A strange atmosphere hung in the room. The sheer number of people made me sweat, and yet it was freezing cold. I’d been here for over an hour—and in the five minutes since his arrival, I had already identified eight men who wanted him dead.
But I couldn't let that happen.
Being a woman came with its perks. It’s easier to get close, most times. No matter how tough men claim to be, there’s usually something tougher in their pants that clouds their judgment. I’d used it more times than I could count—a smile here, a touch there—and before they knew it, their nerves began to shut down, wondering if maybe they should’ve let me finish my drink first.
The first two times, it was quick. Those men didn’t even notice that something had stung them. The third caught a glimpse, but the toxin hit faster than his reflex—and in no time, his head slumped onto the bartender’s table, mistaken for someone who couldn’t hold a drink.
Those assassins were quite expeditious in meeting their maker—and that was a mistake. It raised alarms. Within moments, the others started exchanging glances that weren’t part of their protocol. Despite the deafening noise from the people dancing, I felt the room getting a lot quieter. Tighter.
They hadn’t noticed me yet, but I saw them—especially the youngest of the bunch. His eyes were fixed on Marcus.
Then his hand slipped into his jacket.
I pressed the button on my watch and launched forward, knocking over a waiter carrying champagne on a silver tray. I snatched the tray from him and sprawled in front of Marcus’s chest.
The assassin was quick to draw. I didn’t see him pull the trigger—just heard the shot boom through the music. A sharp, surgical sound.
I raised the tray at an angle as I crashed in front of Marcus—and the bullet struck with a metallic shriek, ricocheting off the polished steel.
I was prepared for the impact, yet it knocked me off balance and I crashed into Marcus. I didn’t see the assassin—I couldn’t afford that luxury—I just swung the tray blindly in his direction.
And when my eyes fell on the other assassins pulling their guns, I saw the lights above them begin to flicker. My tiny bombs had done their job, frying the circuits and cutting the entire place off from any visible light.
Welcome to the dark, boys.
"Come with me if you want to leave," I whispered into Marcus' ear as I helped him up.
The gunshot had scattered the crowd in panic. Glass shattered. People screamed. Bodies surged toward exits like a stampede with no direction.
The ensuing chaos had bought me some time—not much, maybe a few seconds. That was enough. I held Marcus by his arm and pulled him through the crowd, both of us crouching to miss the couple more bullets that flew amidst the chaos.
"Holy fuck!" Marcus exclaimed as we made our way, pushing aside anyone who crossed us.
Dodging every ray of light coming from people's cell flashlights, I led Marcus to a well-shrouded fire exit which wasn't open yet. I took back all the curses I’d uttered from disgust at coming here for the past few days.
I opened the fire exit and once Marcus and I were out, I shut the door. We ran through what appeared like a dark tunnel, while I armed myself with a handgun that I had hidden within my shoes. But then, all of a sudden, I held Marcus by his jacket and shoved him against the wall.
"Stop," I whispered.
The heavy fire-exit door groaned open behind us, its metallic echo rattling down the hollow corridor.
Someone was following.
And by the way his footsteps were paced—slow, steady, deliberate—he wasn’t a panicked guest.
He couldn’t see us. And we couldn’t see him.
But we both knew the other was there.
When the door shut itself with a thud, I pointed my gun in its direction, positioning it based on a picture my imagination had conjured.
Within an instant, I shot two rounds, only to be answered by a thud.
Four down, four more to go.
"Run!" I ordered.
The shots were fired, and that would bring the rest. It was only a matter of seconds before that door opened again and the others came pouring through.
There was another door ahead—one that led to a staircase, and beyond that, the parking lot.
I just had to make it through that door before they made it through the one behind me.
But when we were just a couple of meters away, I heard the fire exit creak open again.
Damn it!
"Crouch!" I yanked Marcus down just in time—a split second before the bullets tore through the air and slammed into the metal door ahead of us.
I shot two more rounds in the open air, startling them and giving us just enough time to push through the door.
As I closed the door behind me, I could hear the footsteps approaching us. There were two of them.
I signaled Marcus to just run downstairs as I dropped the last two of my tiny bombs just outside the door.
