New Orleans, Louisiana – 1983

The was hot. Hotter than he had expected. Even though it was night, he could feel the sweat that stuck to his armpits, attempting to completely dry out his body and make him only a withered husk of a man. It was funny, especially considering that there was a night breeze, he was slinking through the shadows, and still he felt as if he were going to pass out from the heat. That oppressive, sweat inducing heat that clung to the entire environment. And it was not even so much that there was a glaring heat from the sun (especially considering that it was night), it was a grudge-like, humid heat that tried to draw every bit of moisture out of any living creature.

Yes, it was safe to say that this was not the music comfortable of environments. But he didn’t mind. He was here to do a job.

A 25-year old Vicente de la Sangre pulled at the collar of the t-shirt that he wore that was already soaked in sweat, as he strolled the streets of New Orleans, looking for the Blue Dot Jazz Club. He was supposed to meet his contact there.

About five years ago, Vicente had sold his life away to the Los Lobos cartel in order to protect his father and mother from them. Since then, they used his skills a great deal. Vicente had proved to be a budding killer, a young man that most others would grow to fear. He was vicious, unstoppable, and just downright terrifying to be around. Vicente worked hard to put fear into the hearts of his bosses. Not just for kicks because so long as he kept them scared, the longer that his family was safe from their anger.

That was why he killed with so efficiently. The more jobs he did, the cleaner he did them, the happier his bosses were.

Dressed in a tight, gray shirt that clung to his overly muscular frame and a pair of baggy blue jeans, the killer sneered as a man and woman sporting a Mohawk staggered by him. He shook his head and continued on, his steel-toed boots crunching the ground where he roamed. He still could not believe he was actually in New Orleans. The cartel bosses had informed him that one of their former generals had defected and was on the way to spill his beans to the authorities.

But first he wanted to lose their trail. But having never been in New Orleans before, Vicente did not even know where to look.

But that was where The Reaper came in. Reaper knew the lay of this land and he’d give him all the intel he needed.

He smirked at the thought. Reaper was another assassin, someone who worked for one of the Los Lobos offshoot families. No one knew much about this character other than he was probably a real bastard who had little pity for human life. He was cold, vicious, and even more efficient. Vicente was…actually EXCITED to meet this person. Ever since he started cleaning for the Cartel, he had wanted to meet this person.

Rounding another corner, he spotted The Blue Dot club, and grinned.

“Here we go,” he grinned as he casually strolled to the club, feeling the belt of knives he had hidden underneath his shirt, pressing against his stomach muscles..

The club was disorienting, to say the least. The swirls of smoke that wafted up from the corners, the riots of light, the sound of John Coltrane’s “My Favorite Things” playing out of hidden speakers, the general pulsating of the throng of people that were gathered and pressed all about. It was enough to nearly make the man twitch. He did not like crowds so much, but he still managed to glide through them as if he were little more than a shadow, or a wispy ghost. He appeared and disappeared as he made his way through, trying to not draw too much attention to himself by bumping into people.

But thankfully people seemed to be understanding and simply smirked and replied that it was okay whenever Vicente’s massive shoulders bumped into someone who was dancing or talking to a pretty girl. He nodded to them, only the smallest of “apologetic” smiles on his face. To be honest Vicente really did not care if he disturbed them. He needed to get to the bar, that was all.

Slipping by and listening to the rhythmic music that played around his head, his sharp eyes scanned the area. People dancing, drinking, laughing and smoking, he saw nothing else out of the ordinary. He wondered if maybe Reaper was one of these people: the tall guy who lorded over a dark corner of the room while he smoked a cigarette, the saxophonist who was setting up with her trio before the record player stopped, maybe even the bartender who seemed to be eyeing him curiously. It quite seriously could have been anyone.

As he stepped up to the bar, Vicente settled his massive 6’1, muscular frame onto the stood and nodded to the bartender who was still giving him a curious gaze.

Vicente had to admit that the bartender truly could have been Reaper. The man was tall, almost has muscular as Vicente, but with a complexion that was as dark and unforgiving as the darkest obsidian. A scar lay across his jaw from some unknown fight (judging by the look of it) and he did seem to be rather interested in Vicente’s presence here.

