I Never Told You What I Do For a Living

Amy Trent wiped the crimson liquid off the knife, watching as it bled into the white of the sheet. Like a spider-web, it reached in all directions, branching off as miniscule rivulets rolled their path down the silky material. "So beautiful," she whispered, caressing the man's face. "Too bad you were on the list."

She stood up and slipped on her tight leather jacket, feeling the familiar weight settle comfortably on her shoulders. Treading lightly, she picked the sheet up off the bed and wadded it into a ball, throwing it in a black trash bag. No need for anything she had touched to stay at the scene of death.

Amy carefully pulled on a pair of worn leather gloves, a brown pair unlike her jacket. The closet door creaked as she pulled out a new cover for the bed, arranging the man's limbs in a mummy-like position, hands crossed over his chest. With a delicate smile, she leaned over and removed a photograph from inside his pocket. Vikram had said that her next target would be found in this man's pocket. Sergio Alcatraz.

"Nothing like a small challenge to keep your skills on edge," he had purred over their last phone call.

Amy smirked. Too true was that statement; she felt as alive as she always did after an assignment. She grabbed her black boots from the mud-room of the mansion on her way out, walking into the driveway in just her tights. The gravel scratched the soles of her feet as she strutted out to her car.

With one last salute to the house, Amy pulled off the blonde wig she had worn and scoffed as she tossed it into the back seat of the red Mustang. It was time to get out of the ridiculous outfit she was wearing and back into some real clothes. She tried not to scoff in disgust as she ripped off her tiny skirt and tights right there in front of the house and pulled on a pair of tight black skinny jeans.

Shedding her too-tight pink blouse, she traded that for a looser silvery tank top and slid into her black boots. Ah, it was nice to be back. As she pulled out of the driveway and ruffled her auburn hair, Amy briefly wondered what this unfortunate soul had done to piss off Vikram.

Alas, it was too late. Not that it mattered - Sergio Alcatraz was dead and gone. She assumed that the police would discover the body in about five hours or so when he wouldn't show up to work.

Amy grinned down at the suitcase on the passenger's seat. As she came to a stop at a red light in the center of town, she opened it up. Inside were stacks upon stacks of hundred-dollar bills. What a wonderful arrangement she and Vikram had; she killed off people who had wronged him while she got to keep whatever she wanted from the person.

"I wonder what Dan would say if he could see me now..." Amy pondered, thinking of her younger brother. She hadn't seem him in years, not since her trip to England.

He'd probably try to call the police. And yell at her for becoming what she was.

Amy giggled lightly to herself. Dan would eat those words if he ever felt the rush of being a trained assassin, as deadly as those childish ninjas he always used to speak of. She sighed contentedly, turning up the music in the car.

"Another knife in my hands, a stain that never comes off the sheets, clean me off, I'm so dirty babe!" she sang along with the song, thinking of the row of blades she had stashed in her bag.

Amy pulled into the parking lot of a fancy restaurant and parked right outside the doors. She clicked off the car and pulled out her purse, a small maroon over the shoulder bag. A stack of ten hundred-dollar bills followed her lip stick and mascara into the bag. After that she pulled her hair into a low pony-tail and situated a red wig on her head until it looked natural.

"Reservation for Wizard," she told the waited who nodded.

"Right this way, Miss." He led her to the back of the dimly lit restaurant, the smell of expensive food and perfume wafting into Amy's nose.

A room at the back had been saved for the man who Amy was meeting there. They had a deal, and Amy sure as hell wasn't going to let some amateur forger ruin her being under cover with a chance of someone over hearing them.

The room was small and private, a thick wooden door seperating them from the rest of the world. There was very little light, just small fairy lights glittering along the purple velvet wall.

"You're late," Jonah Wizard chuckled, taking a sip of bubbling champagne.

Amy smiled charmingly and replied, "You're simply early. I had some stuff to take care of." She took a seat in the gold plated chair and looked over the food selection.

Jonah leaned forward, an amused expression on his face. "May I ask what kind of stuff, Doll?"

"Don't Doll me." Suddenly, Jonah Wizard found himself with the barrel of a gun lined up to his face.

He moved backward slowly, his arms raised in a gesture of apology. "Sorry, miss. That's just what I've heard your nickname is around here. Doll."

"Oh," Amy said, lowering the gun. "I suppose so, yes. And for your information, if I told you what I was doing, I'd have to kill you."

"I don't doubt that, Doll," Jonah replied. "Not for a second."

Amy frowned and took a bite of the cavier in front of her. "Not bad. So where's what I asked for?"

Jonah bent over and grabbed a small bag from the ground. He shook the contents out. "Here you are."

A passport, an ID, and a credit card tumbled onto the table. Amy picked them up greedily, looking each piece over carefully.

