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“This is your mission should you choose to accept—”
You hit the green button, causing the voicemail to cut off. The machine powers off and you lean back, grunting softly as you collide with the seat. Looking out the window of the plane your agency sent you on, you can see rolling green fields. Below is the countryside, where you worked on your last mission. You enjoyed it there, the soft quiet of the rural village you stayed in was comforting and the mission was a slow one, letting you relax for once. You lived there for a few months, not wanting to leave. Alas, you were a spy for the secret government. An organization called LADS. LADS was above the federal governments in power, yet they somehow remained a secret from the regular civilian.
Your career was a dangerous one, never letting you stay in one place too long, and forming any lasting relationships with others was difficult as it put a target on them. LADS may have been a secret to the regular person, but there were hundreds of organizations like it, waiting to get the drop on any agent. LADS itself was a threat to them of course, but it was also a threat to itself. There are a few different sectors within LADS most of which oppose one another, so agents often sabotage each other on missions to lethal extent.
So, your job wasn’t relaxing.
This mission was more complex than your last one, but it was nothing to sneeze at. A high ranking military member was to be in attendance at a ball in a week in a foreign country. He had a translator with him. The military member is a Brigadier General. He’s suspected to have important documents in his possession. Documents that LADS normally wouldn’t care about, but even more important was the Brigadier General’s translator. A light search gave nothing, but deeper searching with the right technology revealed the translator’s connection to another spy organization, and if the translator gets these documents–-in short, LADS wants to make sure the documents are out of any enemy’s grasp.
Within hours you’re stepping into the ballroom. Costumed appropriately of course, weapons hidden in plain sight. You schmooze your way past the door and immediately focus on the sight before you. Hundreds, thousands of people are here. Pompous elites, shady high ranking members of society, people who are in control of whole countries…all in one room.
The Brigadier General is to your right. His hair is combed so far back, you can see the irritated skin in the corners of his hairline, how harsh must he have been pulling his comb you wonder. His translator is next to him. Her hair is voluptuous and her eyes are narrowed on the man talking to the General. Like she’s calculating his entire being. You step into the crowd, getting a good angle to keep him in your sights, but avoiding her line of sight. She seems to be on edge. You bump into a man, his mustache is neatly waxed, and his face is quite…moist. He seems to be very warm under the lights—and perhaps pressure of the event.
“Apologies.” You say in a low tone, charming smile already on your face when he looks over.
He makes a startled noise, clutching his tie.
“My…apologies indeed.” He gasps. “I am Kellan St. Germaine.” He bows, and you fight the deadpan expression back. What is this, the regency era?
You hum, smiling sweetly. A little bit of flirting never hurt anyone…it saved your ass more than once. You follow his actions, murmuring your name. A fake name.
“Darcy. A pleasure.” Your eyes never leave him, but sneakily so, you’ve circled him so he backs up and you can see the General from behind.
Kellan stammers, heavily affected by your charms. He wipes a sweaty hand on his vest before extending it to you.
“Shall we dance? I have some time—” He freezes, choking on his next words.
“Ahem, I am not busy yet. It will pass the time.” He nods.
You lift a brow. His behaviour was troubling, but from all you studied, he wasn’t even a footnote in your concerns. All the better, you’d keep him in your sights when you could. Like now. Your eyelashes flutter down at him.
“That sounds wonderful.” You purr, and he straightens his posture before taking your hand and bringing you into the fray.
The dance is slow, of course with all these posh imposters around, there couldn’t be too much excitement. Kellan leads you into a waltz, all the while you keep tabs on the General and his translator. Kellan is played like a fiddle, taking your subtle nudging and leading you closer to your target. Closer, you can overhear snippets of their conversation.
“Do you have it, General?” The man asks.
“...He…does…the piano room…I…” The translator speaks, beginning to talk to the man herself.
Then, Kellan stumbles, tripping. He bumps into someone and stutters for forgiveness. You’re distracted for a moment and the three are gone. You look around and quickly spot them exiting to the gardens. This is your chance. You leave Kellan to the wolves, slinking away through the crowd and down a hallway. LADS sent you a blueprint of the building on the plane and you had time to take in everything so you know where the piano room is.