Vicente arched a brow and locked eyes with the man. As they stared at each other, Vicente was about to open his mouth to whisper the confirmation saying that he had found him when…the bartender suddenly blew him a kiss and waggled his brows. And not in a sarcastic way either!

The young assassin gently shook his head and turned back, away from the man. He doubted that man was the Reaper…part of him really hoped that, anyways…

He sighed as he turned back to face the dance floor and the clustered up tables. He continued to watch and eye the whole group, wondering where the hell Reaper was? Maybe the man was late? Naw, if there was one thing that Reaper was known for was his ability to be on time. He sighed and shook his head as he leaned back against the bar. The bartender returned, a little heartbroken, and Vicente merely ordered a beer.

“If the wolf howls at night…” a voice suddenly whispered next to him.

Reaper he thought, as he swallowed his swig of beer and muttered his response.

“…then the moon hangs low and bright.” he said with a nod. He smirked as he turned to face the mythically Reaper…

…and blinked…

“You’re too obvious,” she responded with a shake of her head and a deep sigh. “Way too obvious. You’re the best that Los Lobos could send? Do they think this is some *explicative deleted!*-ing kiddie mission? I don’t have time to take care of your butt because you’re too busy eating your own snot,” she growled and raised her hand to the bartender.

Immediately a pair of tequila shots were placed before her. She took them straight, downed the fiery liquid and hissed a bit. But it did not look painful. It looked more like she just simply enjoyed it far too much.

All Vicente could do as he stared at her was mutter in a shocked manner.

“R-Reaper?” he asked in a hissing whisper.

The woman turned and smirked at him before she shook her head and rolled her eye. “And smart too, absolutely perfect,” she grumbled as she turned her back to him, reaching over the bartop and snagging up a phone that lay on its cradle. More silent mutterings as she dialed a quick number and held the receiver up to her ear. “Yeah, Carlo? Are eff-ing kidding me? What is the big idea sending me this witless moron?...Oh yeah? Then you can tell Salazar to take his fist and…”

This? THIS was Reaper? Vicente only shook his head in shocked silence as he say there, staring at this person.

It turns out that Reaper was actually quite the beautiful if not scarred up, looking woman. She sat there, dressed in only a pair of black pants and a black bustier with an eye-patch cover her right eye. Her was thin, sleek, and yet still muscular looking with several scars that shown off her years of fight. Her jet black hair cascaded down her shoulders and gleamed with a glossy glow from the bar lights. She snapped her head to the side, arguing on the phone, sending her strands of raven black hair flying about her. Wrapped around her bicep was a tattoo that simply read “Viva Con Dios”.

Reaper…was a woman; and quite the boisterous one at that. It actually took him a minute of watching her to realize that she was actually insulting him to whoever it was on the other end of the phone. But…what could he really say? Could he complain? Could he demand that she show him some respect? He doubted it if the rumors about her were true. But…how could he really take her seriously?

He smirked and shook his head as she slammed the phone back down onto the cradle and huffed. She then turned to face her remaining good eye upon him.

“Damn it,” she muttered with a shake of her head. “Looks like I’m stuck with you. Come on,” she sighed as she stood up.

“What?” he asked as his brain finally vanquished the haze of this revelation.

She snarled as she leaned down, grabbed his shirt and forcefully pulled him up onto his feet. “Don’t *explicative deleted!!*-ing waste my TIME, moron! I really don’t like it when people waste my time.”

She let go of his shirt and began to storm away.

“And take a shower,” she grumbled and wiped her hands on his shirt, “for God’s sake.”

Vicente watched her wide-eyed and then quickly began to follow behind her. He really did not know what to think. His mind was reeling. This woman was much short than him, probably around 5’6 and easily 30 years old. But for some reason her very sauntering steps just demanded respect from the crowds around. Still though…how could he really be sure? Maybe the rumors about her were just…faulty…

He sighed and caught up to her, remaining behind. This…was going to be interesting…

“So what the hell are you doing in my city?” she grumbled.

That was an HOUR after they left The Blue Dot Club. She had commanded that he follow her earlier, Vicente complied, but every since then they had simply been walking through the city, without her saying a single word to him. Vicente had wanted to break the silence, if only just to keep the uncomfortable silence between them from growing even larger. But really, he just didn’t know what to say. He doubted that she was the type of woman who cared about discussing how the weather was.

