Glancing over her shoulder playfully as she walks inside the apartment, Tora shrugs his blazer off her shoulders and places it on the armchair with her dark red clutch. Turning around to face him with a flirtatious glint in her eye, she perches on the edge of the chair.
"So, what now, Mark?"
Wearing a dark grey suit —minus the jacket— white shirt and green striped tie, the large man kicks off his brown brogues and loosens his tie. He twists the end of his auburn moustache. "How about we take this to another room?"
He motions to the open door of the bedroom and Tora stands up. "Sounds great, I'll just freshen up. Where's your bathroom?"
Mark shows her the bathroom and she thanks him, walking past him with her purse in hand and opens the door. "I won't be a minute!" She smiles sweetly, shutting the door behind herself.
Standing over the sink, hands gripping the basin edge and lips pursed, the hair on the back of her neck stands on end.
This is the hardest job for a while —he truly is a revolting man.
When she'd read the file from Tanaka, she'd almost thrown up in her mouth. He's lived a disgusting life, his hobbies including harassing, grooming and sexually assaulting minors along with the rape of his past two wives. Senator Mark Stevens is vile.
To think she'd thought it would be an easy task to seduce him —and it had been— but continuing with the charade was the biggest issue.
He'd undressed her with his eyes as soon as she introduced herself at the club before groping her ten minutes later. His eyes hungry, his slimy, clammy fingers had touched her body —the thought repulses her.
A shiver running down her spine, Tora stands up and looks at her pasty face in the mirror.
Running a finger under her eye to remove mascara residue, she fixes a strand of her hair, tucking it back into the up-do before turning the tap faucet on and rinsing her hands under the water.
She rolls down the sleeves of her ruby-coloured silk gown, flattening the front and tugging at the hem on the thigh-high split. Brushing a hair from her chest, she re-positions her diamond necklace in the centre of her chest and the square neckline of the dress.
Glancing to her clutch, laying on the ceramic surface, Tora unzips it and carefully removes the thin metal spikes and knife, placing them to the side as she handles the grip of the gun.
In her 6-years as an assassin, Tora has only had to fire a gun on the job three times. She'd been taught how to fire a multitude of firearms, but it wasn't her area of expertise. Specialising in close hand-to-hand fighting, a variety of martial arts with knowledge of pressure points as well as knife combat, Tora used a gun as a last resort.
Guns have their uses, but from experience, aiming a knife at someone is more threatening. With guns, people don't believe you'll actually shoot them —especially someone like Tora— whereas knives have more use, as well as an element of mystery to them.
She could also control the flow of the job with a knife, witling down their defences and slowly but surely pushing the victim to the point of surrender.
Looking down at the polymer-framed, semi-automatic Glock 17, she checks the safety is on, as well as ensuring the magazine is ejected but that she has bullets ready in her purse. Sliding the gun back inside her clutch front sight first, she places her knife and spikes carefully next to it before zipping it closed.
Taking a deep breath, she plasters a fake smile on her face, opening the door and striding out the room. Her black heels click against the floor. "Mark?" She calls out. "Sorry I took so long."
With no response, she walks back into the living room and studies the room —noticing the bedroom door to the side half-closed.
Sauntering over to the room, she slides her fingers around the handle and pushes it open. "Mark?"
Scanning the room, Tora raises an eyebrow as she places a hand on the chest of drawers, a framed photo of his two sons on the surface —both the same age as her, bearing in mind.
The pressed bed-sheet is folded back at the corner, like it's just been slept in, with his shoes placed on the floor to the side.
"Mark?"
Walking further into the room, she sees the door to the walk-in wardrobe open a jar and she peers inside. "Mark? Are you— oh my god."
In the darkest corner of the room, Mark stands with his back to her —his large shoulders hunched over and his head drooped to the side.
"What's going on, Mark?" She laughs awkwardly. "I thought we came back to your place to have some fun?"
He slowly turns around to face her and Tora stumbles back. His pupils are dilated and sweat drips down his face. Her hands turn clammy.
"W-what's wrong?" She questions.
His chest rising rapidly and his breathing shallow, Mark shakes his head as he grabs hold of a coat hanger. "No...no...no..."
Tora furrows her eyebrows, placing her hands on the door frame to steady herself. "What are you talking about?"
With a hand to his shirt, he clenches his fist and rips the tie off from around his neck with his other hand.
"Y-you're acting strange, maybe you drank too much?" Tora suggests, turning to walk away. "Let's have some water—"
He lunges forward, grabbing her wrist and yanking her arm back as she yelps and throws a punch to his stomach.
"What the hell?!"
Releasing her wrist and doubling over, Mark's hands clutch the side of his head and he desperately cries out.
"Mark?" She questions, placing a hand on his back and leaning closer to him.
Lurching forward, he claws a hand at her and she jumps back. Narrowly missing her face, he rips the skin of her neck and chest. Tora smacks her palm over the stinging scratch and furrows her eyebrows.
"What are you doing?!"
Hissing, Tora hurries over to the bed, grabbing the knife from her purse and holding it up in defence.
Running forward, Mark swings his arm as she raises the knife to his arm and slices at his skin. He recoils and blood trickles down, staining the carpeted floor.
Tora shakes her head, guard up as his body shakes. "Mark, what did you do...?"
His rapid breathing and perspiration dripping, Mark's fingers claw at his cheeks and he cries out. "I can't... My head—"
"Mark?!"
He gasps for breath and his mouth salivates like a hungry animal. Tora holds the knife out.
With a glance to the side, she spots his bedside table and freezes —an empty needle.
Lashing out at her again, Tora swipes the knife and cuts his forehead as he throws her to the ground. His hands clamp her wrists down as his body pushes on top of her and she kicks her legs out with no use. Blood gushes out of his forehead and drips onto her chest and face.
As he releases her wrist, she plunges the knife forward and into his shoulder. He grunts in pain, clutching at his shoulder and she bucks her hips up. She slides out of his grip, punching his ribs as she tries to stand. Her hand throbs as the skin of her knuckle splits open. He doubles over, wheezing from the blow.
She stumbles away and finds her footing, just as he grabs the knife from the floor and her eyes widen.
"Shit."
Maniacally grinning, Mark tightens his hold on her knife. Her forehead sweats, and her eyes scan the bed for her purse.
Lunging to grab it from the bed, Tora staggers back and he thrashes forward. The knife manages to slash her left forearm, cutting through her sleeve and onto her skin. Blood steadily streams out of the gash.
Clasping her arm and hissing at the stinging, she stumbles out the room.
A wild, red haze floods his vision and he runs after, the knife tight in his trembling hand. Blood trickles down from his forehead and his shoulder, staining his shirt. His wide eyes glance around the room. His rib cage rattles with his shallow and desperate breaths.
With a firm grip, Tora steps out from behind the door and plunges the spike into his side.
Howling, he clenches a hand over to the wound, still gripping onto the knife, and his head spins, looking up to see her sprinting for the door.
She swings it open, trembling as she looks back and cries out as he pounces forward and grabs her ankle. Crashing down, Tora's shoulder smashes against the carpet, her forehead hitting the tiled floor of the hallway.
Blood gushes out of her nose and she shrieks. Eyes streaming, she clenches her teeth.
She freezes, unable to move.
Fear sets in.
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"there ain't nothin' here for me anymore
but I don't wanna be alone" - Rihanna