As I walked down the stairs, I pulled a spare magazine from my shoe and replaced it with the current one. It had two more shots in it, but that wasn't enough.
I sprinted my way down a floor and halted there, waiting for them to open the door, and within a couple of seconds, they did.
Both of them encountered me as soon as they exited the door, but before they could point their guns at me, I had already pressed the button on my watch—triggering two tiny explosions.
The explosions were small. They weren't fatal. But the distraction they caused was. I shot four more rounds—two each—and their lifeless bodies tumbled down the staircase.
Six down, two left.
Marcus was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his face pale under the flickering fluorescent lights of the parking garage.
"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded, his voice a mix of awe and suspicion.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward a sleek black sedan parked near the exit.
"Get in."
Before I could open the doors for myself, I felt someone sprawling at me. Before I could point my gun at him, I was slammed at the bonnet of my very own car, and in turn, slipped the gun away from my grip.
The seventh one.
I groaned in pain, as I saw him approach toward me. He was a mammoth, six foot five, weighing over 250 pounds.
As I made my stead on the ground, with a blurred vision, I saw him approach toward me with a punch. He was fast, surprisingly fast for a man of his size, but I was quicker.
I ducked to dodge his punch, and the slight loss of his balance gave me a window to get behind and stab the back of his knee with my pointy heel.
As he impulsively crouched with pain, seeking that opportune moment, I elbowed his face with all my might.
"Aaahhh!!!" he screamed.
Before he could finish his scream, I launched a roundhouse kick to his neck. But then, I felt my kick stop midway.
Fuck!
He caught it.
He caught me by my ankle and swung it, making me lose my balance. He shot a kick of his own to my gut before I could land on the floor.
His kick sent me flying, and when my back hit the ground, I was sure that I had broken a couple of my ribs. It hurt. It hurt a lot.
There was a sudden surge of pain near my gut, intense enough to make the rest of my body numb. I coughed spurts of blood, but well before I could process the overwhelming amount of information coming from my pain receptors, I saw him.
My vision still blurry, I saw him slowly limping toward me. He seemed more confident, but not reckless. His knee was busted, his face bruised, but he was still on his feet—and I wasn’t.
I took a deep breath. As his footsteps grew closer, I pushed my feet into the ground and slowly dragged myself back.
But he caught up to me, grabbed the strap of my dress, and yanked me upward like a rag doll. The fabric screamed before giving in. Noticing that, I started kicking his body—not hard enough to enrage him, but just enough for my dress to tear and free me of his grip.
As my dress ripped, it revealed the red lingerie beneath.
He froze.
He didn't blink. He let me continue.
His eyes flickered—I couldn't say if it was shame, desire, or just mere curiosity to know what was beneath it all.
His eyes were fixated, and I knew where.
Utilizing the momentum from those kicks, I lunged outward. My dress gave up and freed itself from my body.
As I fell to the ground, he still stood there frozen, still holding the torn piece of my cloth. He started staring at me, starting from my feet and slowly moving upward, pausing a few extra moments at the area that was covered by the lingerie, but when his gaze ultimately reached my face—he saw me smile.
I pointed my finger at his shoulder, which was stung by a poison dart that I had hidden under my bra strap. His facial expressions changed, shifting toward rage, but before he could express himself, he dropped onto the floor—motionless.
"Goodbye, sweetheart."
Seven down. One more to go.
I pulled myself up, and every inch of my body hurt. But I had to push through.
I walked up to the sedan, and I saw Marcus staring at me in awe. He was under the steering wheel, likely trying to hijack his way through the sedan and flee.
I winked at him as I picked up my gun and then walked toward him.
"Now, be a gentleman. Jacket. Belt."
He complied without any question.
I wore his jacket, which dwarfed my body, but then used the belt to fit it over me.
I pulled myself toward the exit door and went in. The young handsome one, possibly hit by the tray—late to the party. He raised his gun when his eyes met me. I welcomed him with two of my bullets.
Eight down. None more to go.
"Ahha, are you looking for this?" I jiggled the sedan's key as Marcus was still on his futile pursuit of hijacking the car to run, "Now be a doll, and take the back seat. I am driving."
"Who are you?" he questioned, yet again.