So Vicente opted to say nothing.

Instead he walked out in the humid heat, mutely behind the woman as she sauntered ahead of him, ignoring any cat calls she got from passing men. It was only when an hour had passed that she finally asked him her question.

Not wanting to be manhandled in public by this woman again, he cleared his throat as he finally responded to her.

“I just go where my bosses send me,” he muttered. “They said I could contact you to gain information as to the whereabouts of my target.”

It was simple enough. Vicente was not here to plot the next, great American novel or solve world hunger. He was here to end someone’s life. Simple as that. Reaper should have known that off the bat. Maybe she really was not as cracked up as she was supposed to be.

Reaper shook her head.

“So, just being an attack dog, huh?” she grinned to herself. “Typical. I’ve seen your type before. You’re all the same. Master points, you run gnashing your teeth like a rabid beast trying to please your human. Just sad, really.”

Vicente seethed in anger. He stared at the back of this woman’s head and felt all at once the weight of her insults and the shattering of his idolization of this person. It was all just too much now. This woman, her damn mouth of hers, her insinuation that he was only going to slow her down when he was the most sought after hitman in Texas! He was absolutely and positively done with it.

That was why his face contorted into rage and he placed his hand roughly on her shoulder.

His first mistake…

The next few seconds were a blur. To be honest Vicente had no idea that someone could move that fast. The second he laid his open palm onto her shoulder, ready to argue his point that she had no idea what she was talking about and she was just being a damned fool, it was too late. Suddenly he felt her go weightless as she spun faster than he thought humanly possible, place her hand upon his and violently grab and twist his wrist.

Vicente bared his teeth in pain as he felt the overly strong grip suddenly send a spider-web of pain shooting through his arm. Reaper gripped his arm into such an awkward angle that the assassin was sure she was going to break the bone. But the second she was satisfied with the amount of pain and pressure she put into that limb, she suddenly pulled hard and sent Vicente stumbling forward.

He barely had time to register the numbness of his arm before suddenly Reaper kicked out and planted a firm boot directly into Vicente’s solarplexus. The assassin gasped painfully and every last ounce of air suddenly flew out of his lungs. His head swam, he saw only darkness behind his eyes and suddenly every sound was fuzzy and muffled. Then, before he knew it, he felt a fist suddenly collide into the side of his jaw and he tumbled painfully to the ground.

Step…Step…

Vicente grunted as he heard the crunching of boots as they stepped up to his fallen body. He held his stomach, trying to force the pain into a tiny ball so that it did not radiate out through his entire form. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not make the pain stop. She hurt him, and she hurt him hard.

“Hm,” Reaper smirked as she stood above him. “Last person I did that do cried in so much agony because I actually split his stomach open. Horrible thing to listen to a man die because his own stomach acids are eroding him from the instead out.” She shrugged as she causally knelt down and smacked him on the side of the head. “Maybe you’re not totally hopeless. Get up. Follow me.”

Vicente coughed as he finally opened his eyes and looked up to see that Reaper was continuing on without him. With a gasp, he struggled onto his feet and slowly continued to follow.

She was definitely all her reputation said she was…

The pain was very slowly taking its time in lessening with every step. He still could not believe that Reaper was able to strike him so hard. Vicente worked out, hard. He put his body through punishment and exercise that few people can imagine. In the end, he was in pain but he knew that it was necessary to keep his body strong. Both to be able to back up his threatening reputation, as well as to support his mutation. It was needless to say that this rigid exercise had managed to make his stomach and chest so tight and sculpted that a solid punch to his stomach barely winded him these days.

At least that’s the way it was until Reaper kicked him.

Vicente gasped a little as he finally managed to catch up to the storming woman. She had a gait about her that just made it seem as if she were taking steps in leaps and bounds. Either that or that kick she delivered to him managed to slow him down a hell of a lot more than he thought imaginable.

When he caught up to her, he coughed briefly and finally managed to straighten up.

Reaper rolled her eye as she glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Really?” she said with a malicious grin. “I barely touched you. Still...the fact that you’re not dead ought to mean something about you.”

