I'd learnt that things had changed since I'd last lived in this town.

Learnt the Johnny and his merry men of misfits no longer had free rein, that another, more powerful gang had moved in, Devils of the bay.

The turf war had apparently lasted two years before it dwindled down, and now they lived side by side, on the one requirement.

They stopped killing each other.

Too bad I wasn't part of that little agreement.

Word had spread that the new gang was being blamed for Johnny's men's deaths. And that a turf war was on the horizon.

Too bad, so sad.

The tick of the clock, drowned out slightly by the soft music playing from the radio fills my ears, the bell above the door way signalling my last customers entrance and I look up with a smile, seeing one of my regulars.

"Hey, Lucy." I wave, "mocha?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not getting anything, just thought I'd pop in and ask if you were still doing the paint and sip tomorrow night? My sister in law is in town and she wanted to check it out."

I nod my head, "yep, five til nine."

"Perfect!" She waves, "thanks Dani, I'll see you in the morning for that mocha though." She laughs. "Have a good one."

I wave her away and walk around the counter towards the door, readying to close up.

The snick of the lock is loud in the empty shop and I let out a sigh, shoulders dropping before lifting a hand to turn the sign to closed.

I stop, fingers hovering mid air when I catch the man staring at me from across the road, leant against the brick wall like a statue.

I wave at Enzo, tilting my head at him but he only straightens from his spot and stalks off, shoulders tense.

I watch him turn the corner before I finish closing up and make my way to the stairs leading to my apartment above the shop.

My feet drag behind me, exhaustion pulling at me but when I remember what I'm doing tonight I'm invigorated.

I stalk through my room like a wraith on a mission before slipping into the bathroom and then the shower, washing away the smell of pastry and coffee beans.

The fogged up reflection of myself is unrecognisable, so much about me very different from the girl I was.

My hair for one, no longer did I lighten it blonde with pink streaks, now it sat just below my shoulders in dark waves. My eyes were still hazel, though the light had dimmed drastically.

My nose? That was new.

I could never get rid of my eye colour though, I had tried, with contacts and even went so far as to have a consult to change them but I couldn't go through with it. They were too much like Paisley, the last thing I really had of her. Even if they didn't look alive anymore. I guess that was the one thing i really had in common with her still.

A startled laugh bursts from my lips at the thought and I rip my eyes from my reflection to find my clothing for the night, braiding my hair back tightly as I do.

My fingers work deftly, securing my thick hair away from my face before I reach for the copper wig and pin it in place.

There was a spot that Johnnys friends frequently visited,  a strip club called 'Lovers Quarrel', and Friday nights were always themed.

Tonight's was Buckle Bunny Babes and I had come prepared. 

I slip the lace bra on, the fabric itching against my skin but I hardly notice it, too busy staring at the way my tits seem to touch my chin. Huggins I adjust the look before finding it useless and moving to the shorts. slipping into the shortest pair of denim shorts I found and then the roughed up cowboy boots from the thrift store. My denim is so short it makes my long legs seem endless and I've gotta say even I would fuck me.

Slipping a hat on my head completes the look and I glance up, tilting my head at the full body reflection across from me.

I look like a stripper.

Perfect.

I reach forward and pull the hat down, covering my features more.

My lips quirk and I turn, stalking from my room and grabbing a long grey trench as I leave, bundling the wig under the hat to hide it and making my way to back pf the building where I've left my car.

• • •

Music thrums under the soles of my boots, sinking into my body with its sensual rhythm.

I count my breaths as my eyes sweep over the patrons, searching for one particular face.

When that doesn't calm me I start counting backwards from one hundred . . . In Italian. The act calming me some what and then I see him.

He hasn't changed at all, sitting along the bar with a man either side of him and the bartender doing everything in her power to grasp his attention.

I should warn her away, tell her what he is capable of but if she works here and lives here then she already knows.

Johnny is infamous.

I turn my back on my sisters murderer and slip between a few bodies to distance myself, gaze jumping from one body to the next as I walk, keeping my back to every corner, every wall, every camera.

I know this place inside out, have poured over the plans until sleep claimed me with its claws digging into my brain and wrenching me into the darkness.

Nothing was going to go wrong.

It's then I see who I can for, further away from Johnny and his men, a lecherous grin on his face as he gets a dance from one of the girls.

By the look of it they're almost finished.

I straighten and walk closer, letting my hips sway to the sensual rhythm of the song, my eyes intent on my prey.

He sees me, or atleast he sees my hair.

Cory always did like red heads.

Liked to watch them, to stalk them, break them.

I let my eyes run over him like a skittish mouse before I straighten my spine, grin like I have any idea what I'm doing and approach.

The girl who dances with him sends me a scathing glare to let me know I'm reproaching on a someone she's working on. I don't care, I've had my eyes on him longer.

She moves to intercept my path and Cory lays a hand on her hip, flicking his chin away.

"Go find someone else."

The girl stops, and her glare burns hotter but she leaves without a word.

Cory's eyes move from my hair to my boobs and finally to the way my legs look miles long in these shorts.

He never looks at my face.

I don't think he'd recognise me, and he changed so much and I was just an insignificant girl to him all these years ago but it wouldn't do me well to have my plans foiled so early.

I have such big plans for the jackals. I have to stop my gaze from wandering to Johnny.

Cory pays his lap, "What's your name?"

I step forward and settle on his lap. "Mona Lisa."

"Like the painting?" Cory smirks, "why not candy?"

I curl my hands around his neck and let my lips skim his ear, "I like to paint."

I don't talk after that, letting my body do the talking.

• • •

My lips skim his cheek, breathing in the intoxicating scent of rum on his tongue.

I tilt my head slowly as I gaze into his eyes, drawing back from him. Fingers slowly trailing up his tie, untucking it from his suit jacket. I grab it, pulling the man forward as my hands dive into his locks.

I smooth a thumb over the tape covering his mouth, rubbing the silver plastic and draw back, smirking at the look in his eyes

At the fear.

With a mocking tilt of my lips, I slam the blade back into his gut, pulling it upwards, so close to gutting him like the pig he is.

I push my shoulders back and reach into my cleavage, plucking the lipstick from between and uncapping it, applying a fresh coat of red to my lips. Such a true red that I could be mistaken for blood.

I grab his head, slamming his lips onto mine, leaving a dark stain on the tape before pushing him harshly away, the chair he's tied to toppling back.

It breaks under the pressure but I don't let it affect me, straddling his stomach before he has the chance to react and running one sharp taloned nail across his neck as my other hand reaches behind my back for the weapon.

"Have you missed me?" I purr, dragging the fingers into his hair.

I cling to his head softly, my fingers delving into his greying hair as they curl behind his neck, fingertips touching as I bring his head up to mine, passing the weapon between my fingers.

His mouth opens beneath the tape, the sweat from his upper lip loosening the residue on it as more sweat beads on his forehead. My fingers trace up his neck, behind his ear and along his jawline, the touch soft and sensual.

"Payton." He growled, "He'll find you."

With a final blink, my fingertips meet at his jugular once more, fingering the silver cross at his neck.

"I'm counting on it." I pull my hands apart harshly, the garrotte wire wrapped around his neck tightening.

His eyes bulge, and I place a delicate kiss on his lips, stealing one last breathtaking kiss.

I reach for the paint brush and hold it over his eyes, listening to his dying breath as I push it in.