Inside the room is empty. Besides the piano there was nothing to be seen, no occupants, nothing. You enter slowly, shutting the door behind you. You check the walls around for any weak points, a secret tunnel, anything. But it’s pointless. Before you give up, you lift the hood of the piano, leaning down to look deep into all the shadowy corners. Something shines beneath and you grab it, only to see the empty shell of a USB drive. Any important part was missing, leaving you with a piece of junk. You curse under your breath, tossing the garbage back inside.
“Missing something, kitten?” A voice drawls from behind you, making your blood run cold. You whip around, unhitching your gun from its secret holster and aiming it at the mystery figure.
“You again? I should have known this mission was fishy.” You mutter, staring down at Sylus.
Sylus, leader of an opposing organization not within the rules and boundaries of LADS. Onychinus, a menace operation whose only goal is to make money and have control over most territories. They operate everywhere, but they want LADS turf like everyone else. He smirks, fanning his hand out for you to lower your weapon, he chuckles when you don’t.
“Now…is that anyway to treat a friend? I see we’re after the same thing.”
“Are we?” You retort, hand firm in your aim. Despite the gun to his face, he doesn’t flinch.
“We are.” He confirms. “But I see, we can’t both take the documents.” He continues, slowly taking out his own gun. He points at you as well, though his grip is much lazier, his finger is nowhere near the trigger.
“Want to make a bet?” He proposes smugly.
You scoff.
“Never–”
“Ah…such a sore loser. After Turkey I thought—” He interrupts with a mischievous look in his eyes. He’s baiting you, and it works.
“Turkey doesn’t count!” You shout, glancing back at the door quickly. You grumble and put your gun down. He follows.
Without the guns, Sylus glides forward, closer to you.
“If it pleases you.” He says in a jesting tone. “So. A bet. Are you in?”
You sigh. What have you got to lose? Your pride?
“Fine. What’s the bet?”
Sylus laughs, running a hand through his hair.
“Double or nothing. Whoever gets the document first: wins.”
You stare at him sceptically. It seemed simple. Like he was confident he’d win. It made you think about just what he could possibly have on him.
“Is that stupid bird of yours currently sitting on it or something?” You inquire, making him huff with amusement.
“Mephisto is a good sportsman.” He denies.
“Alright you’re on. Is the reward just…winning the documents?” You tilt your head, at a loss for his game here. Sylus never made any sense to you.
He smiles, it’s as ominous as his evil smirks.
“If I win…you go out to dinner. With me.” He says it so simply.
You grimace.
“You?” You sputter, looking disgusted. “The enemy–-the evil spy who is currently trying to dismantle my whole organization—you want…that?”
He nods, crossing his arms under his chest. The movement distracts you, seeing the stretch of his button up against…what could only be muscle. His eyes track yours quickly, a snicker at the back of his throat.
“My eyes are up here, sweetheart.” He leans his head down, eyes following yours as they snap back, teasingly lowering to your lips. “You can look wherever you like after our dinner.”
It makes you scoff, aggressively. You shove him back to which he moves, mostly to entertain you.
“Yeah okay. Bet taken. Because I’m not going to lose.” You declare.
The door behind you two begins to shake. Someone’s coming. Covering, you retrace your actions, pulling Sylus closer. You can almost laugh at his grunt, dismayed at being moved around, but his hands settle on your waist quickly, shutting all your thoughts down.
“Don’t push it.” You hiss through your teeth. “We need to play it safe—”
“I know.” He interrupts brusquely. He lowers his head to yours, angling just close enough to make you blank.
The door opens and someone gasps, slamming it shut. As soon as the coast is clear you shove him back again and rush out before he could open his mouth again. You hear him snickering.
Back in the ballroom you spot the General without his translator.
“Shit.” You whisper to yourself, merging into the crowd as you try to catch sight of her anywhere.
She was too important, too…unaccounted for. If she somehow escaped your sight and Sylus got ahead of you…you’re screwed. You’re looking over your shoulders, scanning champagne flutes, dresses and of course, Sylus was already at your shoulder.
“Trouble?” He teases.
“Shut up. If I find out you had something to do with this,” You whisper angrily without losing focus on your mission, “I will tie you to a train just like Belize.”