Vicente shot her an angry look but did not attempt to attack her for that comment. He was smart enough to know not to underestimate her again.

“You were trying to kill me?” he wheezed before he cleared his throat and tried to ignore the pain that radiated up from his stomach. He still could not believe that a kick like that still hurt this much. He would have to get Reaper to show him.

She smirked. “Whatever. You’re not dead, are you?”

“Uh, no…”

“Then let it go,” she said with a shrug.

Vicente followed in mute silence. As he walked, he eyed Reaper from out of his peripheral. The woman really was a trip to behold. She just exuded this strength that made even him want to bow before her (He didn’t, of course). Normally that was the kind of power he exuded everywhere that he went but this woman just seemed to be a molten sun of fear and strength that quivered the souls of any and everyone who was near her. Her stature, her voice, her stone brown eyes, all of it simply made her this walking force to be reckoned with. It was as if she were a tornado, a hurricane and an earthquake all rolled up into a single woman.

He had to admit that he was slowly starting to gain back some of that praise that he had thought he lost forever for the name “Reaper.”

“Stop staring at me,” she growled.

Vicente turned his gaze away as he continued to next to her. Finally his stomach stopped radiating pain and he was beginning to feel like his old self again. He reached up to wipe a few drops of sweat that hung onto his forehead and breathed calmly. His stomach would be sore for a while, but at least he no longer felt like he wanted to throw up everything that he had ever or would ever eat.

“So,” she said as she walked boldly on. “What the hell do they even call you?”

He smirked slightly. He was getting used to her gravelly voice. “You actually care to know?” he responded with a sarcastic tone.

“No,” she said with a shrug. “Would be nice to know what name to put on your head stone though.” She cast him another glance before she stopped in front of a street lamp and spun on her heel to face him. “Look, I don’t have time for attitude. I kicked you, you live, it’s done. Now whip your act into shape or I will leave you to the wolves here. And trust me, I mean that in the most serious manner.”

Vicente paused as he looked at her. He could see that she was indeed speaking the truth. She was a no nonsense woman who people definitely did not want to cross. He was slowly beginning to realize that everything last thing he heard about the person attached to the name Reaper, was true.

“Blood,” he said as he held out his hand to her. To shake, obviously. “They call me Blood.”

Blink Blink.

She paused. Reaper’s single remaining eye looked at Vicente closely. Her face was as still as a graveyard, not a single motion or twitch revealed what she was thinking. Her hands on her hips, she looked almost like a statue as time passed. The sound of Vicente saying his name had long since left long with the breeze. Awkwardly the man pulled his hand back to his side, since she was not going to shake it, and sighed as he waited for her to make a move.

When she finally did, it started with her shoulder. A gentle quiver that bounced up and down, before it expanding across to her neck and her face. Her lips began to shake as she inverted her lips, obviously trying to keep something from escaping her mouth. For a second Vicente actually worried. Was this woman okay? Was she dying? Was something going on that he just could not grasp? And then…she opened her mouth…and she laughed…

“AH-HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” she bent over with laughter. Her bright, white teeth showed in a most jovial way, as actually slapped her knee and began to hold her sides. “You have to be *explicative deleted*-ing KIDDING me!”

Her laughter fluttered around Vicente’s ears like a teasing, mocking swarm of butterflies. He bite his lip and looked casually from side-to-side as he lowered his head, waiting for her to stop. Her laughter continued on for at least another full minute before it finally descended into a chuckle, then down to a giggle, and finally to a snicker as she just stood there, grinning at Vicente.

He sighed as he rolled his eyes and looked up at her.

“You quite done?”

She grinned wide as she nodded her head. A snicker or two escaped but she managed to control herself long enough to continue to lead him on. “Sure thing…Blood.”

Her laughter echoed about her as she walked down the empty street of New Orleans. Vicente just shook his head as he ran a free hand over his shaved scalp. Spitting contemptuously off to the side, he finally turned and began to follow her again. Where the hell were they going?

Vicente sighed as he sat back in a dilapidated wooden chair, staring out across the some swamp land. He could smell the water wafting in with the breeze and a small shudder ran up his spine. It was still ridiculously humid out here but as he looked up, he look to the side, he watched a small fan lazily blow in his direction, in front of which was a small mist producing device that constantly blew the tiny droplets of water in his direction. For the briefest of seconds he sighed in relief at the cool water, but the humid heat of the Louisiana summer only made that last the second. Soon after he was hot and sticky again.

