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Murder, Inc.

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“I freaking hate Florida! And I’m tired of being the meat decoy,” Sansa grumbled. “Why does it always have to be me?”

Arya smirked at her. “That, my dear, is because…with that face and those tits and legs, men are predictable, mindless putty in your deadly little hands.”

The redhead rolled her eyes at her sister. “Oh please, like you don’t get your way with those big, innocent doe eyes and slammin’ bod.”

Arya stood up, shaking her undeniably pert ass. “Mmm, yeah baby, I do have junk in the trunk, but I appeal to only a select, discriminating taste. You, on the other hand…hell, they all want you.” She continued gyrating her hips and sauntered over to the tall woman who lounged on the leather couch while she commenced to giving her extremely vulgar rendition of a lap dance.

Sansa laughed and gave her rear a resounding slap.

From behind his monolithic desk, Jaqen cleared his throat and chastised, “Well, you’ve got your assignment, ladies. Time is money. We wouldn’t want to alienate our best client.”

Arya turned her head and stuck her tongue out. “Oh please. If it weren’t for us, Varys wouldn’t be able to get even half of his political maneuverings done.”

Jaqen merely raised an eyebrow and glowered, though neither of them took him seriously. Not with the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

He shook his head and stood up. He approached them and touched both their faces, caressing their cheeks.

“Be careful with this one and heed my warning: he has a long history of violence with women and enjoys hurting his “entertainment.” As I told you, some of the girls conveniently disappeared after their dalliances with him. He’s not to be trifled with. Get in, do the job, and get out. Nice and clean.”

“What I don’t understand, Jaqen, is why doesn’t Varys just arrange for a media leak that exposes him for what he is: a sexual sadist, a serial killer?” Sansa asked.

He shook his head. “No, with the power and wealth the Baratheon and Lannister families wield, he’d just be able to continue to worm his way out and come out smelling like a rose. No, Varys wants this one to be disposed of in order to better align his chessboard to his purposes. But that is not our concern. We do our job for our client and we do it well, understood?”

As he walked them to the door and ushered them out of his office, he held up his hand and left them with his parting words,“Valar morghulis.”

To which they both bowed and immediately responded, “Valar dohaeris.”

Two Days Later…

Sansa strode through the posh hotel lobby, head held high, sight laser-focused on the polished brass elevator. With her blonde wig, stiletto heels clicking on the marble floor, and black peplum coat billowing behind her, all heads turned to watch her.

She approached the young elevator operator, who looked up at her, blinking stupidly. She was amused to see his Adam’s apple bob, his swallow seemingly stuck in his throat as he choked out his standard query: which floor did she want?

Glancing at him, she simpered in a faux Southern belle accent, “Top floor. Penthouse. Senator Baratheon is expecting me.”

He swallowed again, audibly. “Uh, ma’am, just so you know, you have to check in with his security team before he can let you in.”

She smiled and stared straight ahead, “Yes, I’m aware.”

Sansa sized up the two gorillas standing outside the penthouse double-doors.

The one on the left looked like your typical hired goon, big and not too bright. The one on the right, however…his face was a terrible sight, with severe burns on one side, which his long hair comb-over failed to disguise. He was huge, with natural looking muscles. He was bigger than the other guy, and while his physique was beyond impressive, it was his eyes…his eyes made her really pause and take notice. They were gunmetal gray, and God, he looked so angry. But behind his rage, she could see a keen intelligence. And interest…as he scanned her up and down. Unbidden, a lightening bolt thrill shot down her spine and straight to her clit.

‘Whoa. What in the hell was that?’ She mentally berated herself, ‘Get your head in the game, girl.’

After she took out Joffrey Baratheon, she wouldn’t have to worry about the two hired guns. That was Arya’s job…but she paused. Maybe the angry one...? Nah--better to eliminate them both. ‘Nice and clean,' Jaqen had instructed. She shrugged internally and put her game face on as she approached the guards.

“Hi fellas,” she purred. I’m here to see J.B.” She giggled coyly, as if she had said something clever.

The dumb one smirked but the angry one frowned and grumbled in a deep bass, “You’re late.”

Sansa suppressed a shiver and batted her eyes at him. “Better late than never, right?”

The scarred one grunted in response, but the dumbass leered, “I gotta frisk ya before ya go in. No hard feelings, ok?”

Sansa smiled despite her rising temper. “What, y’all frisk all of J.B.’s company?”

Scarred guy nodded once, arms crossed over his chest.

Dumbass licked his lips and reached out his hands, but the scarred one blocked him.

“Back off, Trant. She’s mine.”

Dumbass, whose name was apparently ‘Trant,’ grumbled, “Fuck you, Clegane,” but nonetheless acquiesced to the larger, more ill-tempered man.

'Clegane' grabbed her by the elbow, not ungently, and escorted her to face the wall.

“Okay, hands up, and spread those legs.”

Sansa bristled inside, but forced out a giggle, “What, am I under arrest, handsome?”

He nudged his knees between her legs, which caused them to spread wider. He pressed himself against her back and ass and whispered in her ear, causing her to shiver. “Very funny, little bird, but this is SOP, no offense.”

