1 Chapter 1

2347 – 04 | 24 | 20XX

THE HARDIN CLUB

ONYX DIVISION, SECTOR 42

"Target acquired," I casually said.

Music was blaring everywhere. Lights were strewn across the place. Bodies were dancing rhythmically to the music. Along with the beat, I drum my finger on my thighs matching the thrumming bass of the boom box. The heat was emanating inside the Hardin Club, people drenched in sweat as they swayed to the electronic boom of the speakers as if it were the last hours.

The Hardin Club is a small club exclusive to its wealthy members only. It is located in the Onyx Division of Sector 42—the bustling division of the sector. When one would not look closely, they're just going to see men and women clad in jewelry and designer clothes. But behind the wealth was a façade behind a series of swindling and corruption, bleeding inside their body.

But Cortex Operations—the secret agency service where I was working—couldn't just capture them without tangible legal basis and proof. And most of these people keep the economy of Proxima Nova running—the island-city state located east of the Philippines, specifically near the Visayan islands.

In the midst of the sonorous club music, static crackled in my earpiece, and then, I heard Grand's voice. "Roger, Kath."

I made my way among the throng of people, purposefully hidden among the drunks, but casually moving my hips as to avoid drawing suspicion from one of his goons who might be watching him—the guy dressed in the mauve suit talking flirtatiously to the ladies at the bar counter. He was dashing with his muscular physique, but not overly ripped—he was lean like a swimmer, not what I totally expected.

Bradley Montreal was slightly different from the files Grand had have shown me. This guy looked easy-going, devoid of any sign of violence. His movements were relaxed as his arms snaked around the shoulders of the women talking to him. Then he rubbed their bare arms intimately at the same time, and I swore to the heavens above, both of the ladies giggled.

I rolled my eyes.

After a few moments, Grand talked again, his voice worried. "Kath, I know we are in a mess right now. But… I just want to tell you to be careful. You know you can stop—"

I clicked the earpiece integrated in my diamond earing and cut him off. I didn't want to ruin my mission. Inside my mind, I dismissed Grand's voice. We had just broken up last month, but the wound in my heart was still raw. I didn't want him to distract me from this valuable mission.

With renewed focused, I repeated the mission inside my mind:

Go to Brad's home by seducing him;

Steal the Azazelian Lair's blueprint and floorplans;

Take whatever intel you can take; and

Kill him.

Chin held up high, I heaved a deep breath and crossed my fingers. I couldn't mess this up right now. I took this A-Mission because it would mean higher credit and higher chance for promotion.

Boss bitch face on, I strode across the dance floor and forced myself to forget Grand's voice one last time. And with my mind clear, I let loose the animal inside me and I freed myself in this mission's demand. I danced, my body moving like water snaking down the river. Piece by piece, I whipped out my white fur scarf and let it hang over my elbows, showing more skin that should attract guys.

Successfully, I managed to catch the attention of some guys. I kept on moving my hips, my hair blowing past me as I danced to the DJ's music. I let the beat control my body; my wrists flicking as I raised my hands in the air, neck exposed, eyes closed. It felt like a long time and I was intoxicated in the allure of the music.

Whipping my hair to the side, the crescendo of the music was building, and I didn't care when a guy held me on the waist. I moved in sync with him, grinding closer to his body as we danced together as if we'd done this before.

Too caught up in the moment of relief and freedom from the past few days' stress, I had almost forgotten about my mission. I needed to get Bradley Montreal's attention—the mafia boss whom I was tasked to assassinate. So, I pivoted my head to the guy behind me—in all fairness, he was cute with black air and the chinito eyes—and mouthed 'Gotta go.'

I edged out of the dancefloor, just to be in close proximity with Bradley's position. He was still there, still flirting with the same ladies. The one right beside him laughed when he whispered something. Brad gave a smile too, but his smile vanished when his eyes finally landed at me.

Brad saw me looking at him, hungrily—just as what I wanted him to see. I flipped my hair at him, looking sideways but my body language screamed invitation to him as I swung my body forward and backward, side to side. I moved my shoulders languidly, quite inviting him over to me—baiting him to entertain this girl who wanted to be with him.

And then, we locked eyes, and in that moment, I felt his hunger as his eyes travelled from my face, down toward my fitted black satin dress that went just above my knees. I let the fur hung over my elbows, biting my lips and winked at him.

Enticed by my provocative invitation, Bradley Montreal finally rose from his seat, leaving the ladies behind him dumbfounded. I gave them a smirk and continued dancing. But now, I was directly looking at Brad, meeting his stare with the same fake intensity that I needed to emit in order to win him over.

He prowled towards me like a lion—a king no one should mess with. I wouldn't deny it—Brad was handsome. He had deep-seated eyes and thick eye brows that no wonder women over the bar counter were giving me daggers. And when he was close to me, I noticed his long, straight lashes; it wasn't arched, but it greatly accentuated the shape of his eyes.

