second of all, there was a trace of resentment, spiteful distaste forming onto his tongue so thickly that he pressed it to the top of his mouth to swallow down a growl of rage. A simple little dandelion wouldn't run his business dry, never.

"Are you crazy, Euringer?" Gerard forced out through clenched teeth to control his thirst for murder. "The police are offering thousands to any fella who knows who she is, millions if you know where she's at."

"And you can turn her in yourself, if you want the money." Jimmy was oddly calm, his expression coming close to blank. "Or, you can take her down yourself. As slowly as you want, however you want."

Gerard bit down on his tongue so hard that he tasted the coopery tang of blood. He glanced in the direction of the Black Widow, taking in how her gloved hand glided over a tuft of her black hair to smooth it down. She moved as though she knew she emitted grace, a preached falsehood only adding to her venom Gerard wanted to bleed out of her. He'd spin her into a web of his own if he had the opportunity, teach a foolish young woman that the way to murder wasn't to spill blood and lather it just for the thrill, the fame crafting a pedestal in history for the maker of the corpses. It was for revenge, sweet and grotesque, enemies falling into their graves before the last drop of blood drained from their quivering bodies.

"How much?" Gerard's eyes were alight with a spark of insanity bright in the dim room. James and Bob exchanged a smirk, Ray looked mildly concern as he stared at the woman leisurely smoking at the bar, awaiting her next prey.

"Any amount you think you deserve once you're done." Jimmy leaned back and clapped a hand over Bob's shoulder. "Bryar and I are off to take Warren's fortune, thanks to you. He's got millions in that office of his."

"Sounds almost too good to be true." Gerard killed his cigarette off in the ashtray and stood up. He smoothed out his pinstriped blazer and ran a hand through his raven hair, licking his lips. He tasted vengeance on them.

"Keep your focus at all times." Ray advised him. "She may be messy, but she's gotten away with murder enough times to know what she's doing."

"You're talking to the Angel of Revenge." Gerard turned towards the woman at the bar. "I know better than to let a lady take me down."

He didn't glance back at the men behind him once he embarked from their private corner to the bar upholding the victim of his pursuit. Gerard shifted his demeanor into one that would be open and flirtatious enough to fool the woman into thinking he was savory enough to take into her webs of venom that evening. Thinking in the likes of her methods would continue to deceive her until she found herself under the glare of a gun, tough metal greeting her between the eyes before Gerard pulled the trigger to paint the walls with the crimson victory of her blood. He struggled to keep his smirk contained, his rapid heartbeat rejoicing with anticipation.

Gerard slid easily into the bar stool beside the Black Widow. Glancing at the man running the bar, he ordered in a smooth voice.

"I'll take a Boulevardier." He glanced to the woman beside him who tilted her head the slightest fraction in his direction. "Make that two."

The Black Widow stiffened. She relaxed quickly and the bartender began to work on the request he was given. Gerard took his bottom lip between his teeth and leaned casually onto the counter, taking in the woman. He could see now that her sleek bob was most definitively artificial, meant for a stylish appearance matching her dress shimmering in the dim lights. She wasn't as ordinary as he assumed at first glance without seeing her face. Her plump yet small lips were painted deep scarlet and her lashes were a long dramatic sweep surrounding her eyes dusted with charcoal shadows, her gaze casting downwards. Her jaw was delicate and sharp, her frame small and lacking of many feminine curves. He suspected she must have bound her breasts as other flappers enjoying doing, she was incredibly flat chested. He could see the appeal to her, perhaps he even fooled himself thinking he may have been interested in her if he didn't realize her identity.

"I hope you don't mind me buying you a drink, doll face." Gerard smoothed his voice over into a pleasant sort of purr falling off the tip of his tongue. His Jersey accent layered into it more thickly than normal and the slight gravelly notes added always made woman and men tremble whenever he looked for a prize other than the thrill of the kill.

The Black Widow's lips tightened for a split second. Soon, they relaxed into their plumper relaxed pout and lifted on one end higher than the other. As she turned towards him, his breath caught at the shock of golden hazel eyes leering at him through a veil of tangled black eyelashes, bright and intense enough to punch right through any man they settled on.

"Doll face?" Her voice was deeper than most, smoky, flourishing through her parted crimson lips like the entrails of a fire. "You come on strong for a man who doesn't even ask a lady if she drinks before buying her one."

