Page 1 of Morally Corrupt

1

BIANCA

"You can start."

I nod to the prostitute as I take a seat. The chair is parallel to the bed, and this angle allows for perfect visibility. Raising my gun just a little so they can see I'm not kidding, I lean back and make myself comfortable.

The woman drops to her knees, her hands trembling as they struggle with the fastening of the man's pants. I roll my eyes at her obvious anxiousness and spare a glance at my watch. Vlad will not like this.

"Faster!" I snap, thinking I'd already wasted enough time with the threats. If she keeps this up, I'll have a furious Vlad on my hands, and all for nothing.

"Y-y-yes," she stammers and finally takes his dick out. Surprisingly, he's hard. Then again, given his age, he probably took something to help him out. I motion for her to continue.

She lowers her head, and opening her mouth, she takes him in. I narrow my eyes, trying to look at her technique. I'm busy observing when the door bursts open.

"B, what's taking so long?" Vlad groans as he enters the room, locking the door behind him. He takes one look at the bed, then his eyes find me before shaking his head.

"He was having a tête-à-tête with a prostitute," I shrug, pointing toward the mid-coitus couple.

"So?" He arches an eyebrow, hand on dagger as he playfully rotates it in the air. "What are you waiting for?" he asks, exasperated. I knew I should have been more succinct in my threats to get the action going faster. Vlad is not the patient type.

"Don't you see?" I stand up, coming around the bed and pointing toward the huddled figures. "This is my opportunity to learn from a professional. Miss . . ." I look at her.

"Abigail," she breathes out, her lip trembling.

"Thank you. Miss Abigail here was just about to demonstrate the act of fellatio."

We'd been ordered to assassinate the CEO of an oil company — Mr. Horace Bentham. I don't know if it had been luck or fate, but I'd got to him just as he was about to dip his wick in Miss Abigail. Now, I am not one to miss an opportunity when it's staring me in the face. Mr. Bentham would be dead, but only after I've assuaged my curiosity.

"A blowjob, you mean." Vlad rolls his eyes at me, swinging his knife around and making sure the guests understand the unspoken threat.

"Same thing." I wave my hand dismissively, and I take my seat once more. "Come, watch! You might learn a thing or two, as well."

"I'm fine," he replies drily. "You have ten minutes. No more. We need to hand in the proof that he's dead." He takes two steps and positions himself next to the windowsill.

I frown.

"Ten minutes? Is that how long sex lasts? I thought it was longer." I try to think back to all the magazines I'd read, but I realize none of them gave an explicit duration.

"B," he groans, bringing his hand up to massage his temples. "I don't know how long sex lasts, but we are on a mission. He should have been dead half an hour ago. You're taking a risk."

"Pretty please?" I bat my lashes at him, watching mild annoyance turn to defeat in one . . . two . . . Yes!

"Fine. But you owe me."

"Of course!" I beam. I know the rules. It's always quid pro quo with Vlad. We've been partners for three years now, and while our teamwork had been rather patchy in the beginning, forced proximity and a similar approach to life — or death, rather — made it easier to bond. We're in this together, and so we've learned to make allowances for the differences in our behaviors. You might say that temper-wise we are completely different, I'm rather indifferent to things, and tend to be cool, while Vlad . . . well, safe to say it's better to not find out.

I pull up another chair and place it next to me. Patting it, I motion for Vlad to join me. He shakes his head, muttering something, but relents and sits down.

It takes a little more urging to get Abigail and Bentham moving, mostly in the form of me waving my gun around and shouting some directions. But soon, we are back on track and Abigail is once again sucking him off.

I crane my neck, intently watching the movements of her mouth and tongue.

"She's focusing too much on that area. Is it more sensitive?" I nudge Vlad.

"For God's sake, B, how would I know?"

"Well, you have one." I roll my eyes at the obvious, but then another thought crosses my mind and I whip my head to regard Vlad suspiciously. "You do, don't you?" Considering his nonexistent love life . . .

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