Brad placed his hands on my waist, looking at me directly in the eye. He was tall but I was almost eye level with him. The mafia boss gave me his most winning smile, those perfect pearl teeth gleaming in the club of shifting lights.

"Hey, beautiful," he started. The whiff of his breath gave me goosebumps. His voice was deep and low, like a drum pounded inside a cavernous room. The words felt like an order and a compliment—no wonder this guy could order a shootout even if it involved innocents without batting an eye. "Nice dress, by the way," he added.

Before answering, I put my arms over his neck, pulling him closer. "Stephanie," I introduced, faking my name so that he would have a hard time looking for me lest this mission went to hell. "Well, if the disco guy didn't notice me, I wouldn't be having a fun night. Yeah?" I added.

He chuckled. We moved to the beat, our bodies swaying together, melding in the closeness. The longer we moved to the thrum of the sound, the closer we get—in the span of a moment, I noticed that he smelled like champagne and cigarettes, coupled with his musky perfume.

After a few moments, he said, "Oh, how rude of me. I didn't even introduce myself." Inside my mind, I wanted to shout at him that first, he was already rude for killing innocents and second, I already knew him so no need for introductions. Instead, I bit those words in my tongue and raised my eyebrows at him, smirking. "Call me Aid."

'Aid, huh?' I thought.

Brad's face was getting closer to mine that I could see the shifting lights on the fleck of his hazel eyes. Well, no matter what name he introduced himself, he's still Bradley Montreal, the murderer, to me. I wanted to spit on his face, but then did otherwise.

"Wanna have fun tonight, love?" he finally asked. We moved closer to the middle of the dancefloor, and heat was blooming against my skin.

I feigned a blush, and conservatively laughed. "Your place?"

"Sure," he said, kissing me on the lips.

I returned the same intensity so as not to throw him off the scent. I wrapped his hair around my fingers and pulled him closer to me. I felt his hand caressing my bare shoulders, trailing down to the small of my back, then back up again and settled on the delicate skin of my nape—at his touch, a shiver coursed through my body like a crack of lighting.

When we broke apart, we were both gasping for air. A sly grin drew on his lips then he spoke, "Damn, you're one hell of a good kisser, love."

I faked a flattered snicker. "If you want more, maybe we should go to your place now." I eyed him innocently making him think that I was just a stupid girl who wanted to get laid. And things would get messy tonight, indeed.

I'd prove that to him tonight when I left his body cold on the ground of his own home. I anchored myself back to reality.

"Sure, we can go now," he finally retorted.

I smirked as he swiveled, my hand locked with his, as we head together to the exit.

Phase One completed.

The air was cold when we stepped out of the Hardin Club. From the parking lot, I could still hear the muffled sound emanating from the Club. Brad held my hand tightly; his thumb drawing circles on the back on my palm as we head for the parking lot. We walked a long way, navigating among the expensive cars parked.

Clandestinely, I inspected the area for anyone who might be watching us, but surprisingly no one was here. Not even a shoddy couple who were making out in this array of cars (who usually turned out to be bodyguards) or even just a man who was coincidentally just going out of the bar. We were unexpectedly alone no matter how I turned my head from side to side.

"We're here," he said. A sleek black car greeted us. With Brad's freehand, he pressed his thumb against the fingerprint scanner on the shotgun door. Then with an automated beep, it opened. "Here, milady."

I laughed him off, and went inside the car. Then he jogged around the front, and joined me in the driver's seat. He flicked some switch located at the top of his car, and then with a series of commands, the car roared to life.

"Touché," I commented, eyeing the control panels in front of me. "It smells like a brand-new car in here," I continued.

He snickered. "Well, love," he said, the car moving backwards, out of its parking space, then he swerved to the right down to the highway ahead, "I keep this babe in extreme care right here."

Now, we were speeding across the midnight highway of Onyx Division, the neon lights blurring past us in the flamboyant streets of Flintstone Avenue. From here, I could see men and women entering casinos, exotic dancers in the side street, and the painful blare of large LED screens painted on the building walls.

And then, after a series of twist and turns, we emerged in the larger area of Onyx Division leaving behind the galvanizing night life of Flintstone—Geode Avenue.

"You live in Geode?" I asked Brad, my head directed on the car's window as I watched the transition from a very lively night to a quiet avenue.

"Hmm," he retorted. "No, not really."

I shrugged, pulling the fur closer to my shoulders because of the cold. Brad might had noticed me because a second later, he adjusted the temperature of the car. I mouthed a small "Thank you" to him. He just winked, smiling.

I shook my head, grinning.

Compared to Flintstone's clubs, bars, and casinos, Geode Avenue was the central hub of occupation and business of Sector 42, and largest among the division's three avenues. Skyscrapers rose like needles ready to pop the sky open with its pointy ends, buildings were radiating light on their edges, and condominiums were glowing with nightly work from overworked all-nighters. Yet, the streets were sparse, businesspeople gone to their personal lives and offices closed for the night.