Sighing he sat back in his seat as he waited for Reaper to reappear.

He had strolled through the New Orlean’s streets for a good 30 minutes before she led him to the outskirts and to this dungheap of a bar. Vicente couldn’t figure out why she dragged him all the way over here when they met at a bar to begin with! But he didn’t question her. Not after she nearly split his stomach open with a single kick. Instead he would just wait this out and see where it went.

Glancing down at his bare hands, Vicente flexed his fingers. He was still at a loss of what to think. This mission was simply not turning out in any way that he imagined. He did not know this area, he could not find his target, and Reaper turned out to be completely different than what he imagined. Then again, the man should have known to expect the unexpected. His life working for Los Lobos pretty much epitomized that notion. Nothing was ever what it seemed.

Cracking his neck to the side he glanced out over the swamp again.

He let his mind drift as Reaper’s words slowly sunk in again. Was he little more than an attack dog? Yes, Vicente did this to protect his family, but that was five years ago. He had never even tried to contact his father to make sure that they kept their end of the bargain, to confirm that the man was alive. Instead Vicente went on, thinking he saved them, and taking the lives of anyone the cartel pointed him at.

“Maybe…Maybe I really am just an attack dog,” Vicente muttered. He sighed as he continued to stare out at the swamp…

After waiting for about ten minutes, Vicente stood, ready to seek Reaper out when he turned and saw her saunter in through the back door. In her hand she carried a file, as well as two bottles of beer. One opened and already half-drunk and the other one closed and dripping with condensation. As she strolled up to him, Vicente reclaimed his seat and sighed, trying his best to not look irritated. The woman was dangerous and as much as Vicente wanted to present himself with a tough attitude, he knew that this was not the type of woman to do that around.

When Reaper came up to the wooden table Vicente sat at, she took another swig of beer, slammed down the file and offered him the cold beverage.

Vicente eyed the beer, eyed her, and then cautiously reached out for it. When he felt his fingers wrapped around the cool, brown glass, he tightened his grip and took the bottle from her. Setting it on the table, the young assassin pulled his keys from his pocket and used the bottle opener he had attached to them.

He nodded his thanks to her.

“You can owe me the $20 bucks,” she commented, burped and then reclaimed her seat across from him.

Vicente arched a brow. “This one beer cost $20?”

“…sure.” Reaper muttered as she took another sip of her alcohol and then turned her attention back to Vicente, her fingers tapping on the folder she had sitting on the table.

The assassin tilted his head as he looked between the woman and to the folder she had under hand. “What’s that?”

She remained silent. She said nothing for the longest time and merely sat there, watching him with her single good eye. A small smirk continued to play on her lips as she took another sip and another sip of alcohol, her face betraying nothing much a maybe sarcastic, maybe playful grin. She seemed to just bask in making Vicente feel weighed down by the uncomfortable silence. Try as he might, Vicente simply could not shake her look.

Finally he sighed and took another sip of beer.

“Listen,” he finally said. “What’s going on here? Do I bother you that much? If I do take it up with my bosses. But the sooner you give me the information, the sooner I can be out of your hair.”

He was tired. And he wanted answers…

Reaper actually didn’t react at all to Vicente’s ultimatum. At least not right away. Instead she silently continued to survey him, as if studying a piece of art that she really just could not quite fully comprehend because of its complexity. Vicente wished that he could understand the small facial ticks that occasionally occurred across the skin of her face, but he was not at all empathic. He could barely read his own face in the mirror. This woman, she was a complete mystery. A treasure chest that had no lid but instead was a solid hunk of wood.

He was about to sigh and just tell her off and leave when suddenly she set her beer down for a final time, sat up straight in her chair and proceeded to open up the folder that she had brought in. As she flipped through the pages, Vicente glanced at it to see a glossy picture that immediately reminded him why he was here. That was information on the target!

As he made to reach out curiously for the file, there was a sudden movement from Reaper’s side of the table that caused him to retract his hand, and thank god he did. THUNK!![/b] Before he knew it, there was a large knife driven into the wood of the table, exactly where his hand had been.

