Scarletstroke: Girl assassin

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* No hesitation * No killing a child * No killing innocent people with families * No emotions * And defenitely, NO falling in love ~ Those are the main rules code named Scarletstroke, former assassin Scarlett Gonzales lives by. She is a highly-trained, highly-precise and highly-dangerous killer who considers herself the same as any other businesswoman, doing 'just her job' and convincing herself that she is dealing with 'just her target' rather than a person. She succeeds in contract killing better than any known assassin that ever existed and successfully ignores all feelings or emotions, knowing that they tend to make the job not go as planned. So when a new contract comes in and the mark is a certain gang leader that caught Scarlett's eye, she couldn't resist venturing deeper into a world filled with illegal activities on a personal mission to find out why he has a price on his head. Although, what she finds in that world isn't quite what she expected. Now, torn between duty and passion, Scarlett must decide if she pulls the trigger or if she becomes the target herself? Who knows, maybe he might be the answer to her deepest desires. Because her next target is... Cayden Carlisle

Action / Romance
Age Rating:

0 | 1 ~ Insane, a bitch, sweetheart

THE sky was clear and the night was quiet.

Too quiet.

The only sound that could be heard was the whistling of the wind, causing a strand of hair to fall in Scarlett's face. She sighed heavily, shoving it behind her ear, only for it to free itself again against her wishes. With little time to waste, her steps glided to the front door of her newly assigned target: a lonely man, seemingly only living off the rush of gambling away all his life's worth every month.

Biting her lip, she convinced herself just to hold on until midnight and then this would all be over. She was in no way fond of this target seeing as he was only wasting her time, and knew exactly why she was here in the first place.


"HE still owes me! Of course, me being the kind man that I am, I gave him enough time to pay me back, but time is money you see..." He took a swig of the dark liquid in his prostine crystal glass. In no mean did his eyes reflect the kindness he spoke of. "Killing him now would be an inconvenience for me, just... you know... do what you do best, but stop before his heart does, okay? This is what that rat gets for breaking a deal with the Brown Pillagers gang!"

What a fucking killjoy. He is so infatuated with his big name and theatrics that he took all the damn fun out of the mission. Scarlett pouted.

Maybe next time I will actually get the pleasure of killing my target again.

"With his ribs broken or whatever, tell him who sent you. Make sure the message gets to him loud and clear, alright doll?"

She nodded her head, her eyebrow slightly twitching as she ended the call.

All this over 4 million dollars... Why is everyone in this city so dramatic?

According to the e-mail, the target's name is Damian Coldwell and was last seen at the 'Regal Plume Casino'. Scarlett had already payed him a visit at the casino, but she had gotten bored watching as he tried flirting with various young women and decided to suprise him at his own apartment instead.


HERE she was; standing at his front door as darkness surrounded her. It is, after all, a horrible idea to attack in broad daylight. There was a flickering lamp at the end of the road that looked like it had definitely seen better days. It cast an eerie glow that illuminated her figure, yet she felt at ease knowing that everyone who lived in this poor area had long gone entered a state where their dreams would entertain them for the night.

Scarlett jiggled her target's apartment door knob and found it locked. She expected as much. It was convenient for him for now and less so for her.

Sighing once again, she bent down to inspect the lock. Her lips curled up into a devious grin, an easy fix. Just a spring latch without a deadbolt, easier than taking candy from a sleeping baby. Droping her small backpack on the ground, she quickly unzipped it and withdrew her black leather gloves that probably cost more than the target's furniture and apartment combined. Once she was sure that the gloves were secure on her hands, she took out a plastic card to open the lock with.

Scarlett started off by pressing gently on the door with her non-dominant hand, increasing the amount of pressure until a small space, big enough for a card to slip through, opened up. Placing the card above the doorknob in a downward angle, she slowly started wiggling the piece of plastic deeper into the gap. When it met resistance, she pressed away from the knob and applied greater pressure to the latch.

The door started giving in and she pushed one last time. It immediately opened up; welcoming her into the unkept interior.

Standing up straight, she adjusted the straps of her backpack on her shoulders and entered the little apartment. As soon as she slipped through the doorway, the nauseating smell of rot and urine overwhelmed her. Her eyes watering, she kept pushing forward, trying not to breathe in too deeply.

"You would have thought that someone would at least have the decency to clean up this place before welcoming guests, " Scarlett whispered under her breath, sarcastically, as she made her way to the very uncomfortable looking couch that was present in what she presumed was the man's lounge.

Shaking her head, she took a seat and crossed her one leg over the other before inspecting her surroundings. A rat scurried to her right and Scarlett tracked its progress with her eyes, muttering expletives at the rodent. The living quarters were, to be kind, unbearably small. There was a combined living room-dining room, and the kitchen was hardly more than a rusty fridge and stove with two cupboards. The floorboards were ancient and worn out with some of them chipped and missing pieces. The white paint that once seemed to have made this apartment beautiful was starting to peel off. On the plus side, the paint didn't need replacement seeing as the dust already took care of that.

There was no bed in sight, leading Scarlett to conclude that the owner of this dump slept on the exact same couch Scarlett was now sitting on. It was safe to say that this place looked like a rat's nest, but she thought that even the rats would take offence to that.

She drifted back from her thoughts when the door slowly opened.

The face entering the door mirrored a myriad of emotions: fear, anger and confusion. He chose to focus on the fear spiderwebing throughout his body.

Surprised to see a beautiful, young woman, the man took on a shaky breath and opened the door fully.

