I meet the man at a pub by the docks, sidling up beside him and leaning against the bar. My pose subtly arches my back, thrusting my tits out, and I see him glance at me in the corner of my eye. I know exactly who he is, his 'wanted' poster on my notice-board at the office, and I intend to catch him tonight.
We flirt, he brags and I act starstruck, and his hand is sliding up my thigh when I breathily suggest going somewhere private. I can almost read his mind when he smirks, he has no idea, and I pick up my handbag, feeling the reassuring weight of my pistol. He has a place near the pub, really just a bedroom and en-suite, and I stretch out upon the bed, his eyes roaming over my beautiful form.
He bends over me, I almost swoon when he kisses me, and then he turns towards the en-suite. I roll onto my front just long enough to retrieve my pistol, the attached silencer making it quite the toy, before returning to a sitting position. I hold the pistol against my stomach when he glances in my direction, shielding it from his view with my body, and a smirk is gracing my lips when he steps into the en-suite.
I have it all planned out in my head. I turn to face the en-suite, arm holding the pistol outstretched, and pull the trigger as he emerges. The bounty is the same dead or alive after all.
But that's all in my head. When I turn I'm staring down the barrel of a large handgun, my target's face stern above it. Everything snaps into hyperfocus, I can see every winkle on his finger as it curls, every hint of satisfaction dancing in his eyes. There's a loud bang, deafening, and a bright flash that wipes out my vision.
I don't even feel the bullet that drills into my forehead or the softness of the bed as I bounce. I'm already dead.
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