She smirked as she saw him give her a look of just plain confusion. She shook her head.

“Uh-uh, don’t get greedy yet,” she said as she flipped through the pages. “Jackson Castillo…45…former accountant for the Los Lobos. Ran to New Orleans, his hometown, because he let some secrets go concerning his former job for Los Lobos.” She grinned as she looked at photo after before before turning her gaze to Vicente. “Looks like I found everything you need to find this guy.”

Vicente nodded but remained silent. He was waiting for the catch. It seemed that Reaper always had one…

“Reaper,” he asked a little wearily. “What is it that you want?”

She paused…then grinned. “What makes you think I want anything?”

Vicente shook his head. “Because…if you didn’t, you would have handed me that information by now. Or hell, might have just shot me the second you realized who I was back at the club. Cut the crap. What is it you want?”

Reaper was silent for a bit as she closed the file and ran it gently between her fingertips. As she did so, she eyed Vicente closely before she finally laid the file down on her lap and looked at him as close and sincerely as an old friend might.

“Just some information,” she finally said. “Eye for an eye, info for info.”

“What? What is it you think I know?” he asked exasperatedly. Was this woman really going to blackmail him, and by proxy Los Lobos, for information!? He sighed. “What do you want information on?”

She grinned. “Yourself.”

“Myself?” Vicente asked in an even more confused manner.

Reaper nodded. “Answer some questions about yourself,” she shrugged, “and if I’m satisfied, information is all yours.”

He sighed and shook his head. He was really at the end of his line with this woman. Who the hell did she think she was? She worked for Los Lobos! She was HIS contact and she was acting as if she were some third party that could blackmail him for whatever trifling information that she wanted? Was she serious? What type of information was she hoping to glean? Vicente was just a cleaner, nothing more! And if there was one thing he could not stand for was being blackmailed. His ill judgments on this woman were beginning to resurface again.

He had enough. He wanted this over with now.

“Reaper, what makes you think you can do this?” he asked, his voice just dripping with astonish and bewilderment. “We both work for Los Lobos, we both get out paychecks from them, we both owe our lives to them! And…and you act as if you can freely deal whatever information you want and jerk MY chain around? I have a job to do, Reaper. And so do you. We don’t have time for this.”

Reaper eyed him close, regarding his words with pursed lips. She silently nodded, having absorbed every single word of his outburst. In the end though she could only laugh and shake her head. Reachng up, she rubbed the sweat off the back of her neck, her hair hanging down half her face as she turned her eye to him.

“Listen buddy, there’s one thing you need to learn about me,” she said with a nod. “I may do jobs for Los Lobos, but they don’t OWN my butt. I take jobs I’m offered and I don’t call anyone boss. Los Lobos does not own me the way they own you, so I can jerk you around if I so much feel like it. Worst they can do is send another fool like you after me and, trust me, they have before and I’m still here.”

She shook her head as she took another sip of beer.

“I look at you, and I see someone with a lot of potential,” she said, probably the most honestly she had spoken all night and it was not even an insult! “Don’t blindly follow Los Lobos like the rest of those drones. You need to learn to raise your head from ground and look at them with open eyes. Trust me, puts the world in a whole new perspective. Don’t be a sheep, man. It’s not worth it…”

Instinctively she reached up and touched her cheek on the side where her eyepatch lay. Once that was done, though, she turned her attentions back to Vicente. Awaiting his answer…

Vicente…sighed. His mind was a turmoil of activity as he let Reaper’s words sink into his skull. Why the hell was she talking to him like this? The two of them did not know each other, at all, and yet she felt that she had the power to just make whatever commentary she felt about his life? Where is audacity like that even born?

But even as he questioned the woman’s sanity…Vicente had to admit that her words were slowly beginning to get into him. Not that the man was considering just upping and leaving Los Lobos, he looked at this woman and saw a true plead for his own salvation. Obviously she was not telling him to leave Los Lobos and start singing gospel music in a church for his salvation. No, instead she was trying to make him open his eyes, to see something that he was simply not getting. She told him to not be a follower, to not be another faceless drove.

Vicente never saw his position with Los Lobos in that way before. But now that he sat there, letting Reaper’s words sink in…he was slowly beginning to draw some similarities.