"Seriously man?" I scoffed, "You have been in this business for a long time now. And I like to believe, my reputation precedes me."
"You are the Red Lily?!"
"Bingo!"
Marcus froze, he didn't say a word. Just got out of the driver's seat and moved back.
I went in; every single inch of my body was tormenting me with insufferable amount of pain. But I had made up my mind and I had to go through with this.
"I heard you never show yourself, then why are you here?" Marcus inquired.
I turned my head toward him, as I ignited the engine. I smiled.
"Sweet dreams, honey." I taunted as his eyes started drooping, "Don't worry. Unlike the big guy, you are going to wake up again."
Once I was sure that he was deep into sedated slumber, I pressed on the accelerator and drove off from the parking lot.
I had jumped off the couch when I heard the gunshot—and then, almost instantly, I heard my mother scream.
It all happened so fast.
My brother refused to come out of the room, but I convinced him. Maybe because I was afraid too. I needed someone to be scared with.
And then there it was, my dad lying on a puddle of blood and mom next to him screaming.
There was a man, tall, built like a tank and dressed in all black. He saw us and took a heavy breath.
"Nooo!!!" my mom screamed, "Run! Run from here!"
"No, no. Kids," the man said with a creepy calmness in his voice, "If you both run, your mom dies."
He had his gun pointed at mom's temple. And she was shivering with fear and yet screaming something that I no longer remember.
My brother wanted to leave, but I held him in the place.
'For mom,' I said.
He walked toward us, and stood in between my brother and me. He pointed his gun at my brother and then shifted it towards me.
'Choose one,' he commanded to my mom, 'Choose who lives and who dies. You are the master of their fate.'
I don't remember what happened afterwards, it is all like a silent cinema playing inside my head. My mom screaming, my brother rushing toward me and holding my hand. The guy in the black shouting a few more times and so on until I heard—
'Her,' said my mom, 'Kill her and let me have my son.'
Boom!
And my brother was lying on the floor, breathless and with blood oozing out his tiny head.
The man in the black left our place, and my mom and I stood there silently looking at each other, until I heard a man speak.
'I am Officer Marcus, ma'am. Everything will be alright.'
It was cold, and yet I was drenched in sweat when I opened my eyes. It took me a while, but I felt a sharp pain near my lower chest.
I was back in my lingerie, all bandaged up, and there was an ice-pack over my ribs.
Damn, ribs!
I removed the ice-pack off of me and tried raising up, but it hurt. It hurt a lot!
"Least you can do is try to survive a day, can't you?" Ramon jabbed from the kitchen where he was cutting some vegetables, "It would be a shame to waste all those bandages, otherwise."
"Not yet, baby." I replied, "Neither God nor the devil want to take me. At least, not yet."
"Two broken ribs, and you are religious now?" he said calmly, without even turning his back.
"Where's Marcus?"
Every single word that came out of my mouth hurt me like I was being hit by a truck. I still felt the coppery, warm blood deep within my mouth.
"He is in your room, all tied up to a sturdy chair," Ramon answered, "That motherfucker started screaming once he regained his consciousness. I had to duct-tape his mouth shut, after stuffing it with all kinds of paper."
I chuckled. That hurt too.
"Your clothes are on the dining table, along with your gun and a small knife," said Ramon, "But don't expect me to patch him up too, darling. I am little too vindictive to play doctor for the man who got you in this condition."
I walked up to the dining table and picked up the dress and started putting it on. Lifting my arms up hurt, so did dropping them down. When the dress was midway from its final destination, I heard Ramon again.
"By the way, love," he spoke, "Your mom called."
"Okay," I replied and then nothing.
"You should call her back, you know."
I didn't reply this time, and he stopped asking.
The dress fell, and when I tried bending to pick it up, I felt like I was being stabbed by a thousand pins from the inside. I tried crouching; it wasn't better.
"Easy, love," I heard Ramon rushing towards me, "Easy... I will do it for you."
He picked me up and placed me on the dining chair, but not before placing a pillow for my back first.
He picked up the dress and slowly tugged my hands into its sleeves. It was still hurting, but something about that moment made it better.
