When she finally arrived at the mansion, she grabbed her fake invite out of the bag before dropping the rucksack into the nearby shrubs just to the side of the mansion.

  Quite a few people were waiting outside the door to be checked in, but using her speed and agility, she slipped in between the front-running guests—most of whom remained completely oblivious to both their surroundings and her presence.

  When it was her turn, the doorman gave her a few leering looks—which she’d half-expected, given the outfit she’d chosen. It made her a bit uncomfortable, sure, but she wanted to look good. With the way she’d augmented her body, the stares didn’t come as a surprise—but she hadn’t expected to draw quite this much attention. The doorman barely glanced at her invitation; his gaze was fixed on the plunging chasm of cleavage in front of him.

  She held her best poker face until she got inside, determined not to make more of a scene than she already had.

  Once inside, she stayed to the outskirts of the party, keeping an eye out for the two persons of interest.

  After some time passed, she fixed herself a small plate of hors d'oeuvres. She was pretty famished and regretted not packing some food before her workout, mentally kicking herself for the oversight. It was nice that the party was well-stocked with food and drink; she just tried to get her fill without being too obvious.

  Then, someone finally caught her interest. A tall, slender, bald man with black-rimmed glasses stood about 6'4". He was clean-cut, well-dressed, and sporting a custom-tailored blue suit with a silken lining. He also reeked of blood (apparently, none of the other guests could smell it, but she could), which made his devilish grin even more haunting.

  She watched as he schmoozed around with the guests, his mannerisms and personality slightly shifting effortlessly to suit each guest he was chatting up, giving off the trusting vibe of a corrupt politician or a used-car salesman. "How is anyone stomaching this creep?" she thought to herself.

  She tried to keep the bald man at a distance, tactfully moving as he moved to keep him at bay.

  That's when he walked in—the 'other' person of interest, both personally and professionally.

  He was well-built and toned, standing about 5'8", a little shorter than she liked (tall compared to her current 5'1" frame), but looked attractive with handsome features, a couple of what looked like old battle scars on his face, and a tanned complexion. His attire wasn't fancy, but she personally liked his taste: a blue leather jacket, a pair of well-fitting jeans, and black square-tipped boots.

  He smelled like stale tobacco, which she didn't mind; to her, it made her nostalgic and a bit homesick, reminding her of her grandfather's small minka-style house.

  She was shaken out of her daydream by the stench of blood that wafted over her like a tidal wave.

  "Ah, so good to have you join us, Ms...?" The man looked down at her, his hand extended in greeting.

  "Oh, Ms. Taylor, Jamie Taylor with the Board of Building Committee. I apologize—you caught me with my mind elsewhere. And you are?" she replied in her best nonchalant demeanor, complemented by a fake smile as she grasped his hand, shaking it as femininely as possible.

  "Penske, Tommy Penske. I threw this little shindig together. Like it?"

  "It's very nice, Mr. Penske," she nodded, acting impressed while sipping her cola, trying to mask the stench of blood emanating from him.

  "I represent the Fratelli organization. We ship and handle goods and services."

  "Oh, they sound pretty important. Do you plan on building up in our small city? If so, I'll keep an eye out in the permitting office in case you want me to *personally* stop by for an inspection," she said in a voice like silk, adding a wink for effect.

  "Well then, sounds like I need to get on the ball with the board ASAP so we can get those plans *looked at,*" he replied, matching her tone and gesture. She begrudgingly accepted his flirtation but masked her irritation, holding her hand out to maintain the charade.

  "It was a pleasure to meet you, and I look forward to working with you in the future," she said, taking another sip of her cola. He shook her hand and bade her farewell before the creepy carved smile etched its way back onto his face. He nodded to her and moved on to his other 'guests.'

  She returned to her small, dainty dish of food, retreating to her spot in the background as she continued watching the guests—and the newcomer.

  *Well, he's definitely cuter in person than the mugshot intel sent me,* she thought, sipping her cola as she tried to subtly observe him while munching on her snack plate.

  He kept eyeing Tommy, like he was trying to get in close but couldn’t. Tommy seemed to notice, because as soon as their eyes locked, he turned to one of his wingmen, mumbling something before they both abruptly left the room.

  The other guest, looking a bit pissed and discouraged, downed his drink and left. Tiff did the same, silently following after him while keeping her distance, watching him through the window by the door he had just walked out of.

  She observed as he stopped at the edge of the parking lot, staring up at the night sky before fumbling in his pockets for something.

  "Good, looks like I'll finally get a moment to talk to him alone." Moving silently, she left the party and sneaked up behind him, scaring the daylights out of him. She stifled a giggle as he nearly dropped his lighter.

  They chatted for a bit. He seemed standoffish, but she rolled with it anyway. He came off as a bit of a dick, but she could tell he was putting up a tough guy facade, which she was fine with for now. If anything, it only made her more curious about him.

  As he was about to leave, she considered giving him her number but felt a bit bashful. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Tommy and his goons chattering orders through the quiet night air. Her thoughts focused back to the other guy, Nick, who seemed interested, judging by the way he was looking at her and acting. They said their goodbyes, playing it off like she was heading back inside to the party while keeping an eye on Nick as he left.

