7PM - Talissa

by Chris Heinicke

  7PM

  Talissa

  A 5PM Short Story

  By CHRIS HEINICKE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE © 2016 Chris Heinicke

  7PM-Talissa (A 5PM Short Story)

  By Chris Heinicke

  Cover Design by Rebecca Berto, Berto Designs

  Manuscript Services—Editing & Interior Design by

  Rogena Mitchell-Jones, Literary Editor

  www.rogenamitchell.com

  All Rights Reserved

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the properties of the author, and your support and respect are appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Both author and editor have taken great effort in presenting a manuscript free of errors. However, editing errors are ultimately the responsibility of the author. This book is written in Australian English, therefore, includes Australian diction.

  To my dear wife Glenda, whose love, support,

  and belief in me helped make this novel possible.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Coming Soon

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Shauna Logan, aka Talissa

  All I ever wanted was to be loved, adored, worshipped and satisfied several times a week in bed—or even on the kitchen table.

  I craved it. Longed for it, even.

  Despaired it would never happen. Not to a woman like me.

  Was it wrong to be an old-fashioned romantic, though? Just because I kill people for a living doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart.

  Or dreams.

  I mean, what else was I supposed to do but think about my romantic life, or lack thereof, while lying on my back completely naked with a long-stemmed red rose between my teeth. The artist had barely spoken to me since I entered his studio, disrobed, and posed for his sketching skills. Through his eyes, I’m not a sexual being. I’m a beautiful piece of art. But I knew that already.

  I’m not your usual Barbie girl beauty, though. I have a big arse and pale skin, but my breasts are large while my hair is long, black, and silky. Men say they love the curves of my body and the feel of my hair on their bare skin, but for a lot of them, it’s the last conversation they have with anyone. Despite being what many may call plus-sized, I have the reflexes of a cat and the stamina of a marathon runner, allowing me a high degree of competence at both killing and having sex.

  In the semi-darkened room, lit only by the illumination of the flames of a few scattered candles, the artist’s pencil continued to scratch away on the paper on the easel, oblivious to my inner desires. I couldn’t wait to see how he’d translated my womanly form to a two-dimensional sketch. While walking through his gallery on my way to his candle-lit studio containing the lounge I was now laying on, I’d spied his many works. I was impressed by the number of beautiful subjects who’d allowed him to sketch them in all their glory.

  “Finished, Talissa. Thank you very much for your time,” the artist said as I heard him place his pencil on the bottom of the easel.

  When I sat up, he didn’t even look my way, such was his professionalism. “Can I take a look?” I asked.

  “Sure, miss.” He glanced at me as I eased myself off the chaise lounge.

  I walked toward where he stood by the easel, passing my clothes lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, and stopped next to him. “My God, it’s fantastic,” I said, viewing the finished piece. I put a hand on his shoulder as I studied the vision of perfection of the A3 artwork.

  “I had something great to work with,” he said.

  “I bet you say that to all the models.” I leaned into him as my mouth hunted his.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” he said, and the thought he might try to pull away flitted through my mind, but I was quicker. And before the words faded, our lips touched, and I pulled his body against mine.

  I lifted my mouth away from his for a second. “Do you realise how much of a turn-on it is to be a subject of your artistic talent?”

  “It’s not supposed to be sexual. It’s about capturing the essence of nature’s most beautiful creation, and you’re one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

  I kissed him again, ignoring the stale taste of coffee from the last cup he’d had, and pressed myself as firmly against him as possible, so much so, I could feel his hardness pushing against my naked form. Whatever resistance he might have had about fucking his client seemed to disappear at the thrust and grind of my hips and breasts against him. He began to unbutton his shirt while I unzipped his trousers.

  It was all so easy. Almost too easy.

  Annoyingly predictable.

  Wasn’t there any man who could resist a decent set of tits and a naked arse? But maybe I was being unreasonable. I had become a professional at seduction over the years. It was what I was paid to do. Well, one of them, anyway.

  My hand reached inside the underwear beneath his jeans, and I allowed his stiff cock to be free of the restraints of his clothes. I looked down on it, jutting there—pale and ready, and I made a decision that went against the common practice of my profession. As I rubbed his length, my other hand patted gently around the easel, my fingertips searching for a suitable object. A few seconds of blind seeking brought reward. My fingers located the object I craved. Gripping it tight in a fist, I swung it around and stabbed the artist in the neck. I repeated the action.

  And again. And again.

  Blood squirted from the punctured areas in his throat. I pushed him away from me before I became showered in the blood of the dying man. He fell on his back, his hands shaking as he attempted to cover the wounds in his neck with his fingers.

