Moneybag Moneybag Moneybag Moneybag Moneybag!
That’s all that she was about that Moneybag.
Georgio Armani Bag, Chanel Bag, Jimmy Choo Bag, Yves Saint Laurent Bag!
Moneybag, Moneybag! Tom Ford Bag, Akris Bag! She was chasing the Moneybag sporting a Louis Vuitton Bag.
Her appearance was all cash, pink Hermes straw hat, coral red lipstick beautified her lips. She was on her shit!
Gucci peep toe Heels, Dior miniskirt painted her figure. Her body was a killer! Hourglass figure. Her tunic was Ballmain, A bright color yellow… translucent. No bra her breast were translucent.
She was blowing in the breeze on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. Basking in the sun. Admiring her nails. Trying to kill this mothafucka she broke a nail. What should’ve been a simple kill went left, and shit got real!
His price tag was a million.
She hopped on his yacht, rosé Perrier got her hot. White man, Greek, Tanned, and hot. He was chiseled. Feeling on his pecks and abs got her wet. They had sex. Another bottle of the Perrier, again they had sex. She slept.
Now, here’s where the shit went left…
She woke up naked just her Tiffany necklace. He wasn’t in the bed. Instantly, her mind went to the moneybag, and how she would kill him dead? Bullet to the back of the neck, Push him overboard, or stab him in the back? She thought she had options galore.
The vacation was for a week. The entire time they would teeter on the shore, on the coast. When it was time to return, she would turn him into a ghost.
The Greek, on the bow of his yacht, was remembering the night he had in between the sheets with Sophia. Dam She turned him out. She was gorgeous, a million and a freak.
He was planning the week out at sea. Of course they would blow in the breeze, soak in the sun, and make love a ton. Water sports, jet skis, and sliding boards. He wanted to watch her dive into the Mediterranean off his yacht… Naked!
He was planning covering the floor from the bow to the captain’s quarters, with roses and diamonds. Let her beautiful feet walk on heaven… Naked!
She was heaven!
No! She was hell! Rosy fiery smell. Sin was her scent. She was still enticed by his smell. It filled the room, Acqua Di Giorgio Armani.
She was in the mirror reminiscing about the “D” last night. Looking forward to the moneybag that she would secure a week from tonight.
She would play for the week. Let him lavish her on the Riviera. At the Marina Piccola, she would throw him over. Maybe, in Nice. Sink the boat, and jet ski to the beach.
She was the bad bitch 007 reversed. She was a crook. Call her Seven double 0. In a Dior haute couture evening dress.
Her life was the best! She got paid to do what she loved to do … Murder!
Last night he got the best of her. It was the Perrier, maybe, it was the way that he pulled her hair.
She giggled. She had to admit, his Greek style had her tickled. Tonight was hers she would put it on him, suck on him until the morning. Then watch the sun rise through his eyes. She would be his last love before he died.
The feeling of knowing that she would kill him was thrilling. That, the Mediterranean, and his sexy style had her dripping.
The message she received read: ABORT! “Abort the mission?”
* * * * *
“There is a Trojan horse with you on the Mediterranean Sea.” Read the message that he received. The sender, unknown.
The fact that he was on the Mediterranean nobody could’ve known. He told nobody, when he wanted, hs was gone. It was just him and her. Sophia! She had to be the Trojan Horse. A deceiver! A spy in disguise, sent to take his life. Who sent her? Right here in the middle of the sea is where he would leave her?
Sophia through him off, by a touch that was oh so soft! She was dispatched by whoever?.. he had an endless list of enemies. Now, he would send her head back to whoever? … In a bag! The message would read: SHE COULDN’T COMPLETE THE JOB!
On the deck of his yacht, he was contemplating murdering Sophia. To the fishes he would feed her. He was boiling hot! He was almost out foxed by the sex. However, a heads up in the form of a text, put him on point.
He wasn’t a killer. But, he would send this Trojan back to the sender decapitated! Black rose in her mouth!
To figure, he was ready to give Sophia a key to his house, a rose!
* * * * *
She aborted no missions. Once she was dispatched… death was written! Whoever, sent the message had to be kidding. The message had her vexed, she was upset.
Abort the mission?
What an insult. They disrespected her murder game. She would kill them next. Another week? No! She would kill him tonight, while he slept. Then do him a favor and kill his enemies.
He stepped into the quarters. His face distorted in a menacing order. Through the mirror, she noticed his frown, and instantly knew that “Sophia’s” cover was blown.
She turned around, the dagger she threw. It grazed his face and lodged into the wall. The Greek man grabbed his face, the blood poured from his jaw.
He was shocked! This dazzling beauty was on the verge of taking him out. She threw another dagger. It missed. Her heel broke. She tripped. She reached for the lost dagger. He stomped on her hand. Broke a nail. She yelped!
“Where in the middle of the sea, … there’s no help.”
An insult, she needed no help. She was Mrs. Murderess and he was Mr. Dead!
“Who sent you?” The Greek man asked pulling her leg. He was headed to the bridge of the yacht.
Not! She kept a back up plan. She pulled the derringer from her bra. It fit perfectly in her hand.
The Greek man was wondering how he would torture Sophia? So that he could get the information that he needed? Hang her from the sail, or use her as an ore? He would find out who sent her for sure.
“It was Popodopoulos who wanted you murdered.” A courtesy. Before she murdered him.
He turned around. On the gun he focused. “You don’t have to do this,” he begged.
“I know” She giggled, she pulled the trigger then whispered: “Femme Fatale!”