The bar was dimly lit. It was on the outskirts of town, and very few people ever visited it. Armando had been frequenting this bar since he had come to the city. He went there every evening and stayed there until the bar closed down.
I squinted as I tried to locate the man. There were a few people ordering drinks.
Before I could spot the man, I felt someone tap on my shoulder. I reigned in my instincts but prepared my body to react if needed. My back stiffened slightly as I turned around.
Anthony Murray, it seemed, had no plans on leaving me alone. I had the urge to shoo him away, or maybe roll my eyes at him, but the seriousness of the situation stopped me from acting foolishly. I didn't want to create a scene. Today was the day that I had to take out Francis. He would be leaving in two days and I would become obvious if the CCTV cameras caught me snooping around on consecutive nights.
"Mr. Murray, is there something you want from me?" I kept my voice professional and free from any anger.
"I wish to speak to you privately," he told me in a low voice as if anyone would be interested to hear what he had to say to me.
"I don't think there is any need for this conversation."
"And why not?" he challenged, moving closer to me. "I've waited two years for this," he hissed. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to gauge the truth behind his words. He seemed honest enough, but I knew better than to trust him.
In the end, I had taken a huge step to show him how very vulnerable he was by blowing up his information system. There was a high chance that he was looking for revenge, or that he still had some use for me.
"Mia Vincent is dead, Mr. Murray. You took care of that, didn't you?" I replied calmly. He didn't even deserve my anger. I would not slip again and show him how much he had affected me.
"And that is the reason why you need to listen to me, dammit."
"I am on an important mission, Mr. Murray, and let me assure you: I take my job seriously. I would rather not mix any private feelings in it." My voice sounded hollow. His eyes darkened as he brushed his fingers against my arm.
"Is that so, Mia?" A shiver ran up my spine. I hid it by glaring at him. "Was I only that to you? A bloodied project?" he inquired, betrayal clear in his voice.
Oh, what a good actor you are, Anthony.
"I thought you knew that," I sneered. "I do remember denying any form of love towards you." I gave him a cold smile.
"You are a lying witch, you know that right, my kitten?" he chuckled, pulling his hands back and shoving it inside his pocket.
"You didn't think so when you were fucking me, Boss." His eyes widened fractionally before he regained composure.
He clucked his tongue before speaking, "here I thought that I had you wrapped up in my game. You are fierce, my kitten. I underestimated you. You're a cold-hearted bitch, aren't you?" he cooed. I rolled my eyes at his attempt to get a reaction out of me.
"Just like you," I taunted. "I don't think I'm up to your level, though. I haven't left anyone for dead yet…" I gave him a sly look. "If I had a chance, I would. And I would enjoy it thoroughly." As I turned around to look for my target again, I felt him pressing into my body.
"What would you know? It seems you have grown up to be a hellcat," he whispered into my ear. I felt his shoulder brush past me as he walked ahead. He headed straight for the bar, ordering.
A few seats down from him, I saw Armando Francis seated with a group of people. Two of them hung off of him. I assessed his interest in them and then let a slow grin spread across my face.
I sauntered over towards him and waited for him to notice me.
Armando Francis was a man in his early fifties with cropped golden hair and grey eyes. He wasn't good looking, but he was powerful enough to keep a dozen of women at his side.
I observed the women he surrounded himself with. They were all decked up, ready to do his bidding, and they were certainly not adding to any conversation that took place. They looked extremely content with where they were. They did not care, or realize that Armando's attention was not at them. When I looked up from my drink, I saw him eyeing me.
I checked the watch on my wrist and calculated that I had attracted his interest within five minutes of taking my seat. I decided to act aloof and went back to sipping my drink. I could feel him staring at me as I made polite conversation with a woman sitting next to me.
I paused to give him a coy look. I offered him a small smile, trying to gain his interest. It seemed to work. The woman beside me had conveniently fallen silent, and Francis was growing more and more distant from his companions. His eyes were glued to me. I beckoned the bartender over again, making another order, but I was stopped.