Page 12 of Flames

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Sliding from the bed, I examine the mess. Shit, I clearly needed a release. My sheets are soaked. I strip them from the bed and toss them into my hamper. Then I pad across my cool wood floor to the bathroom. My pussy aches with each step, a sure sign that I will sleep sated tonight.

A prickling sensation on the back of my neck has me stopping in my tracks. A shiver runs down my spine. Eyes. Eyes watching me. The feeling is so certain that my body freezes on instinct—like prey sensing a predator. Slowly, I turn my head to glance at the window.

The wide open window.

Shit.

Swiftly, I run to the glass and grab hold of the thick linen curtain to pull it closed. My apartment is so high up and across from some industrial building that I never really worry about the curtains. But right now, the feeling of being watched is so strong that I feel fear for the first time in a long time. I’m not a weak woman, I’ve had to fend for myself for most of my life, but all humans are programmed to feel fear at times. It’s a survival mechanism.

I go to close the curtains, but as I do, something catches my eye. There’s something smeared on my window. I squint and lean in to get a closer look, only to realize that I have definitely been being watched by… something.

Smeared on my window are the letters ‘E N I M’ and they seem to be written in something pale and sticky. It looks suspiciously like cum. But, that’s crazy, right? How would someone even get up eleven stories to write on a window with bodily fluids? It’s not like my slum lord is paying for window washers.

Swiftly pulling the curtains, I make a mental note to call the landlord about getting it cleaned up, whatever the hell it is. Just as I’m about to block out the darkness of the night sky completely, something catches my eye. A flame flickers up above, as if fire is soaring through the sky. I watch it until it disappears behind a building before I close the curtains.

SEVEN

MARISA

Today is so not my day. I run my fingers along the stained cloth seat of the cab, and attempt to expel some of my anxious energy. Around me horns blare, people shove down the sidewalk, and the heat of the city continues to rise. Luckily, the cab has air conditioning.

In the light of day, it was pretty clear that whatever was on my window was gross. It was dried and crusty this morning, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was cum. But, again, how the hell would that get there… and more importantly—why? I called my landlord and he said he’d send someone right over to clean the windows.

Ten bucks says it’s still there when I get back.

“Right here is great, thanks,” I tell the cab driver.

He grunts in acknowledgment but puts on his blinker. After several minutes of maneuvering the traffic, he pulls up to the curb. I slide my card from my back pocket to hit against the card reader, scoffing slightly at the rates which have gone up… again. I’d take the subway but I’m more likely to get murdered down there than on one of my jobs. Plus, it smells like piss, like always.

Seriously, why are people always pissing in the subway? Find a nice tree or something outside.

Sliding off the seat, I kick the door open and immediately am hit with the heat. Dark clothes and warm spring sunshine are not a good mix, but a thief’s gotta do what a thief’s gotta do. I’m not really one of those types of girls who wears cute sundresses. I slip my shades from my head and onto the brim of my nose as I step onto the sidewalk.

Damn, it’s hot today. If I had balls, I’d be sweating them off.

I begin to make my way down the block, walking casually and carefully. A large part of being a con-woman is confidence. The more confident and composed you are, the more people are likely to believe you’re meant to be there and doing what you’re doing. It’s when you start to look nervous that people begin suspecting you. I got caught a lot at first when I started stealing, but luckily, a fellow thief took me under her wing and showed me the ropes.

Angela and I started small—I’d play her daughter who had lost a toy and was crying. The way men will fall over themselves to help a pretty woman with a sad kid… It’s some type of savior complex or some shit. Eventually, we grew into date-the-daughter heists—I’d reel them in by flirting and then she’d swoop in as my mother. The amount of skeevy dudes who she ‘dated’ while they clearly ogled me would have been truly disturbing, if we hadn’t been playing them for all they had. She always protected me, though. Never once did she let any of these guys get too close or too handsy. She taught me the power and autonomy of being a woman in this wild-ass world. Strong women stand up, not just for themselves, but for other women who need them. I am forever grateful for her.

A few years ago she retired from the game, left me her apartment—a small two-bedroom I’d lived in for years and still live in—a nest egg to fall back on, and all the skills I needed to survive in this city. I call her every other day to check on her. She’s loving life down at the beach.

I throw my shoulders back and tilt my chin high as I approach the building. My target isn’t in here, but in the next building. I’m going to use this building as a vantage point to observe for the day. The cab I was in was trailing his town car for several blocks. I made sure to get out further down the street to avoid suspicion, though. A con-woman is smart and cautious.

I step through the large, glass, rotating doors and enter another world. Inside, the entire building seems to be made of marble and mahogany. Banks of desks line the right and the left—check in for visitors attending meetings, I’m sure. But today, I’m not a visitor. I walk with purpose, my black heels clicking on the white floor loudly. Confident—like I belong here. I wore a nice skirt and blouse, hoping to blend in. It’s uncomfortable as fuck, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

The security guard eyes me wearily, his gaze sliding directly to me as I approach. Confidence. This building is rumored to be the legal front of The Solentsevskaya Brotherhood. I hear they don’t fuck around, and I have no interest in finding out. I need to get in and out with the information I need… hopefully in one piece.

With a bat of my eyes, I flick my hair over my shoulder, exposing my low neckline. His eyes drift down to my exposed cleavage which is bouncing nicely in my push up bra. I watch as his expression goes from suspicious to hungry. Perfect. Suddenly, though, his hand goes to his ear, clearly getting a message through his earpiece. He instantly pales, and my steps almost falter. Quickly, he diverts his eyes, his hands combing together complacently in front of him, his head tilted down. He doesn’t even look up as I pass him and head towards the bank of glimmering golden elevators.

That was odd.

I push the up button swiftly, eager to place distance between myself and that unusual interaction. The elevator dings almost immediately and two shimmering doors slide open. I slide inside, hit the twenty-seventh floor button, then hit the door closed button. I hate elevators—the enclosed space, the opportunity to plummet to my doom in a metal tomb, the claustrophobic feeling of being smashed in with other people. Yeah, no thanks. But, it’s even worse when it’s full of people with their—

A hand stops the doors just as they’re about to close. Damn it. The metal gears work in reverse, pulling the doors back open to reveal a man in a suit. He steps inside and swiftly pushes the door closed button. I definitely do not miss the fact that he doesn’t pick a floor. The elevator lurches to a start and the feeling of ascending inside the tight confines causes my stomach to twist into knots. I can feel the eyes of the man next to me, not staring, but carefully observing as we ride higher and higher. Sweat begins to build at the base of my spine.

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.