Plus Sized Assassin

JARRING REVELATIONS

The music was still vibrating in her bones when Barbie pulled away from Knight.

Fear shone in her eyes, but only for a split second before it vanished, only to be replaced with stone-cold calm, carefully masking the rage that threatened to burst out of her.

Barbie, like a woman possessed, tore her arm away from the man she was attracted to, the warmth that had been emanating from gone, replaced with an almost crippling chill of dread.

Her legs moved before she even realized it.

“Dahlia—!”

She could hear him calling after her, begging her to wait, to stop and tell him what was suddenly wrong.

She didn’t look back.

She couldn't.

Barbara was grateful that at least he was sticking to the nickname he insisted on keeping for her, but in the state she was in, she didn’t even think that she would care if he had called her by her full government.

None of that mattered.

The only thing that mattered was the shadow on the balcony, and getting to him before it was too late.

Barbara melted into the crowd, her movements no longer those of a clumsy wallflower, but of a ghost.

Of the black widow.

Her mind was hazy, mostly more muddled by rage than anything else, but somehow, she maneuvered through the sea of silk and expensive perfume with natural grace, using the very people who had mocked her not long ago as shields to keep the man she was attracted to away.

Her plan worked.

Barbie slipped past a group of boisterous diplomats and veered sharply toward the service corridor, breathing slightly in relief at the sight of them leading a confused Knight towards the guest washrooms.

Her heart warmed at his relentlessness, how he seemed so hellbent on not losing her for a second time now that he had found her.

In another world, perhaps another one where her uncle Kenneth didn’t exist, and where her illness was non-existent, there might have been something there for them to explore.

But alas, she was never going to feel the intoxicating lull of his lips against hers, never going to experience that passion with which he worshiped every single curve of her, the very one whose memory alone had her panties dampening with liquid heat.

She hated that it had to come to this, but it was the only way she saw this working out.

Barbara ducked into a private employee washroom and bolted the heavy door behind her, her breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches that were part panic and part manic adrenaline.

“Focus, Barbie, come on,” she hissed to her reflection, slapping herself once, and then twice, sharply across the cheeks to steady her. The focus that came with the sting had her rushing to the secret compartment where she’d hidden her second disguise for the night.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the blond wig. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she put it on, one sentence playing on repeat, like a broken record from her lips. “You’ve got this, Barbie.”

When the wig was secure, Barbara shed the ruined ugly dress, revealing the sleek matte-black bodysuit she had hiding underneath; her killer outfit that had borrowed some inspiration from the woman whose nickname she now bore.

Oh, what she wouldn’t give to be able to go in as the Black Widow and free herself and Knight from her Uncle’s terrifying grasps, but she wasn’t up for that task.

Not yet anyway.

Barbie pulled out a crisp uniform from the very compartment she had taken her wig out of, a deep sigh of relief escaping her lips when she checked the tag and found 2XL written boldly in black.

Her entire plan had been banking on the fact that she not make any mistakes, despite the state she was in. She was glad to see that she hadn’t made any yet.

When she changed into the clothes and her gaze caught her reflection for the last time, a bitter pang slapped hard against her chest. The girl in the ruined mauve dress who had had a few blissful moments of respite in Knight’s arms was no more.

Even sadder, the handsome, perfect man was probably somewhere, out there, still searching for her, waiting for her to turn up. But she never would.

Barbie stepped back out into the hall, carrying a discarded tray of hors oeuvres as a prop. She walked right past Knight, her heart thudding in a frenzy, fearful that he would see right through this disguise like he had the first.

There he was, standing by the main exit, his jaw set, his eyes scanning the crowd with a predatory intensity that made the air around him vibrate. He looked right at her—at the blonde server with the bowed head—and his gaze slid right past, still searching for the woman in mauve.

Thank God.

Barbie heaved a sigh of relief, one that, if she was being honest, was laced with a bit of disappointment, but she couldn’t blame him. Her disguise was foolproof this time.

Barbara didn't stop until she reached the north balcony.

She didn’t have to look far for Kenneth. He was exactly where he loved to be: elevated, detached, and playing the role of grandmaster puppeteer.

The analogy was fitting, considering that she felt like a puppet being controlled out of her freedom and will to live.

Before she could open her mouth and go off at him for busting her operation, he beat her to it.

“Ah, dear niece, so this is what an average day in the life looks like… waltzing with your kill and staring right into their eyes right before you snuff the light out of it… brilliant!”

It was obvious he wanted a reaction out of her, and on a very good day, he would have gotten nothing, but today wasn’t exactly going as planned for the plus-sized assassin.

Barbara moved with a speed that would have stunned the girl she used to be. In one fluid motion, she was behind him. She didn't bother shedding the server's jacket; she simply reached beneath it. The cold steel of a ceramic knife was pressed firmly against the pulse point of his neck before he could say another word.

Kenneth didn’t flinch. He didn’t even have a smidge of fear running through him.

You know why?

His killer machine was never going to kill him?

Hell, he built her from scratch. To him, she was like a dog he had properly trained; he knew just the right treat to have her back on her hunches, tail wagging obediently, waiting for the next command. “Careful, child,” he murmured calmly. “That’s a very expensive suit, one I’m particularly fond of, like I am you.”

The backhanded praise calmed her slightly like he knew it would, and yet her anger remained.

“You shouldn't have come here,” Barbara spat, pressing the blade until a thin, brilliant bead of red welled up against his white collar. “You said this was my job, to handle however I deemed fit. So why are you here, Uncle Kenneth? Why are you watching me?”

“Because I just had to see it! Your final countdown, if everything goes according to your plan.” Kenneth said, finally turning to face her, the knife still at his throat. His expression was one of paternal pride. “I am glad I came. This is better than any show I’ve ever watched… the passion, the attraction, the sheer chemistry… magnifico. I mean, it always has been, I’ve known since he convinced you to go to his hotel with him a year ago. It’s a pity that it is the greatest beast of them all who would tug at your heart’s strings.

More words were spewing out of his mouth… more blood-curdling words, but Barbara couldn’t hear any of it, not after what she’d just heard him say.

Her blood roared like liquid heat in her ears, anger burning hot and hard, mingling with disappointment and then a bit of resentment as she stared at him, mouth hanging slightly in shock.

By the time the words started to form, her blood had turned to ice, cold, steely, cutting. “You knew, Uncle Kenneth?” she asked him, “You knew about us, and you still sent me out here to kill him?”