"I can't keep doing this you know," He sighed, appealing to the girl currently stretched out on his sofa, quietly humming a Queen song.
She stopped mid-tune and grinned at him, as if she knew the exact reason for his headache and was only too pleased to have caused it.
"Doing what?" She asked innocently.
"Paying off the cops for you," He said, rolling his eyes. "I can't afford it anymore."
"Bullshit," The woman scoffed. "But I reckon you've got the better deal."
Brendon raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? How'd you figure that one out?"
"Well, I'm giving you my services for free in return for you bribing the police. And if you can't afford to pay the cops then you sure as hell won't be able to pay me."
"True. We all know you charge a hell of a lot," He sighed again, considering his options. "Fine, if I got you for free then I might as well make the most of you."
She smiled sweetly at him, almost praising him for agreeing with her. Brendon sighed again- he seemed to do that a lot around her- and handed her a card with a name and address written on in a small neat print.
"You know what to do."
She smiled again, almost dreamily at the thought of what she was about to do. She always said that it was nothing personal, just for the money, but really Brendon knew she revelled in the sense of satisfaction that she got from her job.
Taking the card, she stood and stalked through the door, on her way to her next victim. She moved so gracefully, lithe and aglie, just like a cat.
Brendon watched her as she went, wondering how she could actually like her job so much and if there was anything in the world she would give it up for. She wouldn't give it up for a person, that was for sure. She never spoke of her family and in her line of work, realationships weren't a good idea. She had no-one.
Wait, that wasn't true. She had Brendon. He was the only thing in her life that was stable, something she could rely on. A safehouse; metephorically and literally. She could always come to him when the cops were after her, and he would keep her safe until the heat was off. Money, pleasure, someone to drink with; she would always come to him, and he was always only too happy to oblige. He didn't know why; maybe he was just glad to have gained the trust and services of the most cold-blooded killer out there.
But he had heard the rumours. Even among his own men, there were whispers. Loyal, trustworthy Spencer himself had dared utter the words.
Smitten. Spencer had called Brendon smitten.
It wasn't true of course. Mere courtesy. But he couldn't shake off the nagging voice in the back of his head chanting the word over and over.
Smitten. As if.