One Way Or Another

Mercy Pov. -

“Mercy! We’re going to be late! Get up, get up, get u-up!” My gorgeous dream had just been turned into a nightmare by my “wife,” Lacey. “I swear if we don’t get to meet them, I’ll burn all of your books!” With that said, I jumped out of bed like the fires of hell were after me. My legs happened to be wrapped in the sheets, which ended with my face meeting the floor. Standing high above me – on the bed – Lacey laughed – in her goose like way.

“Your -,”gasp, “face,” with that said she also fell to the ground laughing her arse off. Soon she’d calmed down and was just staring at me in silence. Upset that I’d been rudely awoken I responded like any on would. “Make me coffee, bitch.” After putting my ten cents worth in I went into our closet to get ready for the One Direction concert.

“Here’s the plan. He wants them taken down, disarmed, and left there for him to deal with. We’re to leave as quickly as possible, understand?” The question hung in the air as Lacey pretended to be listening to her IPod, so as not to draw attention of the other passengers. Soon she belted out, “Baby say, yeah, yeah, ye-ah, yeah, yeah, yeah!” singing a cheesy part from One Direction “Kiss You.” Nobody even looked our way. This was New York City after all. They’d seen/heard/done things much weirder, than a look singing off key on a train.

“Our main priority is to keep them safe, okay? Even if we let the others get away.” Not being able to respond to that question – with her IPod – she reluctantly put it back into her front pocket. Her fingers moved across her camie, pulling it down to show off even more cleavage, then to her hair, making it into a nice, poofy look. The look on her face told me she was going to pull out one of her well known accents.

Chomping loudly on her gum for affect she responded, “Yeah, but them bitches ain’t gettin away, over my new manicure,” in a Jersey Shore accent. With a sassay wink her way I pulled her up from her seat. “Then let’s do this shit,” with that we stepped out into the streets.

Slipping past security had been easy, they were total amateurs. Then again we were professionally trained assassins. Using our gifted bodies to get what we want was as easy as shooting a gun – at least for us. In our tight black get up – leather, skinny jeans, heavy/thin silver chains, low cut camies, spiked chocker necklace, and some criss cross heels – the only thing the boys were paying attention to was the jolting of our breasts, as we strutted towards them.

Lacey quickly took them out with a single kick to their throats. Dragging them onto a bench – to make it look as if they’d fallen asleep on the job – I took out a map of the backstage area. “We can ambush them if we get up on to the catwalk, that way we can see them as they enter the lounge.” Lacey’s only response was a nod, her head looking around for something or someone.

“Lacey! We’re not going to see them here! They’re still on stage performing,” making my point extra clear by pointing to a speaker which was giving us feedback from the stage. She let out a disappointed huff. “I want to see my husband,” she whined with a pout. Pursing my lips I said in my motherly tone, “I know sweet heart, but we can’t do that until we make sure some other low life doesn’t take him away from you first.” Completely missing the fact that I’d just called her a low life, she straightened up with a slight growl. “Not on my watch.”

Perched up on the catwalk we watched the boys. Energy radiated off them making it almost impossible not to get excited and want to sing along. The concert was coming to an end making me leg twitch with the need to kick some booty. Sweaty and proud the boys ran off the stage heading towards the couches.

Over in the door way stood our target.

The girls were tall and ugly. They might have been pretty, before a makeup monster attacked their faces. What they wore told me that they’d hit the slut store on their way in. In the corner of my eye I saw Lacey take on a sickly green color. My hand lightly rubbed circles into her back. She was allergic to whores.

A look of pure joy slid onto their features at the sight of the group. “Hi!” One of the girls shouted though it could have been a chipmunk being harassed for all I know. Niall stopped shoving tacos into his mouth to see where the noise had come from. Seeing the looks of them I’m surprised that he didn’t lose his appetite.

Setting the food down he forced himself to face the looks of them - joining the other boys. “Umm, hello,” his response came out nervous. I took a deep breathe trying to see if there was anything unusual. It was impossible to miss and from the way Lacey tensed up and drew out a pair of knives I knew she’d smelled it too. Gun powder.

They’d already drawn their weapons and had them each pointed at the boys chests. Idiots! I swear to god! Why would you point your damn gun at someone you were crazy for!?! I mean how does that make the guy want to fall for you? Maybe it was just my logic, but when you want a guy to fall for you … Don’t point a freaking gun at them!

Jumping into action, we launched ourselves off the catwalk falling onto two of the girls to cushion our fall. Two down, three more to go.

The girls had obviously never used a gun before so sending a kick at their wrists let the weapons drop – that thankfully weren’t loaded. Slamming my hands against one of the girl’s temples lowered the numbers down to two, but knowing Lacey she’d already taken down the other one.

The last girl looked upon us with fear, before fainting. She was younger than the others – bringing out my motherly side. With a quick reflex only an assassin could have I caught her letting her sag against me. Quietly laying her down I got lost into my own world, letting my hands caress her hair in a soothing gesture. The feeling of eyes on me brought me back, as I slowly turned around to see The One Direction.