First objective - sell the remaining two kilos - done. You had a string of people waiting on back orders, so moving two kilos was child's play. Objective two - sell an additional six to the client. Damien had intended to negotiate with the client the next day. Seeing as his body was floating down the Stocgate river, he wasn't going to make it for his engagements.
You sold the remainder to a nightclub owner in the bustling red-light district. A well-timed flutter of your long, mascara-coated lashes and a low-cut blouse that showed off your God-given 'assets' was all you needed. You even managed to mark up the price by five percent without being given any grief from him, as he was too busy downing shots and staring at your breasts to notice the overcharge.
You had perfected your craft fast with a minimalistic crew of only seven, now six. Despite the numbers, yours was a rising name in the underground community. People were astonished at how well you could close a deal with so little muscle to back you up. Riches, power, and control were all things you'd lacked growing up, and now you would have them all in spades. It was far more convenient to send lackeys to do your dirty work, but when a deal fell through, you had to ensure the next went smoothly in order to uphold your reputation. Your gang wasn't flawless, and they were still training under your command. But Mommy doesn't have time to rub their nose in it. Instead, you would blow them out of existence.
Tonight was a high-class deal organized by one of the most flourishing drug peddlers in Stocgate. This particular haul would prove more difficult than normal; that sniveling buffoon Damien should have never been assigned to it. You'd handle this one yourself. Securing this could mean a steady flow of income for your crew that you needed to propel your name further, but you weren't the only one vying for the prize.
You rented a classic stretch limousine trimmed in plated gold, you had to make everyone assume you were as wealthy as they were. You'd remain firm in your asking price. Groveling and begging wasn't your style. A man looked much better at the end of your expensive shoes. Renting luxury expensive was a momentary loss for the ultimate payout. You just had to let the cards play. The sleek black door opened, courtesy of the chauffeur hired explicitly for the facade. Your bright red Loui Vuitton heels hit the pavement first. Hiking up the floor-length designer dress that hugged your every curve in all the right ways, you took the hand of the oblivious older gentleman that was your driver for the night. You stepped out of your extravagant ride and into an even more luxurious world dripping with millions of scents. Everyone had the 'new' smell. New car, new clothes, new perfume, new lover, it was shameless to reuse when you could afford new.
Your eyes scanned over the looming mansion, drinking in the twenty-one-bedroom palace. Complete with a nearly two-story fountain lit up in lavish marble, an angel perched upon the top. The lights glow warm over the water, almost making it look like gold. Well, this man liked to flash his money. You nodded your head toward the man holding your door open, offering a false show of gratitude for his politeness to show face. Returning to the driver's seat, he pulled away, finding a place to wait for your call to return patiently.
You looked down at your appearance to ensure that your attire was flawless and emanated the aura of class intended to give off. The floor-length sequined black dress was strapless, and it hugged your chest and pushed your breasts up to add sensuality as if the thigh-high slit that met your panty line wasn't enough. Along the left side was a floral print with a see-through mesh that allowed more skin to be flaunted. Your waist curves perfectly into your plump hips. The intricate floral lace curled up against the right side of your chest and wrapped around your neck, leaving your shoulders and upper back exposed.
It was the right amount of flash without appearing too obvious. Your once electrifying blue bobbed haircut was now a beautiful chocolate brown, pinned up into a bun that rested at the crown of your head. Temporary dye could do wonders to shift an appearance. Diamonds hung from your ears and wrist. No one knew that every piece of this outfit was either stolen or gifted from the hands of pretentious rich men hoping that expensive things would widen the gap between your knees.
As everyone began to filter into the building, you started up the extended driveway, already littered with expensive suits and designer cocktail dresses. You weren't early nor fashionably late. It was the exact time written on the invite, seven in the evening on the dot. Unlike many women around you, you had no escort, but you didn't need nor want one. You eagerly waited for the first man to assume you were weak or lonely for coming alone. Confidence was a stain you couldn't wash off, and you dripped with it. Reaching the flight of stairs, you let your perfectly manicured red nails tap against the metal bar as you dragged them across the cold steel on your way into the mansion.
The entrance was open wide for the flood of guests piling in, butlers standing in front of each french wood, stained glass door nearly towered a full two stories - just like the fountain out front. You could see the man to your left, his eyes crawling over your figure so intently you could feel his eyes graze against your caramel-tinted skin. Glancing over your shoulder as you passed, you let your left lid fall closed, tossing a wink his way as you silently played the field. Wrapping even the most meaningless men around your finger could be handy if things fell through; you always had to think long haul.
