Spy-Girls

*** Warning: descriptions of violence and blood *** [France, winter 1788. Patricia, a.k.a. "The Black Rose" is targeting her next victim, monsignor Jean Baptiste de Colbert, a bishop from Toloun, one of the last conspirators - still alive - who had planned the failed ambush attack against Robespierre and Marat. She's now managed to infiltrate the Bishop's townhouse] Read the First Chapter HERE --- Patricia glanced inwards, through the french door, confirming that the terrace was at the level of a mezzanine of an internal staircase. She knelt down, drew a dagger from her boot, and began working on the latch securing the door. With some effort, Patricia managed to force open the lock without damaging the blade of the dagger. She sheathed the knife back into her boot and slowly opened the door, trying not to produce any creaking sounds. Once inside, she pushed the door panels close, leaving them slightly ajar. She didn't plan to reuse the terrace as an escape route, but she

[France, winter 1788. Patricia, a.k.a. "The Black Rose" is targeting her next victim, monsignor jean Baptiste de Colbert, a bishop from Toloun, one of the last conspirators - still alive - who had planned the failed ambush attack against Robespierre and Marat] --- Patricia, the Black Rose, stealthily moved through the night fog. Her operational outfit consisted, as usual, of a tight black velvet catsuit, with a leather bodice protecting the torso, overknee black boots, soft black leather gloves extending over the elbows, and a half-mask concealing the upper part of her face. Her attirewas complemented by a black hooded cloak and a black beret adorned with a red star-shaped brooch. A few hours after midnight, the center of Paris was deserted, even in the affluent neighborhoods on the Rive Gauche of the Seine. In order to avoid patrols, Patricia was traversing the dark alleys on the outskirts of the Saint-Germain-des-Prés district, one of areas of the city mostly inhabitated by

“Well, this is another fine mess.” Tara looked at her stepsister Kara and rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I planned for this to happen, sis.” The red head looked back at Kara and struggled against the bands holding them. The restraints were massive, much larger than one would have though necessary to hold a pair of nineteen year-old college volleyball players. But then, Tara and Kara Bishop were far more than that. Far more, and clearly whoever had attacked them at their hotel was aware of that. “We’ll just spend some time in the hot tub,” Tara went on, looking over at her stepsibling. They were still dressed in the bikini tops they had been wearing in the tub, Tara’s a bright pink and Kara’s a shimmering electric blue. The skimpy outfits were made even more daring by the way the machine claws holding their arms had them pulled out wide, stretching the material over those perfectly shaped orbs and so that the nipples beneath were outlined against the fabric. Below the