Devil's Tears

Even the most beautiful things can be stained by destruction.

A halo of red appeared around the man’s pale face as Dorian Castro placed the smoking gun in the politician’s outstretched hand. Crimson liquid stained the once angel white tiles and Dorian remained emotionless as the silence of his job loitered in the air.

The gloves prevented his skin from meeting the sticky substance as the weapon was placed down but nothing could conceal the stench of death wafting into the air. Dorian made slight haste to double check that everything was in place before leaving the dark bedroom, no remorse in his quick step.

One minute of his life to take the rest of someone else’s.

An incomparable equation, yet one Dorian was strikingly familiar with. He found it intriguing how so many people saw the world as purely black or purely white, when there was clearly so much greyer than either of those options. From a young age, it had been engrained in his mind that there was always an argument for either side. Murder could be justified if the right person argued the correct reasons. And some part of a soul would find agreement in even the evilest of reasons. A human trait that has never acknowledged.

Dorian strolled down the streets of a small town whose name he had no recollection of. He was here on business. And whenever business was involved, it was his sole focus. Eyes the colour of every little girl’s dream forest scanned the empty streets as his feet carried him with a sense of accomplishment. Today had been an easy job for the twenty-six-year-old, but not necessarily boring. Nothing was ever boring in this young, raven-haired man’s life.

The people of the town were caught up in their own misery and troubles, judging by the way no one spared him a glance, though his over six-foot figure stood out amongst the crowd. It had been a relatively normal day for him, a quick in and out job this time around. Although, from the details Genesis had emailed him, his next client would be quite the opposite. Probably quite messy too. Maybe he would be allowed creative freedom, although he doubted it since everything usually needed to be kept under wraps and be easily covered up. None of the ideas circling his mind ticked off either of those requirements and he imagined that Genesis would be very unimpressed if he had to deal with a mess Dorian had caused. In fact, Dorian believed that he himself would end up becoming the mess.

Dark ivy vines wound their way up the red brick buildings on his left that he paid no mind too, instead too intent on pondering the type of job that would be forwarded his way next. If Dorian was lucky, he would be faced with something dangerous, something thrilling that caused his heart to race and his blood pressure to skyrocket. That, Dorian thought, would be something worth the monstrous amounts of dollars he would receive. An adrenaline hit, supplying the rush that he yearned for every moment it escaped his reach.

The sun blared down on his back, doing nothing to melt the frost that had overcome the city, purely providing the people with a source of light and comfort. Dorian snorted internally, light and comfort. They were the antonyms to his personality. He was more of a dark and murderous type. The type that good girls fawn over but never chase. The type that are side eyed by normal people and remain at the forefront of minds.

“Oh, thank fuck you stopped. Some of us don’t have legs up to their armpits y’know?” Dorian scowled at the young woman who had ran into his back. Long, blonde hair whipped around her face and a sweater, the colour of the blood that stained his gloved hands, caressed her short torso. Black jeans highlighted her curvy figure and black ankle boots gave her a bit of added height.

“What do you want?” The man quickly asked. He wasn’t exactly pressed for time, but this blonde-haired woman deserved none of his.

The woman lifted her eyebrows, “So, what they say is true. You do come across as a true dick. But apparently, you’re good at what you do. So, here.” She shoved over a stuffed envelope which was filled with fifty-dollar bills, to Dorian’s surprise. What on earth was this woman on about?

Dorian let out an exasperated sigh, “Look, I’m not a prostitute or escort or whatever you think I am. Take your money and leave me alone.”

“You think I need to pay for sex?” The woman laughed and her brown eyes sparkled in the winter sun. It was only then that Dorian noticed the black circles shadowing her eyes. “No, I need your assassin services. You are in the industry, right?”

Dorian looked around lazily before pulling the woman closer to his body and the smell of coffee and fresh bread overwhelmed his senses.

“You can’t just yell it out to the world.” He seethed. “I am in the industry, but I don’t do jobs for those who don’t have valid reason.”

The woman seemed undisturbed with his anger and just flared up like a firecracker. “You don’t even know what I need you to do, nor the reason why. Hear me out before you go running to assumptions.”

Dorian let go of her arms and took a step back. “I’ll listen. But not here. Meet me at The Blade tonight at nine pm. Don’t be late and don’t waste my time.”

Despite not knowing the name of the town he was in; Dorian Castro was well aware of the places to go for one to enjoy themselves and the places to go when one did not want to be overheard.

When Dorian unlocked the door to the hotel room he was given, the hairs on his neck stood up and he slipped the knife hidden in his jacket sleeve to the palm of his hand smoothly. Facing the door, he took a single, steadying breath before turning around to face whatever idiot decided to ruin his day even further.