He could hear the drawl of seduction in her voice, that ensnaring honey drizzle hooking onto her words as she spoke. Gerard was momentarily stunned at her immediate fearless response, tossing a lasso onto the game he created to ensnare her.

He channeled back into character and licked his lips. Chuckling, he rose his eyebrows, slowly shaking his head.

"I would have asked if I didn't have a belief that everyone likes a free drink on occasion." Gerard turned to fully face her with a slow twirl of his stool.

She glanced over him, and during her endeavor of fluttering her lashes girlishly, her first initial blink was hard and a cloudy look passed her expression. As if she hadn't expected Gerard to be a man of wealth who was also at a younger age, bringing the absence of a bulging gut and facial hair. He knew his looks were up to par with the finer bachelors in New York, the kind women attempted to snag for a ring and dollar bills to dance underneath as well as diamonds. He bit his lip; she would be easy to trick.

"I do like free drinks. Lucky for you." The Black Widow turned towards him as well, fingers toying with the bejeweled hemline of her dress. Her legs weren't thin, but they weren't quite shapely. Her knees were knobby, but the expansion of her thighs distracted him from them. Gerard quickly caught himself.

"I can't think of anyone who doesn't." Gerard slipped out a paper bill from his pocket to pay the bartender with after noticing their drinks were almost completed.

"You've got me there, sir."

"Call me Gerard. Sir makes me feel three times my age." Gerard smiled crookedly.

"Nifty name you have there. You can call me Francine." She, Francine, smiled back, putting in her two cents of razzle dazzle.

"That sure has a nice ring to it."

"So I've been told."

"Your drinks." The bartender slid the two thin glasses filled with blood red liquid towards them. Gerard slid him a bill of cash and dragged the drinks forward. He found the color of the beverage to be fitting for the course his mind took. He handed one to Francine and their fingers brushed together intentionally before Gerard began pulling away, holding in a dark chuckle.

"It's awfully kind of you to spend a little money on me." Francine took a small sip of the drink, peering at Gerard through her lashes.

"You looked lonely."

"Did I?" she cocked her head to the side.

"It's a shame for beautiful women to be left all alone." Gerard captured a droplet of perspiration dribbling from the side of his glass and held in a smug smile.

"You flatter me." Francine touched under her chin and took a moment to observe him. "You want something from me, don't you?"

"Want something?" Gerard's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise.

"I know men, Gerard." Francine sighed and feigned wistfulness. She gestured towards her head with her hand and pretended she was feeling faint. "Luring a sweet gal like myself in with kindness to get a piece of her ass."

Gerard just about spat out the drink he sipped at her use of language doubled by how brazenly she said such a thing. He supposed all of her shame was stripped down when she began to kill; Gerard was the same. It was a single factor about her that made him feel that string of attraction being tugged in his chest besides her unique good looks. He considered it wouldn't be so heinous to fuck her before finishing what he approached her for. Imagining the sound of her moans becoming choked and panicked while he squeezed his hands around her smooth throat made his groin stir with a dark curl of heat.

"That's not very ladylike, Ms. Francine." Gerard bit his lip, his voice an appealing drag of sound.

"Not all of us are giggly saints." Francine traced her finger around the rim of her glass with a curve of a smile on her lips.

"I didn't think you were one." Gerard dared to inch closer, wondering if she would notice. "What're you doing in a place where the rats come looking for trouble with pretty gals like you?"

Francine seemed pleased by discreetly being told she was pretty. She shrugged while glancing up at him. "I like going to new places."

"I'm surprised this joint appealed to you. It doesn't have a good reputation."

"I'm not afraid of running into mobsters." Francine smiled serenely and Gerard tensed at her words. "I know that's what you're thinking about."

There were far more other things she had to fear besides notorious mobsters slinging guns in the darkness of alleyway shadows to uphold business of their own.

"Any other reason you've got that made you want to risk running into some big bad wolves?" Gerard forced a smile.

"I haven't been here before, but I heard it's the bee's knees if you want to smoke in peace." She nodded towards the remains of her cigarette sitting inside an ashtray on the counter.

"It's not bad." Gerard's eyes swept around the room and lingered where Jimmy and his boys had been. The table was vacant, but the cards they played were still flared out over the surface.

