Chapter 14

As soon as Gaga left, Delilah's phone buzzed, and a notification popped up. 

The credit alert read ten million dollars. 

Delilah's grin widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Later that night, Delilah and Ruby strutted into one of the city's most luxurious clubs, both dressed in sleek mini dresses. 

The black gloves they wore added a touch of mystery to their look, ensuring they blended into the crowd without drawing too much attention. 

The neon lights pulsed in sync with the music as they made their way through the lively crowd.

A voice crackled through their earbuds—it was Helen, back at the café, monitoring everything through a set of computers. 

"Mr. Bayou’s at the elite table, six o’clock, surrounded by five bodyguards," Helen reported smoothly. "He's watching the dancers a little too closely."

Delilah's eyes swept across the room, and soon, she spotted him—Gaga's husband, Mr. Bayou. He was sitting at the exclusive table near the dance floor, his gaze locked on the dancers in their barely-there outfits. 

A smirk played at Delilah's lips as she exchanged a glance with Ruby.

"I've got him in sight," Delilah murmured into her earbud, keeping her voice low. "Let’s stick to the plan."

Delilah picked up a tray of wine glasses and weaved through the crowd toward the elite table. 

As she approached, she bent down, pouring wine into the glasses with steady hands. 

The sound of the liquid filling the glasses drew Mr. Bayou’s attention, and his eyes roved from the dancers to her. His gaze lingered on her plunging neckline, where her dress dipped low enough to reveal a glimpse of cleavage.

Delilah leaned in just slightly, her voice a low whisper in his ear. 

"Why don’t we get to know each other... in private?" She winked, her lips curling into a seductive smile.

Bayou’s lips parted, his gaze fixed on her as if she had him under a spell. He licked his lips, intrigued. 

As Delilah moved away, she swayed her hips deliberately, knowing he was watching every movement.

Bayou stood, his eyes not leaving her as he followed her. 

One of his guards stepped forward, blocking Delilah’s path, his expression cold. 

Delilah’s heart raced. If the guard decided to search her, the small folding knife hidden in her clutch would be discovered. But before she could react, Bayou waved his hand dismissively at the guard. "Stay here. Don’t follow."

The guard stepped aside, and Delilah’s heart settled back into its usual rhythm. 

She threw a sly smile over her shoulder as she led Bayou to a private room.

As Delilah led Mr. Bayou to the private room, her mind raced, but her outward demeanor remained calm and seductive. 

Beneath the surface, a different side of her stirred—a sharp, calculating side she kept hidden from the world. 

This wasn’t the first time she’d done this, but each time still carried its own edge of thrill and danger.

She cast a glance at Bayou as he followed her, his eyes glued to her swaying hips. 

"Typical man," she thought, suppressing a smirk. 

He was predictable—lustful, arrogant, completely unaware of the trap he was walking into. And he thought he was in control.

As soon as they entered the room, Bayou wasted no time. 

He started unbuttoning his shirt, hands clumsy in his rush to undress. 

Delilah stepped forward, playing her role, her fingers gently brushing his, pretending to help him with his buttons.

Her eyes flicked up to his face, and for a split second, she allowed herself to feel disgust. 

"This man is a monster," she reminded herself, recalling Gaga’s tearful description of his affairs, his cruelty, his utter disregard for his wife. 

He deserves this. Maybe worse.

Still, Delilah knew it was never that simple. 

Beneath the thrill, there was always a moment of unease, a fleeting thought that the blood she was about to spill would leave a stain—on her hands, on her soul. 

But she shoved the thought aside. 

It was part of the job. Gaga had paid, and that was all that mattered now.

Once his shirt was undone, Delilah’s voice softened, silky and persuasive. 

"Why don’t you freshen up first? I’ll pour us some champagne," she suggested, locking eyes with him, her lips curled into a playful smile.

Bayou looked at her, arrogance lacing his grin as if he believed he’d already won.

 "Oh, I like a woman who knows how to take care of her man," he said, his voice a low, suggestive purr. 

