HOME | DD

Description
Panting.

In. Out. In. Out.

Short, shallow. Ragged breaths.

Cold steel pressed against the side of her face. Peering around the corner, she held the weapon closely. Eyes narrowing, she pushed herself up off of her knees. Creeping, slowly. Suddenly a series of shots are rounded off into the air. Count them.

One… Two… Three… Four…

A gargling sound, a loud thump. A body drops to the floor, but in the darkness its impossible to tell whom it belonged too. Two more. She cursed, silently. There’s no telling who heard them, and she supposed it was safe to say her cover had been blown. The siren began to throb.

She rolled her eyes. Just great, just fucking great.

Suddenly the lights flickered on. She pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet, and rounded the corner. He was standing  there, hands on his hips, eyeing her. She grunted, shoving the pistol home into the holster pressed against her thigh.

“Three out of four. Not bad, but not brilliant either, considering you’d be dead by now on the field.”

She grunted, apparently unappreciative of his analysis.  She’d like to see him to better, sometime. She brushed herself off, inspecting the black slacks that clung to her hips, avoiding eye contact. Her mood wasn’t the best, and he knew. He let her off the hook.

“Right, well that’s enough for today, go clean yourself up and  come down for dinner.”

She cast him a seething glare, but remained silent. A subtle nod of her head, she spun on her heel, stalking towards the door. Stepping carefully over the mannequins now  littering the tile floor she moved like quicksilver. He called to her, and she tilted her head over her shoulder as he spoke.

‘You did good tonight, Thirteen.”

She paused for a moment, and continued her trek without response.

                                                              * * * * *

She'd been under his wing for weeks now. He trained her hard, every day working her fingers to the bone. He ment well, she was sure, but sometimes she simply didn't know. What was he training her for, Anyway? She sighed, peeling the sweat soaked black trousers from her hips, letting them fall to the floor as she stepped out of them towards the bathroom. Her belt and holster had already been lain carefully on the bed. She stopped in front of the mirror only long enough to catch a simple glance at the lingering scars that marbled her otherwise porcelain flesh. A grunt as she averted her gaze, peeling her shirt over modest breasts and allowing it too to drop to the floor. The shower, already running had steamed up the entire bathroom. Wiping her fingers over the fogged up glass she stared at her reflection for a moment before finally stepping into the shower. Feeling the hot water course over her flesh was heaven in itself. Vivid green eyes closed as she enjoyed the luxury of the heat streaming through her.

He'd shown up, at her doorstep not long after she started noticing the changes. There he was, in his suit. Immaculately clad, not a hair out of place. She remembered how charming he was then, how much she adored him. She'd been putty in his hands, he'd barely even had to convince her to leave her home, her friends, her family. And lord above, that accent made her melt every time he spoke. Now he was more like a guardian. He cared for her. Kept her fed, clothed, and above all, dangerous. He was cultivating her. She wasn't stupid. She saw well through his lies, his delicate facade. Beautiful veneer covered the rot beneath.

She new better, however then to ask questions she didn't want the answers too.

Reluctantly, she stepped from the shower, dripping liberally over the floor as she fumbled searching for a towel. Wrapping it tight around her lithe frame, she emerged from the bathroom like aphrodite from her clam. Gracious in every movement. She smiled gently as she dressed for dinner. Simple. Black. Spagetti straps crossed over her slender back. Hem of her dress danced tantalizingly at her knee.

She knew exactly how to press his buttons.

Description
Panting.

In. Out. In. Out.

Short, shallow. Ragged breaths.

Cold steel pressed against the side of her face. Peering around the corner, she held the weapon closely. Eyes narrowing, she pushed herself up off of her knees. Creeping, slowly. Suddenly a series of shots are rounded off into the air. Count them.

One… Two… Three… Four…

A gargling sound, a loud thump. A body drops to the floor, but in the darkness its impossible to tell whom it belonged too. Two more. She cursed, silently. There’s no telling who heard them, and she supposed it was safe to say her cover had been blown. The siren began to throb.

She rolled her eyes. Just great, just fucking great.

Suddenly the lights flickered on. She pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet, and rounded the corner. He was standing  there, hands on his hips, eyeing her. She grunted, shoving the pistol home into the holster pressed against her thigh.

“Three out of four. Not bad, but not brilliant either, considering you’d be dead by now on the field.”

She grunted, apparently unappreciative of his analysis.  She’d like to see him to better, sometime. She brushed herself off, inspecting the black slacks that clung to her hips, avoiding eye contact. Her mood wasn’t the best, and he knew. He let her off the hook.

“Right, well that’s enough for today, go clean yourself up and  come down for dinner.”

She cast him a seething glare, but remained silent. A subtle nod of her head, she spun on her heel, stalking towards the door. Stepping carefully over the mannequins now  littering the tile floor she moved like quicksilver. He called to her, and she tilted her head over her shoulder as he spoke.

‘You did good tonight, Thirteen.”

She paused for a moment, and continued her trek without response.

                                                              * * * * *

She'd been under his wing for weeks now. He trained her hard, every day working her fingers to the bone. He ment well, she was sure, but sometimes she simply didn't know. What was he training her for, Anyway? She sighed, peeling the sweat soaked black trousers from her hips, letting them fall to the floor as she stepped out of them towards the bathroom. Her belt and holster had already been lain carefully on the bed. She stopped in front of the mirror only long enough to catch a simple glance at the lingering scars that marbled her otherwise porcelain flesh. A grunt as she averted her gaze, peeling her shirt over modest breasts and allowing it too to drop to the floor. The shower, already running had steamed up the entire bathroom. Wiping her fingers over the fogged up glass she stared at her reflection for a moment before finally stepping into the shower. Feeling the hot water course over her flesh was heaven in itself. Vivid green eyes closed as she enjoyed the luxury of the heat streaming through her.

He'd shown up, at her doorstep not long after she started noticing the changes. There he was, in his suit. Immaculately clad, not a hair out of place. She remembered how charming he was then, how much she adored him. She'd been putty in his hands, he'd barely even had to convince her to leave her home, her friends, her family. And lord above, that accent made her melt every time he spoke. Now he was more like a guardian. He cared for her. Kept her fed, clothed, and above all, dangerous. He was cultivating her. She wasn't stupid. She saw well through his lies, his delicate facade. Beautiful veneer covered the rot beneath.

She new better, however then to ask questions she didn't want the answers too.

Reluctantly, she stepped from the shower, dripping liberally over the floor as she fumbled searching for a towel. Wrapping it tight around her lithe frame, she emerged from the bathroom like aphrodite from her clam. Gracious in every movement. She smiled gently as she dressed for dinner. Simple. Black. Spagetti straps crossed over her slender back. Hem of her dress danced tantalizingly at her knee.

She knew exactly how to press his buttons.