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  She hurried to the back of the mansion, ducking past a few guards on patrol, and finally came across Tommy and his underlings.

  "Make sure that asshole doesn't leave this mountain alive! Got it?"

  "Are you coming too, boss?"

  "Hmm, I haven't stretched my legs in a while," Tommy said, pausing to tap a finger on his chin. "Sure, why not? Let's make a game of this. First one to catch him gets all access to any one item in the inventory."

  "Boss, even the *living items*?" The question brought back that creepy, carved smile on his face. "Yes, flesh is back on the menu, boys."

  "But boss, what happens if you beat us to the punch?" Tommy's carved smile disappeared, leaving his face an unsettling void of expression, a stark contrast to his earlier enthusiasm.

  "Well, boys, I suggest failure not be on your minds then, or I might add you to my inventory. If I'm feeling generous, you may be labeled *living*." The color drained from both of their faces. Tommy's dreadful smile returned, exposing gold-colored, pointed teeth.

  "Now, boys, don't lose before you've even started." At this, he waved them off. They both nodded in unison and dashed into the treetops, seeking a vantage point to track their target and possibly outrun him.

  After they left, Tommy, with both hands in his pockets, nonchalantly leaped into the nearest tree. He hopped from limb to limb, tree to tree, with a good idea of which road his hit was taking. He moved at a slower pace, savoring the hunt, with every intention of intercepting his target further down the path.

  Tiff watched from the shadows, waiting for them to leave. Once all three had disappeared, she grabbed her rucksack from the bush where she had tossed it and slipped into the shadows. She chose to follow the two underlings, hoping to make short work of them and catch up with Tommy. A mix of nerves and excitement coursed through her—it had been ages since she’d felt the thrill of a hunt. Sure, she was severely handicapped as a human, but that only made the challenge more exhilarating. If she had her tail, it would be a furious blur, barely restrained in its excitement.

  "Alright, game face," she said, slapping both cheeks with her hands to focus. She took a slow jog before leaping to a tree branch to chase after the two minions. Once mid-tree level, she used her sense of smell to track them, hopping from branch to branch as quickly as she could in boots to catch up.

  *Sniff, sniff.*

  "Smells like I'm almost on them. They're still together," she muttered. In mid-leap, she drew both blades, keeping them at hip level with the hilts forward and the blades trailing behind her.

  She hurried faster, the trees whirring by in a blur as she followed the stench trail of the minions, finally catching up to the first lackey who noticed her.

  "Hey, we got comp—"

  The words barely left his mouth before her kunai whizzed through the air, slicing his head clean off in a swift, silent motion. The detached head tumbled into the shadowy abyss below, bouncing off a few branches on the way down. His lifeless body, still spewing a faint pink mist from the gaping wound, plummeted after it, crashing through the underbrush to the forest floor with a muted thud.

  She motioned for the kunai to return to her hand. *Thack.* She effortlessly caught it by the gold ring in the hilt, whirling it around to re-grip it while closing the gap on the last minion.

  "What the hell?! Jimmy!" Tiffany hurled a kunai at him. He ducked, the blade whizzing past and disappearing into the shadows. As he turned to fire his Glock, she raised her second kunai, her movements sharp and deliberate. The gun cracked through the chilled night air—*kachow, kachow, kachow!*—each shot echoing like a thunderclap. The acrid scent of gunpowder hit her senses, as intoxicating as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  She deflected the rounds with her kunai, the ricochets ringing—*ting, ting, tang!*—off the blade.

  "Who the fuck is she?!?"

  He pressed two fingers on his radio. "Boss, boss, we got a situation! -*buzzzchrshe!*" The transmission abruptly cut off.

  The minion had just enough time to see Tiff's blade whirling back toward him, slicing clean through his neck. His head rolled to the side, followed by an arterial spray of blood from the severed neck. His headless body staggered in slow motion before crumpling to the forest floor, joining his fallen comrade.

  Tiff landed gracefully on the next branch, her eyes scanning the surroundings as she waited for her blade to return. Wiping the blood-soaked steel on the long hem of her dress, she regained her bearings and swiftly moved in the direction of Tommy.

  "Well, he's certainly easy to find," she thought to herself, mentally rolling her eyes. "It's almost like he wants to be found." The stench of blood that permeated around him wasn’t the smell of a rat, but several humans.

  She could hear the faint sound of a high-revving small engine in the distance. "Well, it sounds like Nick is still around, so that's a plus. This is a part of the mission I really don't want to fail."

  "Guess that means we have guests," Tommy said, stopping at the next branch he landed on and waiting. Calling into his earpiece for a report, he received only static and dead air. Checking his surroundings, he spotted a small clearing and then hopped across the tree limbs toward it. With a final leap, he landed in the center of the clearing, hands still in his pockets. He took one hand out to adjust his glasses, then put it back, waiting patiently.

  "I'll give whoever it is seven minutes. That's all I can spare. If the other two are dead, that means my hit is still alive..." He checked his watch, counting down the minutes. "Six and a half minutes."