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A Sip of Revenge

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A man on the other side of the bar couldn’t take his eyes off her. She walked in, and the room stopped. She moved like a panther—slow and smooth; she owned the room, and she knew it. His heart stopped, and his pants got a bit tighter.

She sat across the bar, and all the men went to her like bees to honey. None survived; she killed them all just by looking at them.

He started to look at her, paying close attention to all her curves and details. She was mysterious, delicate, and sensual.

He started to dream about her, that he was her red silk dress, and that he could feel her skin. He wanted to be her red lipstick to kiss her; he was jealous of the glass of wine because he wanted to touch her lips.
Wondering what wine she was drinking, he wanted to be to it, so he could go down her throat.

His eyes went up and down, looking at her long arms covered with black silk, and he never wanted more to touch a woman. But he knew she was not there for him, nor for the other men around him who were just as hypnotized as he was.

A woman like her always has a mission, and she was on one. There was a man with a death wish that night, and she was ready to end his life. He messed with the wrong woman, and now he had to pay.

It was just a matter of time until he arrived, and then there he was, a scrappy old fat man who thinks he is better than everyone else because he has money and power and believes he is above everyone else. But that was about to change.

He sat next to her, ordered a drink, and lit a cigarette. He acted like she wasn’t there, like he wasn’t intoxicated by her perfume, attracted by her presence. She had a cigarette in her hand and pretended she didn't have a lighter. He reached and lit it for her.

“A woman like you shouldn’t be in a place like this,” he said, avoiding her eyes.

“You don’t know the woman I am,” she said with a smirk.

“Of course I know—seductive, acting mysterious—but deep down, you are just like all the others. Hungry for a luxury life, expensive clothes, and a loveless marriage where you can full around with your husband's business partners”

She lifted her left eyebrow in a perfect arch while leaning towards him and pouring without him noticing the liquid contained in the smallest bottle she uses for the special missions in his top shelve, Scotch.

“Well, you got one right; I am hungry for a luxurious life.”

She leaned back again and took a sip of her wine, while she looked at the man on the other side of the bar and whispered:

“I have it because I take out men like you from the picture.”

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