The extravagant nature that the building exuded outside was nothing compared to the interior. It was as if you had just stepped into one of the most exclusive clubs in Stocgate. The man enjoyed the nightlife; that much was clear. Your eyes scanned the room, quickly picking out a few other organizations and gangs playing nice in their attempts to keep the lively mood of the party going and not upset the host. You could recognize a few faces, though you didn't assume a single one of them to know who you dressed like that-fake hair, contacts, air-brushed makeup, and intoxicating perfume that lured men like a siren song.
The music blared, an electric style mixed with smooth R&B that was so loud it made eavesdropping on conversations impossible. The ballroom was aglow with purple hues, laser lights, and strobes that were sending your vision into a frenzy as you tried to adjust to the dim lighting in the room. Joining the crowd, you waved yourself through chattering groups, girls with their rear ends pressed firmly against rich men - trying to milk them for their worth. Snatching a drink from a server as they passed you, you brought it to your lips for a sip, strawberry champagne. At least what they were serving wasn't complete shit. Then again, it was weak and tasted like nothing more than flavored water to you.
You were on the prowl, searching for the host in an endless sea of bodies. There were far more people here than you had anticipated. A quarter of the party was about the business deal offered like a contest. Most of which seemed to have come in packs just in case of a quarrel. You licked at your tinted lips, removing the lingering taste of fruit from them as the thought crossed your mind. You should have brought at least a few men with you. You began to feel your nerves tight as doubt circulated through your veins. Closing your eyes, you tried to block out your senses, taking a deep breath. You released your anxiety and remained confident in your abilities. You were already here. Worrying about what could happen wasn't going to help the situation. Your wit and good looks would.
Flashing your eyes back open a second later, you noticed an upper level surrounded by a railing that overlooked the lower floor. That'd probably be the best vantage point to find the host. At the very least, it would allow you to scout the room and see who your competition was for the night and who would only be an annoyance. Making your way to the grand staircase, you curled your nails into the fabric of your dress and pulled it up as you began to make your way to the second level, the cold glass in your other hand chilling your fingers.
It was less crowded up there, and the sound - though it still boomed - was more muffled. It was an excellent choice to seek a bird's eye view. Finding an empty table that faced the railing, you sat yourself down in the expensive French Bergère chair covered in a suede grey with metallic silver trim. You rested the champagne glass against your exposed knee and kept your gaze indifferent as you scoured the floor below. Your eyes darted from face to face, committing a few to memory while dismissing others as unimportant. It took a few minutes and a full glass of champagne before you finally spotted your target.
Full lips hung just below a perfectly sculpted nose. Seokjin's wrapped broad, muscular shoulders in a pricey Brioni Italian suit jacket, his arms swooping toward the center, and a slender waist extended into long legs that could run through your mind for days. He bled power and radiated a commanding personality that attracted people to him like moths to a flame. Even you were taken aback by the sight. So this was one of the most prominent drug lords on the east coast, Kim Seokjin. Thank god he was beyond handsome. It saved you the hassle of faking a physical attraction if you needed to use that tactic to your advantage tonight.
Sliding your empty glass onto the table in front of you, you grabbed your clutch bag and hugged it to your hip as you raised yourself to your feet. You were starting to make your way back to the stairs and begin the assignment. Other girls may have packed pleasantries in their purses-perfume, lipstick, tampons. But you? You packed a two-tone Kahr .380 pistol in your clutch, just in case. Who needed backup? Rounding the crowd that had gathered on the upper level, you began to retrace your steps swiftly so as not to lose sight of the last location of your target. You placed your hand on the railing and looked out over the crowd, trying to keep your eyes locked on Seokjin. He was starting to move through the group, and you'd likely lose him. You were barely two steps down when you came to an abrupt halt. A gasp left your lips as you tightened your grip on the railing for balance.
Some jackass wasn't paying attention, running up the stairs for no apparent reason and quickly colliding with you, sending you flying back on your ass. The dull pain was followed instantly by the cold sting of ice and whiskey as it splashed against your chest. Your hands sprawled open wide, and your eyes stared in disbelief that this man's drink had just doused you. No way a clumsy accident would demonish your chances of landing this deal! A fire burned in your eyes as you shot your head up to see a bushy-haired man quickly raising a tattooed hand to his head and shaking it. It was taking everything in your being not to start screaming at such a careless bastard and create a scene.
"Aye shit, gurl." His deep, discursive tone rang out, heard over the music. His words were riddled with slang, speaking improperly and informally in a way that only fueled your irritation. "My bad." He laughed, the empty glass of whiskey rolling down the carpeted stairs from his hand. "You's want me to clean dat up for ya?" He asked, brushing his unmanageable obsidian locks from his eyes as his pierced lips grinned toward you with a sleazy charming glint in his dark chocolate irises.
Though it only took one look at his sultry eyes for your heart to stop beating. There was no way...