“None taken,” she breathed out.

Her heart was thudding, but not because she was afraid he’d find her weapons (in addition to her skills in hand-to hand combat, she carried poisoned ampoules woven into the netting of her wig, a wire garrotte hidden in her coat collar, and a lipstick knife, amongst other miscellaneous tools of the trade…not to mention the handgun that had been planted, literally in the potting soil of the decorative palm in the penthouse living room as a fail-safe).

No, it was everything about this man. He set her aflame, her nerve-endings thrumming with excitement. It was something that had never happened to Sansa before, despite her past experience with other lovers. There was something within her that was responding to him on a very primitive level, reacting to his imposing size, his hardened muscles, his deep voice, God, even his smell, which was so close to her now, and practically reeked of masculine virility.

She suppressed a tremor as he inhaled deeply and let out a shaky breath. Apparently he was reacting to her in a similar manner.

She froze as she felt his hands sliding down her arms. He relieved her of her clutch purse and then his hands slipped underneath her coat, which he promptly removed and tossed to Trant, ordering, “Check them.”

She was now exposed to him. She heard him mutter, ‘Seven hells’ under his breath before he frisked the sides of her tight leather bustier and indecently high mini-skirt. He continued his exploration with his hands, ghosting across her skin, despite the obviousness of her lack of weapons. He knelt down and caressed her stocking clad legs, and then, up, up, oh so slowly where he fingered her garters, but stopped just shy of her ass. He groaned and murmured, "Fuuuck me,” and then stood, rapidly turning her around.

He loomed over, speaking in a low, hushed voice. “You wouldn’t have anything dangerous hidden up under that skirt, now would you?”

She scrabbled like mad to feign her composure and was able to generate a wicked smile. “Now, I wouldn’t say it’s not dangerous, but not in the way you mean.”

He swallowed and looked pained for a minute. But then he bent down and unapologetically sniffed her neck one last time before he handed her back her coat and purse.

Her face blazing, she licked her lips and held his gaze for several moments. Time stood still until Trant cleared his throat and broke the spell.

Clegane shot him a murderous scowl and then turned back to her.

His eyes softened and his expression actually seemed concerned. He paused and then pulled her aside, out of earshot of his counterpart. He bent down and whispered in her ear, “Be careful, little bird. I’ve only been working for this asshole for a few weeks, but I’ve heard some things. I'm not kidding around. If things get too rough, call out my name and I’ll stop his game.”

She blinked up at him, touched in spite of herself. Since when did hired thugs care about her safety? True, he had just copped a cheap feel, but God help her, she had wanted his hands all over her. Didn’t want him to stop, actually…

“What’s your name?” she murmured.

“Just yell out ‘Hound’ and I’ll come, like a dog.” He winked and opened the door for her.

Sansa wasn’t exactly sure how things had gone from a basic, textbook assassination to a pear-shaped clusterfuck. Looking down at the gaping, brain-oozing hole in Joffrey Baratheon’s head, while his security guard, Trant, was bleeding out on the marble floor, she had to admit that shit didn’t go down quite as they had planned…

But then again, they had taken out their mark. It just wasn’t as clean a job as promised to the eunuch. Well, death doesn’t always come in neat, tidy little bow-wrapped packages, and even though Jaqen would be pissed, they would live to see another day. So all in all, not a complete fuck up.

However, she still had to give her little sister some grief. “What the hell, Arya?” Sansa complained.

“What? So I was a little late. But give me a break! I had to get that prick off of you. It looked like you were having a hard time.”

“Oh, that is so not true! I had things under control! Now we have to get Jaqen to call in a special cleaner to bag up this mess.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Big, deal. Shit happens.” She strolled, leisurely, over to the hulking man who, despite the swelling bump on his forehead, was sitting patiently in the corner of the room. She rolled her eyes again as she observed how Sansa had cuffed his hands in front. She huffed and kicked his foot.

“What I don’t understand is why you insisted on saving this one. And by the way, I sincerely doubt that the handcuffs would actually hold if he wanted out of them.” She squatted down, her black Doc Martens squeaking in protest. “Blech, he sure is ugly!”

He glared at her, but said nothing.

Sansa approached them and admonished her sister, “Leave him alone. He offered to help me.” She smiled at him and then Arya, her eyes twinkling. “Plus…I want him.”

Arya made a gagging noise. “Are you fucking kidding me? He’s a nightmare to look at! And he worked for this sick bastard. He’s a bad guy.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “I don’t think so. He told me he just recently started working as security for Baratheon.”

Arya snorted, “You believed him?”

Sansa nodded and muttered, “Yeah, I did. I do.”

She turned to him. “Well, Mr. ‘Hound’ Clegane. We killed your boss. Seems you’re out of a job now.”

He chuckled. “Aye, seems that way, little bird.”

She threw the handcuff key and a little card on his lap; her “business card,” that only had a phone number embossed in black.

“Call me. We’ll see what we can do to make you a working man again.”

She and Arya turned to go, but before she did, she winked at him. “Oh, and Hound? I suggest you get your ass out of here before our cleaning team arrives.”

He nodded and began to unlock his cuffs while the two sisters made their way to the fire escape.