  I had done it again—killed a man because someone with money wanted him dead. I tried to remember what the reason was for this man dying, but for the life of me, I couldn’t recollect what it was. Had I become so detached from the precious gift of life that my mind blocked out the fact this man might have had a family who loved him and would cry at his death?

  I turned away from him and gathered my clothes, keeping an eye on him while I dressed. It only took a couple of minutes for him to stop moving, and I gathered the artwork he drew of me and departed his studio.

  ******

  “So you killed him with one of his own pencils?” a male voice boomed from the speaker.

  I was sitting in a windowless office on the Praying Mantassassin compound speaking into an intercom to someone I’d never seen. “Yes, but you know me.”

  I never favoured a particular weapon. I liked to use whatever I could see near me. In a situation where you find yourself needing to kill someone, you can use almost any object in a lethal way. I’ve used scissors, electrical cords, cutlery and even a frying pan once, although it took a great number of hits.

  “You’re a very resourceful young woman, Talissa. We have a very high-risk assignment coming up, and we believe you might be just the woman for this.”

  My eyes lit up. High risk meant high rewards, and I was getting closer to my goal of saving enough money for a house of my own. Apart from that, I spent money on my shallow desires to keep up with the latest trends when it came to shoes, handbags, expensive perfumes, and dresses. I was always buying them because to earn the money I earned and not treat myself
would do little to keep me from asking why I kept spilling blood for no other reason than monetary gain. When I dropped in on my parents on occasion, they told me I spend too much money on frivolous purchases, but they had no idea how much money I earned. Nor did they know of the secret payments I made to their business’s bank account to help keep them afloat, hidden from them thanks to their accountant. Not their fault they thought I worked as a receptionist for a law firm.

  “Tell me more.”

  “You’ll be partnered with the new guy. He calls himself Diablo. He’s Spanish, incredibly tall and handsome, and an ex-member of the CNI.”

  It took me a few seconds to think who the CNI was, but I remembered from my theory CNI stood for Centro Nacional de Inteligencia. “You think we can trust someone who used to serve in Spain’s intelligence agency?”

  “Yes. We’ve already had word he killed two of the highest ranked agents before fleeing his way over here. He wants to serve an organisation who pays and treats their soldiers what they deserve. In fact, if you make your way to the meals room, you can meet him straight away.”

  What else could I have said but, “Okay, I’m on my way.”

  I walked with a spring in my step. I always had a thing for European men, and we had never been discouraged from having relationships or sexual encounters with fellow assassins. It was a quiet day in the training yard, just two young women sparring against each other trading blows with boxing gloves and headgear. It seemed so long ago when I, myself, was at that stage.

  I smiled, but at the same time, I felt sad for them, knowing eventually one would have to kill the other. They didn’t know it yet and wouldn’t until it was actually time. The younger of the two was a blonde who looked like she should still be at school, and the older one appeared old enough to be her mother, albeit if she gave birth to her while still a teenager herself.

  Looking away, I continued my short walk to my destination. As I opened the door to the meals room, I saw several women hanging off an Adonis-like creature as he walked along the food counter, adding spoonful after spoonful of cooked meat and salads to a growing mountain on his plate.

  Perhaps the sound of the door opening drew his attention, but he looked up from the buffet, turned his face toward me, and then his eyes met mine. I ignored the daggers the other women threw at me with their eyes. I felt my knees weaken, and it took every bit of willpower I possessed to stay upright. My heart threatened to beat its way out of my chest as he began to walk my way, his smile growing, and my own mouth forming a smile of its own. I tried to slow down my pulse or risk the chance of making a fool of myself by being tongue-tied.

  “Hello there,” he said, his dark eyes looking up and down my body, taking in the curves of my figure-hugging attire.

  I’d always been a sucker for a handsome man with brooding eyes, and the way this man who called himself ‘the Devil’ used them was enough for me to surrender my panties to him right there and then in front of everybody. The other women took up a pair of tables a few metres from us. I could practically feel their eyes on me.

  “Hey there, mister, did you ask if you can sit with me?” I asked with a cheeky grin. I felt proud that I got myself back together to say something intelligible.

  “No, but you’re welcome.” His sexy accent thick, I could have sat with him and listened to it all day, every day if I didn’t have training to conduct and people to fuck and kill.

  He sat down on the bench seat near to where I stood, and like a puppy desperate for a pat, I put my ass about a foot away from his, close but not touching.

  “Are you comfortable, ma’am?” he asked, his voice a deep husky drawl.

  “I like to make the newcomers feel welcome.”

  “Thank you very much. I would just like a little bit more room to eat.” He lifted his cutlery with a decisive movement of his wrists, and the request for more space seemed appropriate given his eating pose gave him a condor-like wingspan.