“Mm. I enjoyed our time together.” He muses almost fondly. It’s aggravating how he treats this. How he treats your “rivalry”.
“I’m working. If you want to be helpful for once–don’t talk.” You mutter.
“I love when you make demands.” He grins. “And you love it when I talk.”
You’re thinking of a scathing remark when there’s movement that catches your eye–-the balcony. It catches Sylus’s too, as he falls quiet, form hovering behind you at a protective distance or lack of. You grab his arm without thinking and drag him behind you.
“Sweetheart, you could just tell me you want my company.” Sylus says, his rich tone hitting your ears in a way too intimate way to acknowledge right now.
“I want to win. And I want you to be there so I can rub it in your face.” You hiss, marching ahead.
He barks out a laugh.
“Then we are more compatible than I thought.”
Outside, it’s growing dark and the cold air hits you. There ahead is the translator, descending marble stairs, her head lowered as her hands fumble inside her bag. You lunge forward but Sylus stops you with a hand on your shoulder.
“Wait.” He whispers, drawing his hand further around you to tug you back into a wall. “She isn’t alone.”
You follow his gaze, and your breath catches at the shimmering gleam coming from the scope of a rifle. A sniper is on top of the building adjacent to the ballroom. The translator runs across the gardens, hastily and the sniper doesn’t move.
That red dot moves across the grass, almost invisible to the naked eye. It nears your location and you move this time, pushing Sylus back and making him duck with you. His hands catch your waist, changing position to cover you.
“Careful.” He murmurs, and it’s almost gentle.
A shot rings out, he squeezes you closer to him as you both watch the bullet land a few feet from you, the dirt flying. In tense silence you both listen for the sniper reloading, and after a while you both creep back, out of view. You groan standing up. The translator is completely gone. At least, she hasn’t doubled back around.
“If I end up losing, I’ll order every expensive item on the menu—and you’re paying.” You mutter.
“You deserve it all.” He replies smoothly, without an ounce of doubt or mocking in his voice.
Your face feels warm and you shove him. There’s no time however for chatting as you finally hear the sound of the sniper reloading his gun, and guards from the other side of the building are beginning to catch on to something going on. Whether it’s your side of theirs, who knows. Not smart to stay long enough to tell.
“We got suspicious figures around the corner. On your left.” You hear someone buzzing into their comms.
Quickly, Sylus pulls you with him, sneaking down the side of the property. You make it to a dark vehicle with tinted windows.
“Wait–I need the documents!” You fight, trying to return but Sylus keeps his grip.
“Don’t be stupid.” He rumbles. “Neither of them have the documents anymore. We need to take cover tonight.”
It’s annoying how you can’t argue with him, how if you were less proud might admit he was a good spy. Better than you maybe. But the thought makes you ill. So, instead you follow him into the car watching him kick it into drive and take you both away into the night.
“You brought a getaway car?” You can’t help but ask out of envy. LADS didn’t give you one, you had to travel with a rental car.
He smirks, stepping on the gas.
“No.”
“You stole it!?”
Sylus ignores your sputtering about morality and doing the right thing, he keeps speeding down the road getting the two of you miles away from the danger.
You reach the safehouse late. He parks the car under the cover of some low hanging trees and exits, coming around to open your door. You blink at him. He lifts a brow and holds his hand out.
“Well?” He instigates. “Chivalry isn’t dead, you know.”
You roll your eyes, pushing his hand away as you get out yourself. The door to the safehouse is locked, and you turn to see him waving some high tech key in his hands. You snort, taking a pin off your person and jamming it into the lock on the door. A few turns and the door unlocks, you look at him with a Amateur look in your eyes as you enter without him.
He wasn’t even mad, if anything he was impressed. The safehouse only had one bed, of course it did. It was Sylus’s afterall, and he never planned to have guests, ever.
“There’s a couch.” He shrugs.
“It looks like future tetanus shots.” You retort.
“Well, I couldn’t splurge. It would have looked suspicious.” He argues back.
“I’m not sleeping on that thing!”
“I won’t leave my bed.”
You continue to bicker, all the way into the bedroom. