Smoke And Mirror (Royal Angel l) - S01 E02

Story 3 years ago

Smoke And Mirror (Royal Angel l) - S01 E02

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 2

?️ Victoria POV

My target is kinda hot.

I smiled as I picked up the tray and headed

to

the kitchen. Handsome men were so hard

to

come by with my job. Whistling, I ziplocked

the two coffee cups and put them in my

waitress apron.

Oh, I wasn’t really a waitress. (Not a creepy

stalker either.)

Speaking of creeps.

“Hey there, kitty cat.” The barista behind

the

counter chuckled. The guy was neither

sweet

nor cute, so when he leered down my

modest

white blouse, I had to resist the urge to

punch

him.

In the nuts. With brass knuckles.

Instead, I gave him a sweet smile. “How’s

it

going?” Mr. Douche.

“Good, good.” He ran a hand through his

hair.

Yeah, baby. Dandruff is super sexy. ” When

did

you start working here? I didn’t see you sign

in

this morning.”

“I came in early.” Okay, I was a good liar,

but

for what it’s worth, I could’ve said “I’m a

pretty

mermaid” and he wouldn’t have blinked.

Not

when his eyes were still on my boobs.

“Eyes

up here, soldier.”

“Hehe.” More dandruff dislodgement. “Sorry

about that.”

I don’t think the moron knew what sorry

meant.

Pity. I’d have to educate him.

Hey,” I said, fluttering my eyelids and

swaying

my hips a little. “I spilt some coffee on my

apron. I’m so clumsy. I forgot where the

washroom is?”

Yeah, because I have the IQ of a suckling

pig

and I’m too retarded to read well placed

signs, I

wanted to add.

I let my knight in shining armour show me

where the little girl’s room was. Turning

around, I made a show of bumping into

him.

“I-I’m so sorry. I just wanted to say thank

you.”

“Why, you’re welcome.” I swear I heard him

mutter püssy cat as he walked away.

I rolled my eyes and locked the washroom

door behind me. Men .

There was a black duffel bag in one of the

stalls. I’d stashed it in here earlier. I placed

the

apron with the cups inside it and stripped.

It took me about two minutes to change

into a

blue cocktail dress and take off my blonde

wig. I redid my makeup, going hard on the

contouring and smokey eyes.

I was proud to say I looked like a stripper

minus the heels.

The walk through the cafe earned me a few

indecent stares. Mr. Douche’s car keys were

in

my left hand. All I had to do was go to the

parking lot, unlock his old rust bucket Chevy

and drive to my apartment.

That’s the Oxford definition of “sorry”, as in,

“sorry, I might have stolen your car”.

Dear Mr. Douche, never trust a clumsy

püssy

cat . Glad to have furthered your education.

The minute I got home, I was almost

knocked

over at the door by a little red head.

“Did you find him? Do you know who he

was?

How old was he? Was he cute-”

My sister didn’t any waste time.

“It wasn’t a date, Ira.” I told her, flopping

down

on the couch. My apartment wasn’t fancy,

though it certainly could’ve been. White

walls,

a fold out couch, a coffee table, two

mattresses. That was about it.

Ira arched a perfect brow. “So he wasn’t

cute?”

“No.” I told her, thinking back to the man in

the black suit. Danny, his friend had called

him. My target had crystal blue eyes, black

longish hair and a jawline that could cut

diamonds

He honestly wasn’t cute.

He was hot. Make-your-panties-catch-fire

hot.

Yet this was my brain’s assessment. This

is

what normal females feel about him , it told

me.

The rest of me was awfully quiet about all

this.

Guess that made me an abnormal female.

Go

figure.

“Details.” Ira quipped, annoyed when I

didn’t

say much.

“It’s not a date.” I repeated. “I was just

scoping out the target.”

She gave my borderline slütty outfit a once

over, skeptical. “Right.”

“Alibi” I explained, rolling my eyes. “If this

blows up in my face tomorrow, I want the

people in the cafe to remember I was

there.”

As the bîtch in blue rather than the waitress.

“Oh, that won’t happen. We’ll be fine.” Ira

replied, absently. It was her standard

response

every time I talked about ‘negative’

situations.

“So do you know who he is?”

I shook my head and gave her the ziplock

bag,

smiling a little. Funny, but if there was ever

a

tall, dark, handsome stranger –

“Ha!” Ira punched the air, triumphantly. “I

knew

it. Does he have a nice äss?”

Did I just say that out loud? Fantastic.

“Very. Very . Nice äss.” I said, a little

exasperated. Anything to get her to work

faster. “Now please find out who it belongs

to.”

Irahooked up her laptop to a DNA sensor.

She

snapped on some gloves and picked up a

cotton swab.

“Which cup is Somerhalder’s?

“Somerhalder?”

“Ian Somerhalder. The email from the client

said Blue eyes, black hair and you said he

has

a fine äss. Hence operation Ian.”

“The red one.” I said, shaking my head. My

sweet little sister was watching too much

TVD.

Ira took it out and swiped the rim of the

cup,

repeating the swipe on the sensor. I had to

admit I’d been a little stingy about giving

her

the hundred grand she needed to buy the

thing.

Now I wonder how I ever did my job without

it.

What is my Oh-so-mysterious job, you ask?

It was a simple three step process.

1) My clients sent me a name or

description.

2) I found the target.

3) The target ended up in the bottom of the

sea.

It was the family business. I didn’t ask any

questions and I didn’t care so long as I got

the money.

Ira was searching for a match across

federal

and state databases. I guess I knew that it

wouldn’t turn up anything.

Which was why I’d put a microtracker on

his

blonde friend. Remember when I came back

to

the table and got snapped at by Mr. High

and

Mighty for no reason? Yeah, his friend had

even smiled at me right before I attached it

to

his sleeve.

It kinda made me feel bad. Kinda.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m a terrible person.

I told Ira about it and she brought up the

screen. And ladies and gentlemen, we have

a

winner. A red dot immediately popped up. It

was moving heading toward the docks.

I got up and began packing my – items. By

items, I mean a variety of sharp objects. I

worked best with guns, but there was

something special about sharp cold metal

that

made me feel safer.

Ira wasn’t too happy. “Do you really have to

kill

him, V?”

“You know how this works, sweetie.”

“Let me come with you-”

“No.” She was too young for this.

“I want to see Ian.” She gave me her best

puppy dog eyes. “You know, before you kill

him.”

I smiled, as I changed into a black leather

suit.

“Honey, for ten million dollars, I bet you can

have dinner with the real Ian.”

***

Victoria : “I’M PRETTY SURE IAN WANTS

YOU TO

PRESS THAT LIKE BUTTON. SO DO IT.

LIKE, RIGHT

NOW AND INVITE YOUR FRIENDS TOO.”