"I'm not coming home for dinner...love you, too. Bye."
The phone gave a soft glow as she ended the conversation, tucking the device back into its holster. The night was already dark, the stars spattered across the sky like fleck of crimson blood upon virgin snow. She crept across the rooftop, the light breeze stirring her soft blonde hair and startling a few small birds into flight. From her position, she could clearly see her targets, all gathered in the garden courtyard of the home. There were to be no survivors; all eleven participants in the quiet wedding were to be eliminated, starting with the blushing bride.
With deadly accuracy that spoke of years of experience, she brought her arm forward, sending the knife speeding to the base of the bride's skull. She slumped to the ground gracefully, not a sound escaping her cooling lips. Every other person there whirled around, pulling out guns and aiming them at her as she stood fearlessly on the roof.
"What a joke."
As they all fired shots at her, she ran towards the edge of the roof, pulling her own sniper rifle into her hands. She jumped, arcing lithely over the congregation, and fired three precise shots, each finding their mark between a man's eyes. Landing in a crouch at the other end of the courtyard, she quickly dove behind a fountain as shots bit the dirt at her heels. She waited until she heard the tell-tale clicks of weapons reloading, and then stole the opening, aiming the barrel of her rifle around the fountain's statue to take out another five victims.
The only two left now were the parents of the bride, a slight woman cowering and whimpering behind her husband, who held a gun aimed at her with trembling hands.
"Don't come any closer! I'll--I'll shoot! I'll kill you!"
She stepped out from behind her cover, casually reloading a clip into her gun. Settling it into her hands once more, she slowly raised it to aim at the man's head.
"And what makes you think I won't?"
The man's eyes widened a fraction before they froze in eternal shock, the bullet cleanly entering and exiting through his forehead. The woman screamed, the sound cut off abruptly by yet another bullet. She let go of her gun, letting it hang by her side. Her mission was complete; now came the hard part: getting home alive.
"You're late."
He had waited for her to return, biding his time with a glass of whiskey and a book. When she slipped through the door, carefully pulling every lock back into place, he rose from his chair to regard her sternly. She stared back at him, not intimidated in the least.
"I told you I would be."
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he looked away.
"I didn't think you would be this late. I was finished hours ago."
She frowned, walking over to the kitchen where she laid her rifle on the counter beside his handguns. He followed after her, watching as she turned her back on him to retrieve a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. She opened the bottle with a crisp pop and observed him coolly, taking a leisurely sip from the bottle before answering.
"You didn't have to outrun the entire yakuza. And besides, you were sloppy. You have blood on your face."
She reached out her bare hand to wipe at the scattering of droplets on the left side of his jaw, and he caught her wrist in his hand. Without ever taking his eyes off hers, he brought the palm of her hand to his lips, first kissing it, and then tracing letters on the delicate skin: M...I...N...E...
"I'm not yours. I'll never be yours."
She pierced him with a hard glare, and he only laughed. It was a lie, and they both knew it; they were made for each other, the only ones who could love each other as they both needed. No one else would understand her like he did, and no one else could care about him like she did. She could deny it, would deny it to the grave, but there was nothing that could change the truth.
"Whatever you say...honey."
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Inspired by this picture: Honey