“Dorian, you’re looking extra sour today. What, did you take too long this time? Not beat the personal record?” A muscular figure smirked from his position on the king bed against the wall in the centre of the room. Dorian’s shoulders relaxed and he took several steps forward, leaning against the table opposite the black bed.

“Cain. Why’re you here, mate?” Dorian asked as he crossed his arms over his sturdy chest.

“Can’t I come visit my best friend?” Cain asked as he twirled a small blade around his fingers.

Dorian rolled his eyes, “It’s not like it’s illegal, but it’s also not what you do.”

“True,” Cain started, “but I was in the area and thought I’d pop in to see you. It has been a while since we caught up last. I was busy with the royal family, and you were busy doing, y’know, what you do. Anyway, I just came for shits and giggles.”

Dorian Castro and Cain Gallagher had been best friends for many years, ever since the former punched the latter in the face for hitting on a (very) uncomfortable young woman. It was safe to say that Cain had quickly matured and learnt what the word respect actually meant. Dorian taught him that straight after he taught him how to clean a cut lip.

Dorian studied his friend for a moment before dropping his arms and running a hand through his unruly black hair as a humorous expression crossed his defined features. “I love how you expect me to not detect your lies. Would you like to come somewhere with me tonight?”

Cain let out a small grimace, “Depends. Is this work related or for pleasure?”

“I can’t say I’m entirely sure. I think a bit of both.”

A smile spreads its way across Dorian’s best friend’s face as he shrugs, “Well, in that case, count me in. Sounds like a good time.”

“It’s always a good time if I’m there.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, mate. It’s just awkward for everyone involved.”

“Oh shut your mouth, you ass.”

Cain and Dorian walked comfortably into The Blade at five past nine. Truthfully, they had arrived at ten to, but the first rule of being in any industry that relied on reputation, was to make whoever you were meeting aware that your own time is of the essence. After all, it is well known that time is money.

The Blade was the type of night club that was frequented by disloyal husbands and muscular tattooed men wanting a fix. The only women who appeared were either experienced, or foolish. The dark grey walls were illuminated by neon lights and a deep bass thrummed throughout the vast room. Dorian’s eyes scanned the premise as Cain made his way over to a booth at the back. The former was struggling to lay eyes on the fiery blonde who had stopped him in the street before, despite the lack of femineity in the building.

After several moments, Dorian caught a glimpse of her honey hair near the bar and he quickly strolled over, confidence being exuded from his figure. She looked different at night than in the day – in fact, Dorian noted that she actually looked more comfortable at the dark and dangerous bar than she had in the light of day in bust streets. Black pants hugged her muscular legs and a red fitted top outlined the chest that had every man’s eyes drawn. Completed with an authentic black leather jacket and ankle boots, there was no doubt that this woman knew how to work the club scene well and had adjusted to feel at home when in such scenarios.

Dorian took a seat next to the woman but continued to look straight forward. Waves of pleasant surprise surrounded him when he noticed that she did not look nor flinch at his arrival, instead continuing to sip at her martini and leave bold red lipstick stains around the edges.

“Here,” The woman said as she slid a thick manila folder over to Dorian, “is everything you need to know about my request.”

Dorian quickly opened the folder and read through the files with an emotionless expression. There was a profile on a man who shared a striking resemblance with that of an ugly dog. His recent activities and bank details were all listed alongside several paparazzi looking photos and other basic information. There was a singular page dedicated to places the man frequented often and at what times. Honestly, Dorian was impressed. This file had the type of depth that he strived for with every new client. This random woman had just presented him with a file so detailed it put his own, a professional assassin’s, files to shame, certainly something that draw his eyebrows together internally.

“You want me to kill some random man?” He asked in a monotonous tone, not allowing himself to be caught offside due to her newfound look.

“Not a random man, you maniac. He’s my uncle. I need him dead.” The woman said as she gave him a serious look, tinted with hints of desperation.

“Am I allowed to ask why?”

She turned back to face the bar; any emotions leaked were now erased from existence. “You can ask but I won’t give you an answer that provides the clarity you seek.”

Dorian was caught off guard at her honesty and her forwardness. He noticed her body language and how she didn’t seem uneased at the high pressure and high stakes situation – almost as if she was used to them. Dorian was used to them as a result of his job; however he was failing to articulate what could lead this smaller woman to hold such an air of professionality.

“I see. Well then, what’s your name?”

“Hm?” This appeared to surprise the woman slightly as her eyebrows raised at the question.

“Your name?”

“No, I got that, why do you want it?” She asked, turning her body to face him as she took the last sip of her dirty martini.

Dorian scoffed at her absurdity, “You want me to murder one of your family members without even knowing your name? That’s just naïve.”