This particular woman was dressed in all black from her tight second skin leggings to the dark leather jacket that gave off the whole 'badass look'. Her curly ombré hair was left loose, framing her perfectly shaped face as she watched his every move with glowing, green eyes. The same eyes of that of a leopard stalking its prey.

A sight for sore eyes seemed to be an understatement for this man. Her eyebrows crouched eagerly over her eyes as she stared at his changing expression. His breath heavy, heaving out of his revolting grin. Fear of an intruder was quickly replaced by lustful gaze upon his new guest. If it wasn't for the non-existing lighting, she would've sworn he was drooling.

"My, my!" His voice bordered near annoyance as he straightened himself, trying to look more buff, she supposed. "And what pleasure does a man like me get to have such a beauty in his home? Came to have some fun, sweetheart?"

She wasn't having any of his drunken flattering and dug out one of the twin daggers from her boot. "Yes, actually. I did." In a swift motion, she aimed and threw it, burrowing it directly into the side of his leg.

His knees kissed the ground as she stood up upon reflex to his movements. He started yelling profanities at her as if that was going to save his life.

"Now Damian, that is not how you treat your guests! Did your mother not teach you to respect a pretty lady such as myself?" She couldn't hide the taunting smirk as she moved towards him, staring at him sprawling on the floor like an insect, swatting at the dagger still protruding from his leg.

"I would compliment your decor, but you know... shitty was so last season." Her eyes tracking his every move, she slowly twisted the dagger, watching his agony worsen.

She covered her mouth, but wasn't trying to hide her amusement in any shape or form. He suddenly blurted out a tedious question in return to her hospitality thus far, "How do you know my name?" her eyes glowed with ecstasy," For a clever man such as yourself, I would have guessed that you might have figured it out by now..."

She slathered down to his level, her eyes darting around in joy. "You know, I never really enjoyed enjoyed mathematics as a child, but nowadays I seem to really love counting. Would you like to know why?"

He was obviously regaining his strength, slowly stirring to somehow get himself off the floor instead of answering her question. She sighed, it wasn't any fun when they didn't want to play along. "One..." Her fist seemed to move faster than humanly possible, an audible crack from his rib cage would be heard. "Two..." Ripping out her weapon and jabbing at the calculated spot to render his other leg useless. "And three ..." She quickly jabbed the dagger back to its rightful place. "Amazing how certain areas in the human body can cause absolute immobility, right?"

Much to her disappointment, he was still saying nothing and throughout her whole act, he had bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood just to keep himself from screaming.

The terror seeped from his gaze, obviously trying to beg for his life and chills danced across her skin. It reminded her so much of her previous missions.

"Fortunately for you, the fun is over, Mr. Coldwell, so let us get to the point of my little visit, shall we? You have until the end of this week to give Armando his money back, alright? Unless you want something more than just some broken ribs and injured legs..."

She swatted away the disappointment of not being able to finish him off and instead held on to the hope that her next target's faith would please her.

"You're insane!" She turned her head to look at him once more. Her face still expressionless, "Insane, a bitch, sweetheart, it is names I have all heard before and in so many different languages." Her teeth glinted from the devilish smile painted across her face. "But most people just call me Scarletstroke..." Damian visibly trembled in fear as all the colour drained from his face, a look of regret taking over.

Scarlett shook thrillingly. She always loved seeing her targets regarding their dumb decisions after they have learned her secondary identity.

Damian lay stuck on the floor, tears willingly making their way down his cheeks. Only one thought was going through his head at this point. Get the money or your life would be at the mercy of the infamous Scarletstroke.

He was screwed.


The night's silence was broken by shrill ringing of Scarlett's phone. Armando's rough voice croaky cheerfully from the other side," If it isn't my favourite person in the whole world! Got any good news for me, darlin'?" She rolled her eyes, pushing down the discontentment she had with him.

"You already know what I want," she hissed into her disposable mobile. "The job is done, as requested, so I better have my money by tomorrow or someone is going to end up just like their target." She killed the call, her eyes scanning the area.

They focused on her black Chevrolet perfectly shrowded by a dark alleyway. Her content danced across her lips as she made her way towards it.

Ah yes, the innumerable "perks" of my position.

It had everything a girl could ever want! From your basic rear-facing machine guns, some lasers and flamethrowers, to front-facing machine guns and one of Scarlett's favourites: missile launchers.

She patted the top of the car, awaiting a beeping sound, signaling that her fingertips had been accepted by the door handle. Then, gently opening the door with a mother's touch, she climbed inside.

Gliding through the less known routes, she finally made her way to the place that she called home, well... only temporarily.


LATER that night, Scarlett's peaceful slumber was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a ringtone. Slapping around in the dark, she grabbed the phone and answered.

It was a groggy answer as she stretched her back and widened her eyes to try and focus on whatever was happening. Her voice was still croaky, but her mind was now wide awake, such was the life of an assassin: always ready for anything.

A familiar, deep voice seemed to echo through her ear," Scarletstroke, I need your help with another mission."


Hi my fellow potatoes! *waves* I am Chanellé, the author of this amazing book - meaning, a disorganized a$$ who has over 100 plot ideas that will not be written anytime soon - and was wondering if you think I should keep publishing chapters or crawl into a dark hole and die?

[Just comment on this sentence and I will forever be grateful] If you are going to hate on my book... then that is completely fine *cough* Eat a poisonous marshmallow *cough* because it will only make this book more popular.

~ Update weekly

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