Hired Killer

Special Agent Niki Banks paused, narrowing her eyes at Taylor. "What?" Banks asked. "No lewd remarks about that? Something about handling, or how I'm going to take care of you?" "Nah, I thought you would do a better job of it than I ever could," Taylor replied. "Besides, I'm only after empty relationships that have no meaning, where we go away happy, so there's no need for any handling like that. From you, anyways." "So, what does that make me?" Taylor paused to take a bite from his food, which consisted of some bacon and syrup-covered waffles. "A toxic attitude with delusions of awesomeness in high heels and a need to feel dominant all wrapped up in an attractive gift package that smells like a body that's been left out to rot in the Zoo for a week." Banks' eyebrows shot up. Another bite of his food from his plate was taken before he continued. "I'm sorry, do you need me to make it more specific? Here, try this one then. You look like Eva Longoria, except more brawn than brains, probably can't spell Latina and obviously you don't care about showers. Which is okay; the government only wants you for your brawn anyway." Banks narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, I smell like the three cretins needed me to get rid of for you. Between the stench of fear and gasoline, I guess that does make for a pretty foul smell." Taylor shrugged. "I showered at least." Banks scowled at him. "You're a jackass." "Correction," Taylor said with a grin. "I'm a jackass that can kill - what did you call them? Cryptids. A jackass that can kill Cryptids that's living here in the US, no less. "Oh, great," Banks grumbled. "And here I am, stuck with a Jason Momoa wannabe Cro-Magnon Neanderthal with slightly better dental hygiene and a god-complex." She sighed. Can he build a company, put down roots and still bring the pain when the FBI calls?