"What about you?" Francine drew his attention back. "You're a handsome fella, I thought you'd be inclined to spend your time in places less likely to be ridden with a bunch of dumb doras."

She glanced in distaste at the giggling woman a few tables away from them in a drunken man's lap, her breasts close to his face and spilling out of her dress. It was clear she had her fair share of alcoholic beverages as well as she swayed and nearly toppled over onto the floor.

Gerard chuckled. "I like to bend my elbow here. Drink a little, play some cards with friends." It was mostly true.

"That sounds relaxing." Francine fluttered her long lashes at Gerard over the rim of her glass. "Are you a hard workin' man?"

Gerard couldn't stop the smirk stretching across his lips, the dark gleam entering his eyes whenever he thought of his line of work. At the sight, Francine bit her lip, lust touching her eyes in a movement almost too discreet to see. Almost.

"You could say that." Gerard left it there. "How about you, doll? Do you have a lucky man waiting for you at home?"

She scoffed, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Beat it with that marriage bullshit."

"Tsk, why so bitter about marriage?"

"There is no way I'm becoming a loyal housewife to a man who has me there as his trophy." Francine rolled her eyes.

"I know any man would fall to their knees to show you off." Gerard swept his eyes across her frame.

"Do I seem like the type that'll settle for being the good wife who smiles and waves at all of her husband's perverted friends?" Francine leaned in close with a daring twinkle in her eyes.

Gerard pursed his lips. "No. Not at all."

His reply made Francine giggle softly.

"Life's too short to waste my time. I'm too good to be held down that way, baby." Francine radiated certainty, a sort of arrogant ounce of vanity that made Gerard's gut twist with lust he hadn't expected nor wanted. Francine crossed her legs so her dress crept up her thigh and she winked at Gerard, sipping her drink.

"And, it's fun to take advantage of all the attention I get. I can't do that while playing the part of a holier than thou wife." Francine eyes scanned over Gerard's body in a quick sweep, darkness touching them before flickering away.

Gerard found a gateway, he was given one. He could practically salivate at the thought of getting where he wanted far sooner than he imagined, with the addition of a few other bonuses he didn't mind indulging in if he ended up with blood on his hands by the end of the night.

"Do you get a lot of attention, doll face?" Gerard leaned his arms on the table, tilting his head to the side a fraction.

"Of course." Francine flicked her tongue out over her plump bottom lip, leaving it glistening and wet. "I told you that I know men, baby. I like free drinks because I get them a lot."

"Hmm," Gerard tucked a fallen lock of his hair behind his ear, "that may be so, but do you call all of them baby?"

Francine's eyes twinkled and her lids seemed to become heavier over her amber colored stare. "Only if I like 'em right off the bat."

Game, set.

"I like you too, sugar." Gerard slid his hand down his own thigh, angling his leg so his knee just barely brushed against the Black Widow's. The touch of nylon against fine fabric felt smooth with the slightest rough catch scraping them together, much like Francine, soft yet tinted by impurity. Gerard was enraged and aroused by it and both teetered on the edge in a struggle of balance.

"That's cute." Francine chuckled. "Sugar."

"Reserved for only the sweetest gals." Gerard clicked his tongue softly and the Black Widow appeared to be blushing, but the dimness of the lighting could have been creating the illusion that she was.

Francine kept her eyes on her fingers wrapped around her drink, but her leg slid forward, gently knocking into Gerard's. He held in a shiver as he felt the brush of her high heel against his calf. It erupted against his will as she glided her heel in a slow drag up his leg, a gentle back and forth motion. She appeared so easily aloof, relaxed, he licked a swatch over his dry lips and attempted to keep his mind set on what truly mattered.

"You say you've been around? How come I've never seen you before?" Gerard asked and strained not to focus on her heel gliding along his pant leg.

"Maybe you have, but you weren't paying enough attention." The Black Widow glanced down at her foot making contact with Gerard's leg, giving a seemingly innocent head tilt as she drew it away to instead press their knees together.

"I would remember a face like yours." Gerard's gaze quickly flickered down to their knees, Francine's stockings stretched over her skin.

"Really?" She asked lightly, lifting her dark brows. "Am I that memorable, Gerard?"

"Most certainly," Gerard inched his palm over his thigh, sliding down in a smooth trail. "I wouldn't be able to forget you for a second."