He kneeled down to tie the knots into my robe. I held his face and kissed him on the forehead.
"Love you," I said.
He looked at me and smiled.
"Love you too, darling."
When he gave a pull to the knot, the sudden tightening of the grip made me let out a painful groan.
"You want some painkillers?" he asked.
"No, they dull my senses."
He sighed, "I know you don't want me to say anything—"
"—Then don't," I stopped him as I rose to pick my gun and the knife.
I stood in my place for a while and he was still on his knees staring at me. I looked at him.
"Ramon, okay. Say it."
He stood and gently held my hand, "You can't be doing this for yourself, my love."
"You can't let your grief masquerade as some purpose," he continued, "It hurts me to let you go every day, knowing that there could come any day when I can't mend your wounds. Any—"
He paused and looked down at my hands.
"Love," he concluded, "I need you."
I wasn't sure, but I felt I saw his eyes moisten up; there were tears. I didn't like seeing Ramon like this, but at that moment, I didn't know what to do.
"I know," I answered as I freed my hands from his and turned toward where Marcus was held.
"If he proves to be a danger, you know what to do, right?" I questioned Ramon, without looking at him.
"Yes."
"Say it," I commanded, "Tell me what will you do."
"I will run," he answered, rather unconvincingly, "I will run and not wait for you."
I let out a deep breath, maybe I was in tears too. But I didn't dare check it.
As I reached the door, before I could enter, I called Ramon again.
"Is the food ready?"
"Almost," he replied. I could sense that there was a smile on his face, but I didn't see it.
"Once I am done with him, would you feed me?" I asked.
"Yes, I would love to," he answered.
"Thanks," I said as I opened the room's door.
"Be a darling and please calm down," I jabbed at Marcus, who was trying to scream his lungs out beneath his stuffed mouth, "My body already hurts, I don't want my head to follow the trend."
I got a chair and placed it an inch in front of him, I sat down and stared straight at his eyes.
"Okay, let's make a deal," I said as I unlocked my gun and pointed it straight at his knee, "I will gag out your mouth, but if you scream, you lose a leg. Blink if you agree."
He blinks.
I pulled out all the things that Ramon had stuffed his mouth with. In its own diabolical way, I found it funny.
"Why are you holding me?" said he, "If it's money, I have a lot of it. You can take it all."
He was calm with his offer, defeated yes, but calm.
"I don’t want your money." My jaw tightened. "I want an answer."
I leaned forward, the gun inches from his leg.
"Tell me… who am I?"
My voice dropped to a whisper.
"Remember me."
He looked at me helplessly, with his eyes already admitting defeat.
"I don't know," he answered, "Just get it over with. Kill me."
"No," I affirmed, and held his mouth with my palm and elbowed his crotch.
I could feel him scream, the warm exhale of breath hitting my hand, but it faded in mere seconds. Once sure of it, I let my hand go.
"Now let me help you with that," said I, "You were responsible for destroying my family. Tell me, who am I?"
He stared at me for a while, still groaning silently with pain. But then he smiled, chuckled even.
"That doesn't help, lady. I am responsible for destroying many families."
Boom!!
I shot him in his knee, I didn't flinch, nor did I bother covering his screams. I slowly leaned forward with my nose almost touching his, pressed my fingers deep into his bullet wound and when he screamed his lungs out, I whispered.
"Look at my face, carefully," I stressed, "Tell me, who am I?"
He was still screaming, but then the look on his face slowly changed. He sweat and as the screams faded, in his eyes I could see him registering and recalling my face.
"Rose Harkin," said he. His voice was calm, despite experiencing the recent horror.
"Good," I replied as I stood from my place.
"Why?" I asked him, "Why was my father killed? Why did... my bro—"
I couldn't continue. I paused and took a deep breath to regain my composure.
"When I saw you that day I believed you would help me find that monster. I know it was stupid, but I was just a kid who really did think that it was possible."
I unsheathed my knife and placed it near his face, I pressed it in just enough to hurt but not enough to make a mark.
"It was just years later that I realized that you were in the agency just to cover up such assassinations."
He flinched, but he remained silent, maybe he knew that I wasn't done talking, so I pressed my thumb into his wound again, and when he screamed, I let him know.