"I noticed you love the streets, yeah?" he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

I shifted on my seat, away from the window and faced him. "I kinda like the city lights," I replied. "The tall buildings, the vast expanse, all of those."

A gleam of mischief on his lips. Smirking, he countered, "Well, you must have a great interest on large…things."

I rolled my eyes at him.

Then, without warning, I felt his hand caressing my thigh, the metallic watch pressing coldly against my skin. I wanted him to take his hand off me, repulsed by his touch. But as much as I wanted to put his hand away from me, I needed to keep the act going.

"Like it, Steph?"

I mumbled, "Yeah."

He continued for a while, and I clenched my hands against the hand rail beside me as he continued teasing my bare thighs with his fingers. Eventually, the heating revolt I felt was morphed in a sensual sensation creeping inside me, my bones prickled by icy needles for which at that moment, I wanted to melt in a cascade of a water curtain.

If Brad were not a mafia boss, I would have considered him.

Brad took his hand off my thigh as he veered the car towards the left intersection, coursing through the empty roads that led to Fallen Rock avenue. I realized that he was not taking me to a condominium—or an apartment. I didn't know where he was taking me. But as far as I know of Sector 42 and its divisions, I knew the Fallen Rock was where persons of high-profile lived.

If he was taking me to Fallen Rock Avenue, then that would mean that he had a house and lot somewhere. Perhaps, a mansion.

"Wanna give me something fun, love?" Brad's finger was tapping on the steering wheel, occasionally moving the wheel. Did he know something that I didn't? "Love?"

Devoid of any alternatives and unsure if he really did know something, I subjected to his request. Biting the inside of my cheek, I moved on my sit and leaned towards him. I could not fail this mission so I was going to do everything in my arsenal.

Brad groaned as I nibbled his earlobe. Then, I let my fingers unbutton the upper parts of the shirt inside his suit. Trailing kisses on his jaw, he heaved a deep pleasured breath when my lip touch his collarbone.

I played with the skin on his neck, caressing his bulging muscles beneath the suit that he was wearing. There was a crackle of sexual tension in the air—and honestly, Brad's smell was intoxicating, sending a flurry of sensation inside my body.

God, I was responding to him.

"Love, don't overdo it, or we would crash," Brad croaked. "We don't want that, do we?" And then, he caressed my bare thighs again.

I giggled, and returned to my seat.

He was driving fast, the car like a blur in the empty streets. Gone were the city lights; now, we were entering the first signs of prestigious houses and peaceful abodes—the gates of villages showing the large houses. We went up a hill, and beyond the expanse of both sides, the large houses inside the villages were erected on the sloping land.

We continued silently for a while, catching our breaths. Then to cut the silence, I purposefully asked a harmless question out of the blue.

"Aid?" I asked him.

"Yes, love?"

"Why do you have a thick English accent?" I innocently asked, my voice reeking with a girl's fascination over a London boy. Although I know that he really grew up in London, according to the file that Grand had shown me, trained as a skilled killer. Intel said that he killed a horde of police with only a handgun inside an enclosed office.

Brad laughed.

"You ladies love the English accent, don't you?" Pivoting his head to face me, I was stoked by his piercing hazel eyes, alluring me into the predator inside him.

And then suddenly, I remembered Grand. I could hear Grand's soft voice, always asking me if I am okay. The phantom of Grand's body as we made love inside his bunk, his bed groaning under the weight of his manic movement, was an apparition that I could never wipe away from my mind.

"Love?"

I am taken back to reality as Brad now questioningly glanced at me. As much as I wanted to forget Grand in this mission, he just kept haunting me. Three years together would not be dismissed in a month. Especially, when we kept seeing each other in the Cortex Sphere here in Sector 42.

I cleared my throat. "Well, I was nervous." I sifted through my brain for any kind of excuse for me spacing out. "You look wild." I replied instead.

Then he sniggered, his eyes reflecting pure warmth and humor. No matter how much I stared at him, he didn't seem like the type of guy who could kill a person. "Hmm, you virgin, love?"

"No," I retorted. My eyes landed on his fingers, it appealed to me that those hands didn't seem to hold a gun—they were nimble and thin. I continued, "And virginity is just a made-up word anyway, of a faux-conventional of what is appropriate for a lady."

"Feisty," he whispered. "We're almost there."

Bradley turned the car to the right, stopping at the guard house momentarily for the guard to open the large gates. Then we continued slowly along the plain—as I came to realize, this particular village was the richest among the villages that we had passed. The hill seemed to level out into a plateau on this side of the Avenue, so the village streets didn't slope downward. Over here, the houses were colossal—no these were not just mere house, these were mansions and manors. There were large fountains with water dancing in the air over one manor, then on another was a humungous statue of a woman riding a horse.

I gulped at the sight of these houses. Sure, the mafia boss was not taking me to his condo. He might not even have condo in the first place; the place is too small for him, probably. We slowed down along the street, and heading towards the largest mansion that I had ever seen my whole life.

Bradley Montreal took me straight into the mafia den.

A moment later, he spoke. "Welcome to my house, love."