The tips of his fingers pressed lightly against Francine's knee. He froze his hand to maintain contact, sensing how the Widow twitched ever so slightly at the touch. Gerard held in a smirk at her reaction and the tips of his fingers crawled a fraction closer, barely soaking in the thin texture of her stocking bathed in the warmth of her skin. He would have her wrapped around his finger in an instant if he allowed his palm to curve around her knee, fingers stroking along her leg, gliding higher up her thigh until a flush of heat came over her. Her legs would fall open in the slightest and it would be spectacularly simply to guide his hand underneath her dress under the darkness of the counter, pushing far under to cup around the heat between her legs. He salivated at the thought of teasing over her panties, watching a flush spread across her face and her neck as her teeth dig into her lip to restrain herself from making sounds in a public setting. She'd be wet, rocking against his circling palm pressing against her, enough for her to surrender her body to him so vulnerably, he could almost taste the blood once he guided her somewhere private to bury his face between her legs. Waiting until she came to take advantage of her weakness and kill.

His cock twitched as Francine's eyes snapped towards Gerard with a thicker film of darkness tinting them. Her lips fell open to suck in a quiet gasp as he inched his hand higher, teasing, palm hot and fingers slightly spread out. He left it there and took a casual sip of his drink, almost missing the way she gritted her teeth together and turned away to stare at the counter.

"Handsy, I see. Bold." Francine's voice took a raspy touch to it.

Gerard answered by squeezing, his thumb stroking, and Francine jolted under his touch. Her legs fell open as he imagined they would if he maneuvered his hand enough and his eyes were drawn to the sight. It was far too dark to change the angle of his head to see what laid underneath the fitting dress she adorned herself with.

"Like you didn't play with me first?" Gerard purred, fingers stroking higher.

Francine laughed, eyes twinkling dangerously. "We're in front of other people, baby. Lord knows they'd enjoy a good show, but I'm not up for it tonight."

Tonight. Gerard's cock grew half hard in an instant imagining her taking someone passionately in front of watchful eyes, opening her legs or falling onto her hands and knees. Her lips were created for wonderful things, he could so easily imagine how beautiful they'd be if they were put to good use.

"They have smoking motel rooms in the back." Gerard sounded gravely and unlike himself. "If you want to bend your elbow with me." Those weren't his only intentions, but he supposed foreplay would make an impressive act.

Francine glanced towards the darkened hallway on the other side of the bar. Gerard held no doubt in his mind that there must have been men of filth having their way with the women from the grimiest street corners in one of the rooms. There might have been another finer class man dipping into silent infidelity to taste what he'd been deprived of for so long. If all feared the Black Widow, though, neither sort of man would take the risk unless he didn't mind death by beauty and sex and violence. Suicidal sex enthusiasts, ecstasy and death seemed a lovely match.

"Do you have better quality fags than these shit sticks?" Francine grinned around her strong language. Her hand gripped the hem of her dress and drew it up to reveal cigarettes tucked into the garter of her stockings, white against pale soft flesh testing the strength Gerard held himself with. Fuck, she was a temptation sent to him from somewhere far from holy, and though he'd  love to wrap his hands around her beautiful neck, he craved to fuck and claim more than anything as she tilted her hips to reveal more skin to him in a tantalizing show.

"Of course." Gerard forced out and showed her his pack and the elegant steel lighter he tucked away alongside it.

"Swanky." Francine readjusted her dress which, to Gerard's disappointment, concealed the uncovered skin of her thigh, and she rose from her seat. Her heels tapped against the floor with a soft clicking sound and she leaned as close as she dared as her hand sank inside Gerard's pocket to secure her pack of cigarettes there. She kept eye contact, a teasing smile tinting her lips the slightest bit. Gerard could feel the warmth of her breath and he simultaneously longed to bend her over the counter and connect his fist with her gut. The contrast swayed him off beat and he sucked in a quick breath to control himself.