He ran his tongue over his teeth, eyeing her like she was just another conquest.

"How predictable," Delilah mused, watching as he strutted toward the bathroom, a man thoroughly convinced of his own importance. 

Once the door clicked shut, her playful expression dropped. 

This was it.

Swiftly, she retrieved the small bag she had hidden under the bed. Her fingers moved with quiet efficiency, rifling through the tools until she found the knife. 

The blade glinted under the dim light, but when she tested its edge, it wasn’t sharp enough for what needed to be done. 

She tossed it aside, her hands settling on a larger, sharper knife—one that would cut through flesh cleanly.

Her heart quickened, not from fear, but from the anticipation of what was to come.

She was used to this, yet every kill came with its own set of stakes. Would he scream? Would he fight? Would his guards storm in before she could finish?

The unknowns heightened her focus, sharpening her senses.

Stay calm. Stay in control.

When Bayou emerged from the bathroom, his shirt still unbuttoned, his arrogance undimmed, he was smiling smugly.

 "You didn’t wait for me to finish," he teased, his voice dripping with self-assurance. 

He thought he had her wrapped around his finger.

Delilah handed him a champagne glass, her eyes bright with feigned admiration. 

"I didn’t want to keep you waiting too long," she replied smoothly, keeping her voice low and intimate.

He took a sip, still watching her, his eyes roving over her body like she was a prize he had already claimed. 

"You know," he started, his tone smug, "I could show you a real good time tonight. A woman like you deserves to be spoiled by a man like me."

Delilah’s lips twitched in a smile. "Oh, you’ll be spoiled all right."

He didn’t see it coming. The moment he lowered the glass, she struck. 

The knife plunged into his abdomen with a swift, decisive motion. 

Bayou’s eyes widened in shock, his body jerking as the blade sliced through flesh. 

His mouth gaped open, releasing not only a choked gasp but also the champagne he had just swallowed, now mixed with blood.

His hands fumbled to grab at his wound, but it was too late. He staggered backward, disbelief etched into his features. 

"Wha—what the hell?" he sputtered, his voice weak, disbelief and panic finally creeping in.

Delilah stood over him, watching with cold detachment as he crumpled to the floor. 

His arrogant smirk was long gone, replaced by pain and confusion. 

"Why?" he gasped, struggling to form words as the life drained from him. "What... did I...?"

"You know exactly what you did," Delilah replied softly, crouching next to him. Her voice held no sympathy, only the cold finality of judgment.

Bayou’s body shuddered as he tried to move, to fight back, but his strength was already fading. 

"Wait... wait... please," he groaned, his voice now stripped of all arrogance, reduced to desperate pleading.

Delilah didn’t flinch. She wasn’t here to grant mercy. 

Her mission was clear, her mind set. This man, with all his wealth and power, was just another victim now. 

She reached for her earbud, her voice steady as she whispered, "Ruby, it’s done. Come inside."

Within seconds, Ruby entered the room, her face calm, unbothered by the grisly scene in front of her. 

She got to work immediately, wiping down any trace of Delilah’s presence while Delilah crouched over Bayou’s still body.

Without a word, she began the grisly task Gaga had paid for. She ignored the sound of Bayou’s shallow, rasping breaths as she carefully gauged out his eyes, leaving empty, bloody sockets where they once were.

Then, with precision, she opened him up, removing the lungs and intestines just as instructed.

Ruby snapped photos of the body—detached, clinical, capturing every gruesome detail to send back to their client. 

The eyes, the exposed organs, the blood pooling on the floor. It was all part of the job.

Once everything was done, Ruby gave a satisfied nod. "All clean," she said, packing up her tools.

Delilah wiped her gloves on a towel, her heart rate steady once again. 

She glanced at Bayou’s lifeless form one last time, then turned to leave. 

"Let’s get out of here," she said quietly, already mentally moving on from the kill.

As they slipped out of the room and into the night, Delilah couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of triumph. 

Another job done. 

Another payday earned.

And another monster brought down.