Faith Fox the senior lieutenant of MX14 and second in command of the cartel in her office

You are really into the bad girls, aren't you? Cool storyline.

Someone likes generous cleavage 😉 but hey, so do I.

i would love to share some prompt words but i get in trouble sometimes for it

To be continued…

As the moonlight spilled through the window, she made her choice. The next vial would be different—a cure, not a curse. And perhaps, just perhaps, she’d find salvation in the arms of the lonely man who looked at her as if she held the key to his shattered heart.

But as she stood amidst the mounds of wealth, Faith wondered. What had she become? Was it greed or survival that drove her? The assassin’s mask fit snugly, but beneath it, she felt the weight of her choices.

And then she saw him—the lonely man with the whisky, haunting the mansion’s corridors. His eyes held questions, and hers held answers. In that stolen moment, they were bound—two souls on opposite sides of a dangerous game.

Faith Fox, assassin. She had done it for the money, but now she craved more—the taste of redemption, the touch of love. The poison’s kiss lingered, staining her lips.

And so, the poison’s kiss became her weapon. She slipped it into crystal glasses, watched as the man’s lifeblood mingled with the liquid. His eyes widened, a silent plea, and then he crumpled. Faith didn’t flinch. She was no executioner; she was a businesswoman, a predator in heels.

The mansion yielded its secrets—the hidden vaults, the paintings worth fortunes, the whispered names of powerful men. Faith reveled in the opulence, her fingers tracing the edges of stolen art. The money piled up, a testament to her ruthlessness.

Faith’s pulse quickened. She was no stranger to darkness, but this—this was a dance with death itself. The man’s desperation was contagious, infecting her veins. She imagined the mounds of money, the wealth that awaited her. The mansion atop the hill, guarded by secrets and armed men.

She accepted the vial, her fingers brushing against his. “Consider it done.”

But then came the man—the one who changed everything. His eyes held secrets, and his pockets overflowed with desperation. He slid into her booth at the dimly lit bar, the scent of whiskey clinging to his tailored suit. His voice was a low rasp, a promise wrapped in silk.

“Faith,” he said, and the syllables tasted like sin. “I have a problem. A delicate matter that requires your expertise.”

She leaned back, studying him. His name was irrelevant; they were all nameless in her world. But the vial he placed on the table—that was different. Liquid death, shimmering like moonlight. Poison.

Faith Fox—her name whispered through the underbelly of the city like a dark secret. She moved through the shadows, a phantom in stilettos, her past buried deep beneath layers of deception. The neon-lit streets of New York City were her playground, and she reveled in the thrill of danger.

It had started innocently enough. A name plucked from thin air, a persona crafted on the fly. Faith—the irony wasn’t lost on her. She had none. Morals were for the weak, restrictions for the naive. If the client paid, she delivered. No questions asked. She was an escort, a companion for those who craved more than flesh—a dangerous liaison in silk and lace.