As she flashed a smug smile, she swayed her hips as she moved around him, fingers brushing his shoulder in a lingering gesture asking him to follow her. Gerard rose quickly, adrenalized at the thought of capturing the Black Widow in just a matter of moments. He could see deep in her eyes turning back to glance at him that there was a growing hunger darkening the amber color enriching the tones of brown and green filling in her irises. He saw a similar craving in his own reflection a multitude of times, the taste for spilling blood and the power of tearing a life away from the most vile human beings to ever roam the planet. Lust was evident in the way Francine's tongue flicked out over her lips and her teeth clamped down into the bottom one to give a little tug scraping at some of the scarlet lipstick. Gerard ushered behind her with a hand settled at the small of her back, leading her down the row of occupied rooms until they found one vacant and slightly open. He didn't need to remain guarded, he'd been to the motel bar bar too often for the owners to know of his identity, his ruthless attempts to keep himself unknown to all, they wouldn't dare pin the Black Widow's murder onto him unless they expected to be dead before they had a chance to run to the authorities.

Gerard and Francine entered the room with the pale yellow lighting and the red glow coming from a welcome sign hanging above the headboard of a bed fine enough for two to fit inside. The carpets were stained and aged, the furniture was outdated and there were permanent come and blood stains imbedded into the threading of the sofa pressed against the wall. The wallpaper was floral and the sheets were white and cream colored, no windows were built into each of the walls. Gerard could smell the stale scent of cigarettes permanently residing in the space. He was certain the walls had witnessed sensual and harrowing things.

Francine flopped onto the foot of the bed and sat back on her palms, crossing her legs with an expectant expression.

"I believe you were willing to share?" She said playfully, glancing towards Gerard's pocket.

He walked towards her with his hands in his pockets, stopping close enough that Francine tilted her head back to stare at him with an arched eyebrow. Gerard slipped out one cigarette from his back and held it firmly between his fingers. Francine reached for it, but he steadily ignored her hand. He lead the cigarette to her lips, gaze attached to hers. A sweep of shock broke out over her features before she swiped it clean. She opened her lips and watched Gerard as he placed the cigarette between them, waiting for her to clamp them around the stick. As she did, Gerard took out his lighter and waved it in the air.

"Take off your wig first, then you'll get your fill." Gerard slowly twirled the lighter between his fingers.

Francine stared at him. Slowly, she smiled around the cigarette in her mouth and it moved at an add angle protruding from the corner of her lips. She peeled off her silky gloves first from her hands and draped them across of the edge of the bed. The Black Widow reached for her hair, running her fingers through the black strands and the bangs cut straight across her forehead. She grasped it from the top and pulled it back. A fringe almost as black as at the pitch of the wig tumbled forward and landed on her cheek in a dark curl. Her hair was cut rather short for a woman, choppy and growing out at the sides, messy from being covered by the webbing of a wig. She ran her fingers through her hair to smooth it down and twirled her fringe around her finger slowly. Gerard watched as she let it go and it twisted towards her defined jawline.

"Better?" Francine tossed the wig aside.

"Much better." Gerard nodded in approval. He flicked back the trigger on his lighter and a flame erupted instantly. Francine drew closer as it was lead to the end of her cigarette, the fire casting a shadow of orange light over her face. He could see a scar beside her brow and one above her top lip, a nearly invisible cut upon her cheekbone. All suggested that she must have struggled with her victims before. Gerard loved scars on his lovers, loved finding them under his hands and digging his nails into them anew, rubbing his tongue across them if they were strewn across the person's body. Men typically had more than women, their brutality was more common.

But Francine wasn't his lover. She was his worst enemy. It was comical how he managed to lure her in so easily on an evening he hadn't expected to meet her at all. He came across fate and Jimmy was responsible for his discovery, he would need to thank the man later on for leading him to the throat of the only person he wished to kill for himself. Gerard didn't favor killing certain individuals since he mainly kept to himself. He slung a gun at his side for others, he killed in secret just like his father, and he at times wore a cross around his neck for irony while on the job. Francine became the only victim he salivated at the thought of making weak and defenseless, a woman who'd plead for her life and be met with no mercy. Her beauty was intriguing, sex radiated from her promising movements and Gerard could tell she willingly opened her legs only for the men who caught her eye the most. He'd oblige to her expectations, he'd play along with her games, though he wondered when she planned to strike.

Gerard would attack before she had the chance to wound him. Francine was only a woman, a seductress, trivial compared to a trained serial killer. Gerard was starving for her, it was true. He craved her in a way that was natural and abnormal all at once, a treacherous tango. Gerard watched her smoke and held in a deep laugh rumbling in his chest, quivering at the back of his throat.

The Black Widow would never imagine tonight was her final evening she'd spend alive.