After a moment of contemplation, the woman nodded in understanding. “Morrigan. Morrigan Adamson.”

“Aren’t you going to ask my name?”

“Why would I, Dorian Castro? I did plenty of research. I know some things about you.”

“That’s a bit ominous. It also seems that I am at a disadvantage. You know plenty about me yet I know next to nothing about you.”

“God forbid you be uninformed. Well, if you must know,” Morrigan leaned in, as if she was going to tell Dorian her biggest secret. “My favourite song is Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes.”

The woman pulled away and smirked at the slight surprise on her acquaintance’s face as his features contorted with frustration. It was not her fault that Dorian was gullible enough to believe that she would tell someone, an assassin no less, personal information when not necessary. And general chit chat did not fall into the ‘necessary’ category. Thus, she found no reason to divulge anything to the man next to her. Morrigan also liked that she was getting on his nerves, it severely amused the blonde woman.

After taking the briefest of moments to regain his composure, Dorian set his jaw, “As much as I find your proposal scintillating, I must decline at the current time because I have just received a high priority contract and it is imperative that I fulfill it. Sincerest apologies.”

Morrigan appeared undeterred, “Your loss, then. You would have enjoyed this one.”

Dorian raised a brow, “Well, if that is all Miss. Adamson, it would be best for me to be on my way.”

Morrigan’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she waved her fingers in a goodbye. “Until we may meet again, Mr. Castro. Always a pleasure to be in your presence.” She said before giving Dorian a sly wink and letting her body draw eyes as her hips sauntered through the club and out onto the awaiting streets of Altsburghin.

“You look like you had fun,” Cain mused as Dorian ran a hair through his slightly unruly black hair and slid into the booth next to his best friend.

“I never knew women could be so…sophisticated. She managed to capture my attention and get under my skin simultaneously.” Dorian huffed as he ordered a straight whiskey from the circulating bartender.

Cain guffawed, “That’s a first. Although, she did seem to have fire in her, I could tell from all the way over here. What’s her name?”

“Morrigan Adamson. God, her outfit drove me up the wall.” Dorian sighed as he thought about the way those tight pants defined the natural curves of the woman and how the blood red lipstick staining her lips made his heart skip too many beats. He never let anyone distract him like she had, it was a habit that would get him caught. Yet, she was just so breathtaking. So beautiful that he couldn’t bear to look away.

“Yeah, you and every other man in here. Did you see the way they stared at her like she was their prey? God, some men are mere animals.” Cain whistled as he leaned back against the black cushioned chair. “What’d she want anyway?”

“She had a job for me. Her uncle.”

“No reason why?”

He shrugged, “Not any that she was willing to share. I’d say something personal, something that clearly cut deep.”

“Well, I have had my fair share of family feuds, but none of them have resulted in murder so she’s either a psychopath or he’s a real criminal offender. I’m going to go with the latter, considering she seems to have her head screwed on properly.”

Dorian let Cain’s statement hang in the air for a moment. There was a fleeting moment when Morrigan seemed almost fearful of the man she mentioned, as if he was the one weapon that could penetrate her armor. Vulnerability hung in the words she had spoke before she quickly scrubbed it clean and went back to her confident façade.

“I’m not sure. I’ve met with a lot of clients, and none have been as confusing as her. She held herself with confidence, but it was like her uncle was her one point of weakness, the one vulnerability. Maybe he’s abusive. It was hard to get a clear reading, honestly it could be anything.”

“Did you take it on at least?”

Dorian shook his head, “Can’t. Genesis texted on the way here that he’s got a high-profile client for me. That means I can’t take anyone else on until it’s finished.”

“You met with her and had no intentions to ever accept her case?” Cain asked. “That’s unlike you. Usually you don’t even bother.”

Dorian let a small frown cross his handsome features, “I felt bad. Plus, even I wouldn’t stand a woman up in this hellhole. Lord knows what would happen.”

Cain took a double-take at his best friend’s statement. Dorian Castro was not one for emotions and certainly not for pity, sympathy, or anything of the like. Clearly, this woman, whoever she was, had piqued the interest of the broody assassin by his side. “She looked like she would’ve held her own.”

Dorian nodded stiffly, movements slowed in thought, “Indeed. I think she would have.”

He had no doubt that Morrigan would have happily taken on anyone who decided that she was an object, however there was a fire in his mind that he pushed down. He didn’t want her to have to fight her battles all alone. She was a gorgeous person and seemed to have the matching personality. Then again, she was a raging ball of fire. Unpredictable and able to burn.

Little did the two know how true their words were as they observed the other customers and sipped their alcoholic beverages. Morrigan Adamson was not merely a confident woman, she was a whole force to be reckoned with, a force that Dorian Castro was certainly not prepared to wrangle.