  Who the hell did this guy think he was? Did he think he could treat me like a second-class citizen because he’s a man? I turned and saw the group of five women giggling at me. To hell with those bitches. I picked up my plate and cutlery and moved to a table to sit by myself. If that Spanish hunk of man-flesh wanted to play hard to get, I would play harder.

  He caught my eye when I looked in his direction, piercing my soul with unspoken words of untamed passion.

  Oh shit, I thought as my own passion rose to the call. I suppressed it with a decisive glance back at my plate and resisted the urge to look at him again while I ate.

  No, he would have to wait.

  ******

  The next day, I walked to the female section of the shower block, only to discover a shirtless Diablo with a sledgehammer, accompanied by a group of men with various tools. The men took a good look at me in my cotton panties and a singlet top, and it reminded me of construction workers in the city whistling at women walking by in short skirts. At least these guys kept their approval to a visual level.

  “Good morning, young lady. We’re making some changes here,” Diablo said. His mouthful of white teeth greeted me with a broad smile, and his gaze rested on my unsupported breasts and my erect nipples, which tented my tiny top.

  “Would it save you some time if I just took my top off right here?” I asked.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said, and his gaze slowly lifted to meet mine. “The changes include a common shower block so you can all wash together without inhibition.”

  “Wow. Perverted much?”

  “Part of your job is having sex, yeah? So it’s time you all learned to be comfortable with each other’s bodies.”

  I laughed aloud at him. “You’re hilarious.” I lifted my top over my head and shook my chest at him. “Here you go, you Spanish perverted fuck, a pair of titties.”

  “Yes, they’re magnificent. I thank you for showing them to me and to all these horny young men here. Oh, and the girl walking this way.”

  Turning, I spotted the young blonde I saw training in the yard the previous day. I couldn’t help but notice the sneer on her face.

  “Cover those ridiculous things up, you show off bitch,” she said as she reached me.

  I grabbed her by the throat, pushing her back until she crashed into the concrete wall behind her. With my other hand, I curled it into a fist and jabbed her in the side, pushing the wind out of her with one punch.

  “Learn some fucking respect, you little skank,” I said to her as I let go and she slid to the ground. I pointed at Diablo. “And you will wait until I have my shower before you start swinging that hammer. By the way, have you thought about when we ladies are experiencing that time of the month?”

  “Yes, lady. There will be a separate cubicle for that scenario.”

  I opened the door to the block and found a shower cubicle with a fresh towel hanging and ready for me. I didn’t really care about showering in the future with everyone else, but I couldn’t help but wonder if this new guy had an ulterior motive.

  ******

  I met up with the blonde at training, as it was my day to take her and the older woman to the shooting range.

  She walked up to me timidly. “I’m so sorry, Talissa. I thought you must have been a new recruit. My name’s Emily.”

  I shook her hand. When it came to students, I never held a grudge. The other woman introduced herself as Helen, a dark-haired beauty who told me she had been Emily’s guardian for several years. Looking at them, I made a guess as to who would come out the victor when the time would come.

  “You’ll do okay if you lose the attitude,” I said to Emily. The walk to the range took five minutes, and I used that time to learn what I could about Emily and Helen. They seemed likeable enough, but when it came to recruits, you made sure not to get close to them. In fact, I’d made it a habit not to get close to anyone in the three years I had been at the compound until they had at least made it through the trials. Even then, I never fully allowed anyone to know much about
my inner self. If I wanted to leave the compound one day, I didn’t want any personal friendships or romantic interests to cause me to second-guess my decisions.

  I flicked the switch for the lights, and the three of us each picked a lane. The two recruits informed me they had experience in shooting guns. As the targets moved into place, it took little time to see they were both proficient with firearms. All I could do was request they practice shooting a couple of times a week, just to keep their skills up.

  “Where did you two learn to shoot?” I asked.

  “The commune where I grew up we needed to hunt for food. If we didn’t shoot something, it would mean a vegetable only dinner. The thing is, I like meat, so I made sure I killed something,” Emily said.

  “I did a lot of sentry work, and even though I never had to shoot anyone, I made sniping my craft,” Helen said.

  I stared into her eyes, and if she were lying, I didn’t read anything there. “I’m impressed.” I looked at her target one more time, a perfect grouping of bullets in the target’s head. The phone in my pocket vibrated, and I scooped it out to see the text message greeting me.

  Office now.

  I knew it meant either a mission or urgent action needed to be taken on something. “Back to the training ground, ladies. Run a few laps until someone takes over.”

  I took a deep breath and made my way to the office.

  Chapter 2

  “I need you to speed things up. We need a young girl for your next mission, so Emily needs to win out.”

  I’ve never liked the idea of getting involved in the process of which recruit got through the culling process, but my boss was asking that of me.

  “I think we could use both of them, boss. The older one is quite the competent sniper. Maybe there’s a spot for her.”