Andy Rivers - The Geordie Author

He was about thirty, shaven headed and loud. His companions were similar and they appeared to enjoy the effect they had. Relished the fear in ordinary faces and revelled in the feeling of power as Joe public shrank back from them. Profanity preceding them like a rabbit round a dog track as they made their way down the street.

She’d positioned the red dot on the ring leader’s head for three seconds without pulling the trigger, the shouting in her earpiece telling her to get on with it, before deciding it would be much more fun to let these boys feel some of the pain they so enjoyed giving out.

Pocketing her gun she’d stepped into the street, saying softly ‘Want some fun boys?’

Shaking her head at the memory Victoria manipulated the cocktail shaker violently, she hated making Mojito’s, particularly the inference from whomever had requested it that she wasn’t quite as good at them as they were used to.

I bloody went to public school, learnt things like tap and modern dance. I can hold conversations for hours about politics and world affairs and now I’m working in a bloody bar – she thought bitterly.

And not just any bar, Victoria had ended up in ‘Vault’ aptly named as a haunt of bankers, businessmen, gangsters and playboys. She knew she wouldn’t be here long but still disliked the place enough to hate her every waking minute here.

Still it’s my own fault – she thought handing over the drink to the ponytailed eighties throwback that was now leering at her – should have listened to daddy but no, I had to make my own way in the world didn’t I.

Ponytail was making improper suggestions. She knew she looked good, Ice blue eyes under blonde hair, the worlds prettiest smile – well so she’d been told, a cut glass accent that turned men to jelly apparently and a very inviting cleavage.

Ponytail didn’t seem to realise that the invitation wasn’t actually extended to him and did his best to introduce himself to her chest region, pausing his descent into her blouse only when a suited arm grabbed him roughly round the neck and unceremoniously hauled him away.

The Geordie bouncer definitely had a thing for her and, if truth be told, she’d easily reciprocate if the chance arose but sadly, the cleavage wasn’t for him either, not tonight at least.

She glanced round the room and caught the eye of the man she’d set out to snare, Willie Davidson, Home Counties entrepreneur and motor racing kingpin. He appeared to have some difficulty focusing as first her right breast and then her left got his undivided attention before he managed to look her in the eye.

Victoria, knowing that her new, sexy, bought for the occasion, lacy brassiere was showing her off to her fullest extent gave him a naughty smile before turning away to cover herself up, her mind taking her back to just why she’d ended up in this place.

Shaven head had come forward, leering at the blonde girl who was obviously game for a bit. He’d put out his hand to grab her, looking back at his steroids addled friends to ensure he had an audience.

Victoria had snapped his wrist with one movement and buried a booted foot deep in his groin with another, his howls of pain had been silenced only by the sound of two black vans screeching up alongside the group and bundling them all in.

Her commanding officer at Thames house had been less than pleased with her performance and she’d been sent on this mission to find out about Davidson and his apparent wealth despite his losing team.

He was beside her now, patting her arse and she sighed inwardly, when she was recruited she had said she’d do these things in the interest of national security but had rather hoped it would be with fit young oil barons and fellow spies not middle aged, perma tanned, petrol heads.

Still - she thought glancing over at the Geordie bouncer as he stood impassively at the end of the bar – maybe there’ll be time for some fun when this is over.