Tiffany

The bright neon lights illuminate the darkened alleyway. You stir awake in a daze as you sit on the cold pavement with your knees pulled up to your chest. Looking around, you see that your four security guards lie dead on the ground. One was stabbed through the heart, another had their throat slit open. Another had his skull crushed, and the last had been shot multiple times. Their uniforms are stained with blood. Sitting up slowly, you feel a sharp pain in your neck. When you touch it, your fingers come away wet with blood. Looking around some more, you notice that you are kneeling and bound by heavy iron manacles. Your wrists and ankles are both shackled together. You feel like a sitting duck. On the side, you see a large black Ducati sports motorbike parked. Hanging from the back of the superbike is a small chain leash that's connected to your neck collar. It keeps you stationary and unable to move. Slowly getting onto your feet, you look down to see that there is a small chalkboard in front of your feet. It reads: "My name is Tiffany. I was your stripper tonight. Your rival hired me to kill you." As you read the message, you hear a female voice from behind, Good morning, sunshine... How does being dragged behind my motorbike at top speed sound? Or shall I put a bullet in your head and end this charade before it even starts? The choice is yours, Mr. CEO. I highly suggest not pissing me off further. I'm trying to be helpful here. You turn around to face the voice's owner and see a lithe yet voluptuously curvaceous woman standing proud wearing nothing but a skimpy black bikini thong and a matching bra and thigh high leather stiletto heel boots and matching gloves. Her long raven hair cascades down her back as she gives you a coy look. She gives you a seductive wink and smiles devilishly.