"These are very good," she admitted. "You even got the blue eyes right."

Jonah crossed his arms. "I told you, I'm the best money can buy! Speaking of which... Where is it?"

"Tut tut tut, is that any way to act around a lady?" Amy taunted, pulling out the money from inside her purse. "But here it is."

Jonah grabbed the wad of cash and flicked through it. "I'm counting a thousand. I asked for two." He leaned forward. "Do you know how difficult it is to do this stuff? It ain't easy, that's for sure."

Amy stood up with the exchanged pieces of forgery in her bag. "Take the thousand, or you'll be the next sucker on my list. My employer is very easy-going when it comes to my free-lance activities."

A flash of recognition swept across Jonah's face as he nodded. "Got it, Doll. Thanks for the cash."

"My pleasure," Amy sneered, picking up her champagne glass and downing it in one swig. "And remember, if anyone finds out about this, you'll wish that you were never born."

On that last note, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room, feeling victorious. Next stop: a payphone to call her Boss.


Vikram was a man of few words. He spoke to Amy only when needed, and even then, it was usually in as few words as physically possible. Amy didn't mind in the least - communicating with less words than others showed a higher sign of intelligence in her opinion. And she didn't mind silence either. Though she avidly listened to music, quiet was always a nice break.

Amy stepped out of the car and grinned. It was a perfect day out, and speaking to Vikram would only help her boost her ego. One target succesfully bumped off, a mound of cash in her car, new ID's and passports, and now a word from her Boss.

Quickly, she dialed the number into the payphone, rolling her eyes as the over-sees operator asked her who she wanted to speak with.

"Jason Latoya," she repsonded, using Vikram's alias.

There was a pause before Vikram's voice said, "Hello, my panther."

Amy grinned. "Nice to hear from you, Boss. I got rid of the last target and I have the photograph. Is it alright to look at it?"

"Yes. Did you get what you needed?" he asked.

"Of course, Mr. Wizard was very...generous," Amy purred. "Is there anything I should know about this next target?"

There was a full few seconds of hesitation, which shocked Amy to the very core. One of Vikram's mottos when training her had been, "Never hesitate. A man who hesitates is a dead one, in both words and actions. Remember that, my panther."

But then he said, "No. Just remember that you're a daughter to me."

Amy felt her heart swell with pride. Finally, the words she'd been hoping to hear! Her father had betrayed she and the rest of her family, resulting in her mother's death. At the age of sixteen she had learned that he had been sent on an assassination mission that targeted her mother. Eventually, with the added pressure of whoever his Boss was, Arthur Trent had snapped and killed his wife, nearly killing Dan and Amy.

When Amy had hit the age of seventeen, she had bought a ticket to England, abandoning her younger brother, au pair, and the devastating death of her grandmother, Grace. While she was there, shopping in a small book store, Amy had literally run into a man who called himself Vikram Cahill. They talked for a little while and then offered her a job as his personal assisstant.

Three months after working as his assisstant in a cooperation that dealth with international shipping, Vikram had offered to start training her in martial arts and defensive strategies. By the year's end, she had been trained with deadly precision, a finely tuned instrument built to kill.

"Thank you, Boss, that means the world to me," Amy choked out, feeling tears spring to her eyes.

"You're welcome, panther. Now go and complete your mission." Without another word, the phone beeped in good-bye.

Amy hung up the phone and grinned before turning around and laughing. She was free after this mission. This was the last one on the list. Finally, after years of work! Vikram had promised her ten million dollars in reward for doing this, and as soon as this last idiot was off the face of the planet, she was free to go.


The word sounded strange on her lips as she sang it into the empty car. "Free!" she trilled, giggling. "With ten million dollars..."

Suddenly, the world seemed open to new possibilities. A thousand doors were opened to her and all it had cost was some spilt blood and a whole lot of adrenaline. Amy sat in her car and pulled the picture out of her purse, folding it open carefully.

It was a picture of a very attractive man with jet black hair, smirking at the camera. He was tall and well-built, his eyes shining amber in a way that Amy had only seen on super-models. He looked to be about Amy's age and was wearing expensive clothing, his arm slung around someone else's shoulders. The picture had been ripped down the middle so she couldn't see who it was, but it was enough for her.

She turned it around. On the back in Vikram's elegant script were the words, Ian Kabra. Good Luck, My Panther.

SO, here's this! I'm gonna continue it if I get good reviews for it! I KNOW Amy is INCREDIBLY OOC and such, but it's AU and it gets better with time.

Disclaimer: I don't own the 39 Clues or MCR's song in the middle there. Oh, and the image is courtesy of Google images. XD

Thanks a bunch!

~Dani :)