Trade secrets

The room was luxuriously decorated and furnished, with thick, intricately patterned carpets and gleaming wooden panels inlaid on the walls. The round table where he sat was also so polished it reflected his image; its legs were made of meticulously polished stainless steel. A chair adorned with embroidered fabric had thick cushions.

He leaned back in his chair, looking at the two women sitting opposite him.

Barbara was a slender, fair-skinned woman with delicate features and brown eyes. Around this refined face, a head of meticulously styled, curly, reddish-brown hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her

shoulders were bare, as were her arms and the area above her prominent breasts. Two black straps, like shoelaces, supported a short, thigh-length tube skirt.

She wore black fishnet stockings and black open-heeled shoes with only a thin strap at the back. Her fingers and toes were painted with black nail polish, her full lips were coated with black lipstick, and she wore heavy blue-black eyeshadow. All this black accentuated the whiteness of her skin, making her appear somewhat weak and fragile.

He turned to Vicky, dark-skinned, slender, and very beautiful. She wore a meticulously tailored suit in gold fabric; the beautiful cut of the top accentuated her shoulders, tapering down to her slender waist. The skirt was short and also finely tailored.

Her long, shapely legs were encased in sheer stockings that shimmered slightly. Her legs were crossed, causing the skirt to ride up, giving him a glimpse of the magnificent sight of her stunning thighs. She wore chunky Armani heels, and her hairstyle and makeup were impeccable. She looked like a goddess descended from heaven, and Barbara was no less stunning.

What a pity, he thought, what a pity we didn't come here for a threesome.

What a pity, I'm sitting across from two of the most radiant women you'd want to be with, and they're actually two of the most dangerous corporate spies in the business. And they've infiltrated our operations, obtained our core secrets, which one of them is currently hiding on her person as a chip. Which one?

I think they know they've been exposed; they know this is why we're here. What will they do next?

Barbara reached into her handbag—be careful. Something's definitely wrong.

He watched Barbara reach into her handbag and saw the gleam of the small pistol she was holding. With a practiced, fluid motion, he stepped aside, the silenced pistol appearing in his holster as well.

Before Barbara could even raise her pistol, it had magically appeared at the end of his outstretched arm. He pulled the trigger.

*Thud!*

Like another black ornament, a hole appeared in Barbara's forehead, and she slumped back into her chair.

Vicky leaped from her chair and rushed towards the door.

His gun, as if a living part of his arm, swung towards her, the crosshair aimed at her back.

*Thud!*

The bullet left the barrel, grazing her shoulder blade and entering her body, instantly stopping her beating heart. Like being nailed to a cross, she was shot against the door, "hanging" there for a second or two, then dead.

Then, she swayed backward in her expensive high heels, collapsing like a fallen tree in a forest onto the fluffy carpet, her limbs outstretched like a starfish, her eyes rolled upward, as if trying to see what lay beneath them through her drooping eyelids.

Barbara sat in her chair, her arms hanging limply at her sides, the unfired pistol long since fallen from her lifeless fingers onto the carpet. Her head slumped back, chin pointing towards the ceiling. Her eyes, now cloudy and wide open, stared at the ceiling. A small trickle of bright red blood flowed from her nose to her mouth, where it mingled with another stream, flowing down her chin. She had died incontinent, leaving a puddle on the seat.

Grabbing a handful of tissues from his desk drawer, he put his gun back in its holster and walked to where Vicky lay on the floor. Lifting her slightly, he crumpled the tissues and pressed them against the wound on her back to prevent further blood from staining the carpet. She had died instantly when the bullet struck her heart, bleeding very little, but he figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

Then he went to Barbara and cleaned up the mess she had made. He reached under her skirt—which was easy because it was so short—and untied her stockings from their garter belts. He pulled down her wet panties, crumpled them up with the soaked tissues, went into the bathroom, and flushed them down the toilet.

He returned to the room, where his two beautiful female spies lay quietly and motionless, already dead. There was no one in the building at this hour, but as always, he was cautious, locking the door as he left the room for the elevator. He took the

elevator to the underground parking lot, parked his car in the spot opposite the elevator, left the door open, went back into the elevator, and then went back upstairs. He used his coat to block the elevator door, leaving it open, unlocked it, and entered the room, quickly heading towards Vicky.

Her skirt was slightly ruffled, as was her blouse, revealing a small section of her bare belly and her black panties.

He lifted her by both arms, pulled her up, and dragged her out to the elevator waiting with its doors open. Her heels slid quietly across the carpet, then made a slurring sound as they dragged down the hallway.

He pulled her into the elevator, laid her down on the floor, and tucked her leg, which was still sticking out, inside. He went back into the room, dragged Barbara out of the chair, her skirt riding up, and he could clearly see her bare genitals. He held her by her arms and dragged her towards the elevator, laying her down next to Vicky. As he dragged her across the floor, her shoes, held up by only a thin strap at the heel, fell off.

He went back into the room, cleaned up the small patch of blood where Vicky had lain on the carpet, and cleaned the chair where Barbara had died. It wasn't perfect, but some action was necessary.

He put away the small pistol, Barbara's peep-toe shoes, their bags, and personal belongings, stuffing them all into a plastic bag. He tucked the bag under his arm, locked the door, and returned to the elevator, where the two girls were still "patiently" waiting. Of course, they wouldn't wander around while he was gone. He picked up his shirt, put it on, and took the elevator to the basement.

His car was waiting where he had parked. He dragged Barbara to the car, placed her in the back seat, and secured her with the seatbelt. She slumped in the protective gear, and if anyone looked into the car, they would surely see her skirt lifted up, revealing her curly pubic hair and that cute little slit. He didn't want anyone looking in like that. Next, he dragged Vicky's lifeless, limp body into the car and placed her in the front seat, where she too slumped in the seatbelt. At least she was wearing underwear, he thought. Of course, the level of exposure far exceeded what Vicky herself might allow, if she could still voice her opinion.

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Trade secrets

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