The Horror Of Our Love

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1. Masquerade


The room was full of people; long nightgowns and bowties, top hats and sparkling jewels. Everyone was dancing, except them.

They stood by a flight of stairs, waiting on the perfect moment to approach their target.

"Maybe we should dance, y'know, to blend in?" the man said, smiling charmingly at the woman on his arm.

"There will be no dancing, Vic," she dryly answered, without a glance at him.

"I swear, Nicole, this is the last time I help you," he snorted.

"Walters went outside for a smoke," she noticed, her eyes focused on a man in a grey suit walking in the garden right outside the windows. "Make sure nobody follows me."

"Yes ma'am," the man smirked.

"Meet me at the car in ten minutes," she whispered in his ear, then stood on her tiptoes and placed a quick kiss on his lips. Left there alone, the man sighed in frustration, and proceeded to get another round of champagne.

Nicole crossed the dancing floor quickly, and went out straight into the garden. The dim light was enough for her to spot her target, a few feet ahead of her. She took a cigarette out of her purse, and started to approach him, glancing back at the windows to make sure no one could see them.

"Got a light?" she asked, smiling.

"Sure," the man replied, shamelessly checking her out as he took a lighter out of his breast pocket.

"Thank you," she smiled again, then lit her cigarette. The man winked at her, and she struggled with the urge to break his neck.

Instead of doing that, she opened her purse again, and pulled out a gun, with a silencer attached to it. The man didn't even notice, busy as he was looking down at her décolleté. He noticed the gun only when Nicole pressed it to his chest. Needless to say, he had no time to say anything. In a few seconds, he was lying dead on the ground. The woman kneeled down and used a napkin to get her fingerprints off his lighter, then put the gun back in her bag.

She adjusted her hair and headed straight to Victor's black Cadillac. He was leaning on the hood smoking, but got in the car and started it as soon as he saw her. She got in, and they drove away.

"All good?" he asked.

"As usual," she smiled. "So, what do you think, a badass yacht or another beach house?"

"How about Paris?"

"I have to work, Vic," she frowned.

"Yeah, me too, actually. I saw Eddie today, we're doing a job next week."

"Another bank?"

"No, just some drug dealer who owes Joe a fuckload of money."

"Nice," Nicole dryly commented, not at all impressed.

She couldn't understand how Victor managed to do such boring jobs. Not that killing a congressman with a silencer was any more fun, quite the opposite in fact, but that was just a routine gig for her. Most of the time she got to have her way with the victims, and that was fun. The only thing differencing her from a serial killer was that she got paid a shitload of money to kill people. She considered herself an artist, and Victor agreed completely. Her innocent beauty was haunting, even more when she was covered in blood, giving him her perfect million-dollar-smile.

She had always been like that, or at least she already was when they met, five years before. He went inside a bank to rob it, and Nicole was there. In a second she managed to kick him in the groin and take his gun, and that had never happened to him before. It turned him on in the weirdest of ways. He always told her that was the exact moment in which he fell in love with her. Nicole smiled a lot, but she never said that kind of things. She thought of love as an infectious and deadly disease, but Victor didn't mind. He knew she loved him, even though she'd never admit it, not even to herself.

When he pulled over by their house that night, he noticed something different in her. She got out of the car and opened the front door just like she always did, but there was something in her eyes, something he'd never seen before in them.

He could have sworn it was guilt.