"Now years later, we meet again. But this time I know that you will help me."
"Rose," he spoke in a low voice, despite the screams and obvious look of pain, I would bet that I also saw subtle hints of a smile on his face, "It might be shocking for you to hear, but I don't know why your father and your brother were killed."
"Daniel King," he muttered, "He was a friend of mine and one who always paid generously. That day when he told me that he wanted to kill your dad. I did not ask questions, but that was the last time he ever asked anything of me, maybe what he did that day was a little too much. Even for him."
He was honest, like a man who wanted to lift that weight off his heavy chest.
"Where is Daniel King now?" I inquired.
"He is at La Classica. Somewhere on the 13th or 14th floor," he answered, "Knowing him, he might be waiting for you. For years now."
"You know, I always thought what happened to you," said he, "Only for you to become the very thing you want to destroy. It's funny in a way."
He chuckled, and I did not have words to frame an answer for his question.
"It is not true," I muttered.
"Isn't it?" he asked.
"Red Lily, they call you. The angel of death, there is no one alive who had ever known your face. Heck!" he laughed as he exclaimed, "You are even a bigger monster than all of us combi—."
Boom!
There was a bullet hole in the center of his forehead, and a large chunk of his brain had splattered across the room.
"This room needs to be re-decorated," I sighed, "I always liked the paint."
Ramon was standing outside the door, waiting for me. It was then I felt something crawling from my eyelids over my cheeks.
Tears. I couldn't hold them any longer.
Ramon stepped forward and gently hugged me. It still hurt a bit, but it felt good. He slid his arms across my thighs and lifted me up in his arms and slowly walked toward the couch.
"I made some hot soup," said he while placing me on the couch, "I have hidden veggies well enough for you to not notice."
I chuckled.
All of a sudden, I heard a clanking sound of something rolling on the floor.
Flashbang!
When the sight started seeping into my eyes, I heard... no, I felt footsteps approaching our front door.
There was a deafening buzz in my ears and my vision was hazy. I saw a blurred male figure lying disoriented on the couch.
Ramon!
I held him by the arm, and said, "Ramon, go!"
"No," he murmured, with his eyes still closed.
I held him by his shoulders and shook him.
"You promised," I screamed, "You promised that you will run."
He paused for a moment, then suddenly pulled me closer and kissed me. At that brief moment which barely lasted a second, I wished to go with him, run away and not look back. But I can't. They would catch up to us, especially without someone holding them off.
As Ramon sprinted out through the window of our room, I picked up my gun and stood at an angle in front of the front door.
I heard gunshots, piercing the door but missing me. Now being confirmed about their position, I pulled the trigger twice.
I heard a thud, and a couple of gasps. And then a ferocious hit to the door. They were trying to break it, just a matter of a few seconds.
Two more shots and another thud of a man falling. But they weren't stopping, so I ran toward my kitchen and crawled myself into one of the shelves. Since I had just one bullet left, I picked up the spare magazine from the shelf and reloaded.
I heard another hit to the door, and I heard it fall off. I heard a bunch of people wandering around, some were speaking Mandarin, some Italian and some Spanish. But there was one man who spoke them all and was directing orders.
"Search everywhere, kill the man, but get the girl," he ordered some variation of it all the languages, "Alive if possible."
Then I heard an Italian speak, "The man is dead. There's a hole in his head."
"Find the girl," the boss shouted, "I know she is here. I can feel it."
I felt a sharp pain near my chest. I felt like throwing up, I was trying my best to keep it in, but in vain. I threw up some blood. My entire body was aflame, but even before I had time to muster up will to tolerate the excruciating pain, I heard the footsteps approaching toward me.
He was there standing just beside the shelf I was crawled in, mere moments away from him noticing me, but before he could I slit his ankle with my knife, bolted out while hitting his calf, crotch, and finally his neck.
As the others noticed their slain comrade, they pointed their guns toward me, but I shielded myself with the deceased goon's body, and shot three of them. Straight between their eyes.
Others scattered to avoid being shot, I took that window of opportunity, sprung toward my room. But before I could enter, two of the men jumped at me, and one of them grabbed me by my gun arm.
