Franky’s voice crackled in the earpiece, audible over the club’s music. “He’s been here for an hour, I say we get it over with. Two shots to the head, BANG! Then one in the chest, just to make sure. You and I will be back at the safe house in an hour.” 

“That would only get us killed.” Klaus was sitting alone at a table, sipping soda water with lime. He didn’t like to drink when working; he needed to be sharp. He’d already suffered through two-lap dances just to blend in with the rest of the customers in the strip club.

It was excruciating.

Ok, maybe it wasn’t that bad. But a guy sitting alone, not drinking nor buying anything, would rouse suspicion.

Klaus thought about stuff like that; he was meticulous.

But Franky was anything but that.

When they met earlier that night, Franky shared that he’d go undercover as a dancer at the club—a cover that would draw unnecessary attention to himself. He was a little over six feet, and if he wasn’t an assassin, he could probably pass as a real stripper. His lean, muscular body was beautifully pale, and he had an ass that melted Klaus’ heart.

But this was a job, and Klaus had a policy against sleeping with coworkers. ‘Don’t think about it’ was the policy.

It was kind of a problem.

“He’s just sitting there! You could walk up behind him, and he’d never see it coming.” Franky flirtatiously waved at a customer, a man in sweatpants with an obvious erection. Franky had been giving lap dances all night, and although it was consistent with his cover, it was also very unprofessional. Klaus could tell from his outfit, a pair of shorts so small you could see his asscheeks and thigh garters, that he didn’t have a weapon on him. Not only was that stupid, it was outright dangerous. Their target was a mid-tier syndicate boss who’d come to the strip club with five armed guards. What was Franky going to do, stab him with his dick?

Klaus scanned the room. “I have an idea.”

“This better be good, because your first one sucked. I don’t think we’re going to get this guy alone in a bathroom, and I’m tired of working the floor.”

“Then you’re going to hate my second idea. I think we wait until he leaves and ambush him at his car. It’s the safest—”

“You call that good? Screw safety! Let’s pop him in the club.”

“And how exactly would you do that? He has too many guards.”

Franky grabbed a wad of dollar bills from underneath his garter and shoved them into the small clutch he was carrying.

Klaus watched from his seat. “Is that where your money’s been going? I watched that guy tuck money into your waistband and I’d been wondering where the bills went.”

“You’ve been watching me, Klaus?”

“N-no— I mean, yes! You’re my partner on this job, I just wanna make sure you’re safe.” Klaus sipped his drink, but it went down the wrong pipe, and he choked. The carbonation stung his nose. “I’ve never been to a male strip club before.”

“Me neither.” The way Franky walked in those platform heels made it a little questionable. “You wouldn’t believe how much money I’ve made, Klaus.”

“How much?”

“Like, sixty dollars.”

Klaus snorted. “Don’t quit your day job.”

“I’m considering.”

“What—”

“Hey, I got an idea.”

“... Ok, don’t just do things. Let’s talk it out.”

Franky ignored what he had said and left Klaus hanging. Instead, he went to the DJ.

Klaus groaned. He knew that whatever it was, as long as it came from Franky, it was definitely not going to be good. But although he was already expecting something crazy, he was still shocked when Franky climbed up on stage. Shocked and a little turned on. And suddenly really concerned about this job.

Their mark, a syndicate mastermind they were paid to assassinate, was sitting in the VIP front row. When a new song started, Franky confidently swaggered across the stage, swaying his hips as he walked.

Klaus flushed, aroused but too professional to admit it. He made an awkward comment on the earpiece. “Those heels must be nine inches, how do you walk in them? Haha.”

Franky couldn’t answer; all eyes were on him as he started to dance.

Klaus gulped. “Look at that, somebody already threw a dollar.”

When the beat dropped, Franky's dance became something else entirely: lusty, seductive, irresistible. He was scarily natural, terrifyingly risque. A self-satisfied smile lifted the corners of his lips as he saw how the people's eyes were on him, and he held back a grin, noticing how their target was also slowly being pulled as well. He could see lust starting to swirl in the guy’s face, could see how he was being stirred.

Franky strode over to the target, keeping eye contact. The target sipped at his glass of tequila while staring up at him as he did.

Good. Just keep on watching, Franky thought.

Franky started slowly working his bottoms, revealing the sparkly jockstrap he wore underneath.

Beyond that thin piece was nothing else but his bare skin.

Franky looked over at Klaus to see what he was doing or if he was watching. And right on track, the other assassin’s eyes were fixed on his bare ass. Klaus scanned up and down Franky’s body before meeting his eyes, and then he blushed, looking flustered when he saw Franky looking back at him.

Franky bit his lips and held back a chuckle. He had been well seducing Klaus ever since then, but Klaus was as thickheaded as a trunk. That tenacious character of his was what made him attractive to Franky, though. He’d enjoy breaking through that barrier.

Franky looked back at the crowd. Many eyes in the club were fixed on him as he swayed his hips, flaunted his bare chest, and showcased his pale body.

The target licked his dried lips, watching intently, completely under Franky’s seductive spell.

Just as planned.

Franky got on all fours and crawled to the side of the stage, where he was met with a blizzard of bills from customers. He ignored them and leaned over the stage but was halted by the target's big bodyguards.

“Let him,” the target declared.

Hesitantly, the security guards permitted Franky to go in. Frankly smirked at them. They tensed when he leaned into their boss and whispered something in his ear.

“Care for a private performance? I’ll make it the best dance you’ve ever had.” Franky then stepped back and sashayed teasingly towards the pole in the center of the stage.

The target snapped his fingers, summoning the attention of one of his guards. A few moments later, the manager of the club arrived. The target started talking to her, but Franky couldn’t hear what they were saying over the music.

Klaus’ voice buzzed in his earpiece. “You’ve really done it now! I think your cover’s blown!”

How dramatic, Franky thought.

Franky kept dancing, spinning around the pole, and receiving more wads of dollar bills while he discreetly kept watch of the mark. If his cover was really blown, easy, he’d shoot the man straight to the brain and make a run at the back. He always came first in their agility training. Escaping or running away was the least of his worries.

While Franky was thinking of his other alternative plans, which mainly consisted of stabbing or shooting, the manager and the target ended their conversation and stared up at him on the stage. She gave Franky a smile.

The assassin held back a smirk. Looks like he succeeded.

After the song ended, Franky descended the stage toward the target and the manager, a middle-aged woman in ten pounds of makeup and a cheap-looking spandex dress. She introduced him to the target.

Franky held out his hand. “I’m Stephen, nice to meet you.”

‘Stephen’ was a compromise. Franky wanted his stripper name to be ‘Candy,’ but Klaus told him “no.” They fought about it, but in the end, they settled on ‘Stephen.’ Franky had been mystified as to how he came to agree with Klaus. But maybe it was because he pitied Klaus's effort into googling: ‘Sexy boy names 2022.’

The target, Mr. Campbell, shook Franky’s hand. Franky shuddered when the man’s fingers brushed suggestively on his palm.

Creep, he thought. He fought the urge to break out of character and just stab the guy straight through his throat. Not like he had a weapon on him. The next time he has to do this, he’ll remember to shove a small knife down his underwear.

Actually, no, that was a terrible idea. Sharp things next to his junk? No, thank you.

“You’ve got a good handshake,” Franky flirted.

Mr. Campbell smiled at him and then again traded gazes with the manager.

The manager flashed a satisfied smile. “I’ll escort you gentlemen to one of our VIP rooms.”

Franky winked at Mr. Campbell. “Glad to be of your service.”