"All set," Sebastian said, holding out a sheet of paper. "Sign here."
The contract listed the buyer as "Black Cat."
Felicia didn't care how he planned to report that on his taxes. She invented a signature for her secret identity and handed the paper back. He kept the original and gave her a copy. Felicia hadn't even known he owned a photocopier.
"Can I go now?" Felicia asked, pressing her thighs together as she waited. Her arousal hadn't subsided, and she wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.
"Of course. I look forward to receiving your payment," Sebastian said with a smile.
Felicia turned and headed for the door, half expecting another damn trap. The door opened inward. She stopped in the doorway and looked back at him.
"Did you know it was me all along? Even when I came in asking about antique weapons?"
"Come again soon." Sebastian waved her off.
'Bastard. At least I've got five years to pay it off,' Felicia thought.
She regretted taking the job. Someone had hired her to investigate the shop on behalf of a mob boss. She didn't know who the boss was, and she didn't particularly care. The pay was good. That was why she'd come by during the day to gather information. If that redheaded woman hadn't shown up, Felicia could have asked a few more questions.
She hadn't learned enough on her first visit, so she'd hoped to get some additional information tonight, steal another weapon, or perhaps find some records.
Instead, that damned monster had stopped her. Couldn't he just let a girl be a good thief and claim her prize?
She walked with her thighs pressed together. The suit had turned black and covered her face. When she reached her family's estate, she switched it to invisibility mode. She was still amazed by the suit.
Even more amazed by what a bargain it had been.
Felicia was the daughter of Anastasia Hardy, a multimillionaire, which gave her some familiarity with the upper echelons of society. Fifty million dollars was a low price for the suit she'd acquired. She could sell it for ten times that amount, and it would still be a good deal.
Felicia made it home, climbed through her bedroom window, and collapsed onto her bed. Her legs felt weak, and she'd grown so wet she thought she could fill a good part of a glass.
She stripped off the suit immediately and studied herself in the mirror. She loved her body. Her breasts were large and round, with pink nipples. Exercise kept her stomach flat. Her thighs were thick and firm. She turned to admire her backside in the mirror, just as full and firm.
She stepped into a cold shower.
She wasn't going to give in to the effects of that aphrodisiac. Absolutely not. She wasn't going to let Sebastian win.
'But if he used an aphrodisiac, why didn't he fuck me when he had the chance?' she wondered.
Almost without thinking, her hand slipped between her legs. A single touch sent a jolt through her entire body.
Cold water ran over her skin, but it did nothing to cool her down. There was no way it could. She stopped holding herself back. She was home. She was safe.
She slipped two fingers inside herself and began moving them back and forth, making her legs tremble. Masturbation was nothing new to Felicia. She had a body worth enjoying, and she intended to enjoy it. That was simply how she was. She loved her own body. Looking at herself could turn her on, and she liked pleasuring herself in front of a mirror.
But right now, the tension was so overwhelming that she could only keep her eyes shut. One of her hands rose to her throat and tightened around it. It didn't feel the same as when Sebastian did it, but the sensation was still exquisite.
With one hand moving inside her and the other gripping her throat, she reached her climax. It was long and intense, so much so that she had to move the hand from her throat to cover her mouth and muffle the moan that escaped.
Her legs gave out afterward, and she sank to her knees beneath the shower. It had been good. Very good. But Felicia couldn't shake the feeling that another hand around her throat would have made it even better.
Elsewhere in New York, Frank Castle had found his next targets: a gang of criminals. They sold drugs, kidnapped people, and ran extortion rackets. Those were the crimes he knew about. If Frank had learned anything, it was that there was always more shit to uncover.
Tonight, he was going to put Sebastian's M16 to the test. According to the guy, it was far better than an ordinary rifle, not just in durability but in firepower. Frank had already tested it, and he'd liked the results.
He parked his van outside an apparently abandoned building in Hell's Kitchen and shut off the engine. Then he lit a cigarette. He checked the time: 12:40 a.m. Most of the gang members went home around one.
Distracted and happy. What better time to kill them all?
Frank took out the M16, checked it over, and inspected his magazines. He had eight fully loaded, though he doubted he'd need more than two. He was finishing his third cigarette when the men began to emerge.
He watched them. Cockroaches, every last one. Even then, he didn't move. He let them approach their vehicles. They always smoked a cigarette before leaving, and tonight was no different.
The moment the first cigarette was lit, Frank stepped out of the van and opened fire. He'd parked so he could use the vehicle as cover.
A single bullet killed two men who'd lined up almost as though they were waiting to be shot. The penetration didn't surprise him. He'd tested the rifle already. He kept pulling the trigger. The men scrambled behind their cars.
"Stop! Fuck, stop!" one of them shouted as another man died beside him. "Who the fuck are you? Who sent you?"
Frank fired into the car. The bullets tore through its bodywork like butter.
"Name your price! I'll pay it!" the man shouted again, desperate.
"I don't have a price," Frank said. They were far enough away that he'd have to shout to be heard, and he didn't care whether they heard him.
"I want to live! Please! Have mercy! Please!"
Frank found the pleading disgusting.
When he emptied his second magazine, he loaded the third and started moving closer. The men weren't crying anymore. They weren't begging anymore. They were dead.
Frank was thorough. He wasn't about to leave loose ends and waste time hunting them down later. He advanced slowly, crouched to look beneath the cars, and spotted a man crawling toward an alley.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Mercy. Please." The man was in his thirties, his brown eyes wide with panic.
"No."
Frank shot him in the head.
"All dead."
He turned toward the building, ready to wipe out every last fucking pest still inside.
"I didn't get here in time."
A man in a red suit stood in front of Frank. His body was completely covered, with only his chin visible.
Frank looked at him and raised his rifle. He never knew how to deal with people like this. They were a different kind of monster. This guy and the spider. Frank couldn't kill them. They were good guys.
'Fucking self-righteous bastards.'