I stabbed him with the knife and when his grip loosened over my arm, I pressed it against his chest and shot him twice. I was quick to realize that it was a sloppy mistake, to waste bullets like that, but before I could clear my head to think, I noticed a cold palm over the back of my neck and another at my knife hand.
I wanted to move away from his grip, any other day perhaps, it would be easy, but today my body found it difficult to keep up with my mind.
The pain! It was making me slower.
The tightened grip held and pushed my head onto the kitchen wall, but before my head had to sustain the impact I shielded my head with my forearms. It hurt a lot, and he pulled me back to go ahead with another attempt at crushing my head.
When he pulled me, I used that momentum to launch a back-kick at his crotch, the sudden pain made him remove his hand from my neck. But I had to stay close to him, if I ever had any chance of preventing his comrades from shooting me.
He quickly recovered and threw my own knife at me, I caught it, but not before it could pierce half an inch into my upper breast.
I was getting slower.
I sprung at him, stabbing the very knife at his chest and when I saw the other men approaching toward us, I plucked one of his grenades, unpinned it before shoving it into his mouth.
I kicked him toward the other men, and when they scattered to flee, I rushed into my room. I rolled myself under the bed, flipped it sideways, braced myself for the impact.
Boom!
And then I heard nothing, but a consistent buzz. It was vertigo all over again. The grenade's impact had sent the bed flying away toward the wall, and it took away me with it. When I opened my eyes, I was lying down the floor, my vision was blurred, and my body felt like I was hit by a truck. In a way, it was.
As I flipped around, I saw a few blurred silhouettes of men approaching toward me. They were wobbling even. As my vision started adjusting its focus, I started processing more details like the char and burnt marks on their skin.
I flapped my hands around, but my gun wasn't there. It was nowhere...and they were coming!
I heard a gunshot...
A thudding sound of someone falling, there was one more, and I saw the scattering around like they were running away from something. Someone.
Ramon!
He barged in through the front door with a shotgun, and after shooting a couple of the goons, he threw a gun at me.
And then the very next moment, three more were dead. I barged out of my room, when I saw Ramon tackling one of the goons up close. He hit the goon's face with the shotgun's butt, and drop-kicked him. Getting enough distance, Ramon blew the man's head off with a bullet.
Ramon looked at me and smiled. But I pointed the gun towards him and shot two bullets at his direction, instantly blowing that smile away.
"Watch out your back," I commanded, as two people behind him fall dead.
"I have you for that," he said as he turned toward me.
He was reckless, but at that moment, I couldn't help myself but smile. A little blush even.
"I have Kumar on wheels, he should be just outside our room's window," said he.
Kumar was our neighbour and a close friend of Ramon's, close enough to be his best man during our wedding.
"I asked you not to come," I said as we were standing back to back, he did not reply.
We entered our room, and outside the window, Kumar was ready with a car.
"You go, I will cover," I told Ramon, but he nodded his head.
"I don't think you are in the right state, my love," he said as he pushed me, "You go, I will cover and then I will follow."
I clenched my teeth, every part of me wanted to switch with him, but I knew he wouldn't budge.
"Darling, go. I was in the army too."
"Careful," I said as I started going across the window.
"Always," Ramon stood there facing the door, shooting at anyone who came against his sight. I think he even killed a couple of them.
Once I crossed over I pointed the gun toward the window, trying to cover as much as possible.
"Your turn," I said, Ramon nodding started crossing the window, while still holding the gun toward the door.
But it was I who shot one more bullet, killing another who tried to cross the room's door.
"Good shot, babes," he complimented.
I heard another gunshot, I didn't know where it went until I saw an expanding red bloom on Ramon's chest.
It was it, I just stood there, and before the sound of scream could start oozing out of throat, I felt someone grab my hand and drag me into the car, later I got to know that it was Kumar's pregnant wife. She was saying something to me, but I heard nothing. All I saw was Ramon.
He laid his foot back into the room and smiled at me. He smiled, even then, he smiled. I saw him fall.
I tried getting out of the now moving car, but they held me, and before I could do anything... I saw my house explode.
I know it was Ramon. He did something. Even while facing death, he made sure to take them with him.
- To be continued