Another new one, so sue me.
AU.Strange.Twisted.Dark.
You know, the usual.
Preface
Freedom Is Not Free
I clutched the knife to my chest, my head tilted back against the bookshelf, my breathing harder than it should be in stealth. My lip trembled as my thoughts lingered on the task I'd been presented with. Could I carry it out? Or would I disappoint everyone with not completing the cataclysmic act that was necessary in our effort? I took another deep breath, feeling my chest constrict painfully as it allowed passage to the air.
The door at the other end of the large office opened, and in strode the man I'd been waiting over an hour for. He loosened his tie as I peeked around the edge of the bookshelf, coming to sit at his desk—facing away from me just as I had expected. My body hid itself once more before I took a deep breath, my bare feet making no noise on the carpeted floor as I strode across it.
He stiffened as the cold metal of the dagger met the sensitive skin on his throat and I could see his Adam's apple bob once as he swallowed.
"Who are you?" he asked softly—the gentlest tone I'd ever heard him use.
I said nothing for a moment, moving my other hand to his shoulder, "I'm your reaper Mr. Hathaway."
He reached up slowly, as if to grasp my hand that held the knife, but I pressed it into his neck, drawing little blood, "Don't move, Congressman."
I saw his cheeks quirk up—the bastard was smiling.
"I hope you have the gall to grin in Hell," I hissed, letting my eyes drift over the belongings on his desk. They connected with those of his children in a photograph—Arielle and Luke, and for a moment I could only feel remorse. Would his family miss this monster?
"Perhaps not," he conceded quietly, "but you, woman, shall arrive there before I."
"I doubt that, Hathaway."
He laid both of his hands flat on the desk, "Why do you do this? I can offer you things you'd never dream of. Wouldn't you rather a house on a beach somewhere than in the slums you currently reside in?"
I bent my head, lowering my lips to his ear, "I'd rather be free to make that choice."
My blade dragged swiftly across his skin, and his chin sunk gradually to meet his collarbone. I wiped the knife on the back of his business jacket, stowing it once again in the pockets of my peasant's dress. My steps were once again light and soundless as I padded across the room and out into the hallway. There was no one there—or so I thought until I ran into a cold, hard chest.
My eyes locked with those of Q, Mr. Hathaway's personal body guard and, if need arose, hired hit man. His dark hair was matted to his forehead, and the suit he wore clung to his muscles in a way that did not flatter him. I knew he knew, he could read it in my eyes, and the guards that had rushed into the room only confirmed his suspicions with their shocked exclamations. He pulled my hands from inside the folds of my dress, the sticky blood there glinting crimson in the moonlight.
"Clever," he whispered, "but was it worth it your life, little one?"
One more time steal my breath
I'll feed you the sky.
I will show you how.
Steal the glamour from death
And before you die,
Oh, you should see.