Silently, as he watched Reaper watch him, he tucked that train of thought away. He would explore Reaper’s comments a little more later. For now…despite his confusion…he had business to attend to.

Watching her as she reached over and grabbed a handful of peanuts from a bowl, he silently took in her every small movement. The way she casually plucked out a peanut from her open palm, how she placed one to her lips and mindless chewed on it. But despite the rather normal behavior, her single, deep brown eye had settled in squarely on him.

And at that point, Vicente knew exactly what she was doing. They were both trying to read each other for a little more insight.

Vicente nodded…then sighed.

“Okay…what is it you want to know?” he asked.

Apparently Reaper was used to getting her way. When Vicente finally conceded to let her ask her questions, there was barely a look of surprise on her face. She did not appear pleased or disappointed, but merely regarded with a slight bit more respect. But just because you don’t step on a snail crossing your path right away, does not mean that you are giving it full respect. As a matter of fact, Vicente was sure that that was how Reaper view him. Like a sickly little insect crawling along its slimy belly in front of her destination.

It was only a matter of time before she actually felt it necessary to squash him under foot. At least until then he could just play along. Hopefully he would be well out of the state before she decided to do so.

Her tongue moistened her lips as she took a more interested posture and nodded to Vicente. He guessed that she was finally ready to ask.

“So, why you?” she asked. “Why did they send you on this mission?”

Vicente paused for a second. He really was not sure how to answer that. He never questioned his assignments before and simply knew that he had to keep working. He knew that they sent him on many missions, but as to why they always chose him, Vicente was not 100% sure. They had other killers on their payroll. Good and competent ones that were far more experienced than Vicente was. But for some reason, there was always a draw to get him.

He shrugged.

“I wish I knew,” he muttered in response as he once against grabbed his beer and took a sip. His palms cooled at the sensation of the cold glass bottle against his skin. “I’m good at what I do. I guess it’s as simple as that.”

“Bull,” Reaper said after careful though. She shook her head as she eyed him close. “I’ve worked with Los Lobos. They choose you for a reason. You’ve been working for them, what, five years?”

Vicente nodded.

“Kill ratio?”

“100%.”

“Collateral damage?”

“Minimum.”

She nodded. “Someone as young as you rarely has stats like that, I should know. The last person that did was me.”

Reaper smirked at that remark as carefully watched Vicente. It took a moment or two before she finally fully collected her thoughts and tilted her gaze to him. Fingers interlaced, she regarded him closely, ignoring a passing drunk who stumbled up to the bar at the other side of the room. The smell of whiskey and other spirits pervaded the air. A sly grin crept across her face as she regarded him closely.

“You’re…special…aren’t you?”

Vicente blinked at the woman’s bluntness. He sat there, staring back at her as he tried to wrap his mind around what she had just asked of him. Was this what she was leading up to the whole time? Was this the reason why she wanted to ask him questions? To get him to spill the beans about his true nature? The assassin would not have been surprised if that was her intent the whole time. After all, this was a woman who knew how to do her homework. Maybe she knew exactly who he was this whole time. He doubted that she would be told about a contact and not research who he was.

The assassin cleared his throat as he looked awkwardly off to the side. Just…how much did she know? Was she referring to his skill and just being specially adept at his job? Or was she actually referring to the fact that he was..special?

He sighed, unsure really how to answer her question. Vicente never spoke about his ability, as a Nahaul, a shapechanger, he rarely spoke of such things out loud. His father had always taught him to keep silent concerning his power because people these days would not be able to understand the blessing the gods gave him. He was different and society feared those that were different.

Not that Vicente really cared what people thought of him. It was his lethality and his power that got him to work for Los Lobos. Only the head of the cartel knew of Vicente’s gift for tapping into the spirits of animals that he consumed. The only other people that got to bear witness to it died soon afterward.

He looked up and cleared his throat as he locked his eyes onto Reaper’s remaining one.

“I’m just good at what I do. Maybe I just have a…special work ethic.” He shrugged. If Reaper was as good as he assumed, then she could let him know just how much she knew. Then maybe he might reveal his hand. But for now, it was better to air on the side of caution. “I’m assuming that’s what you mean?”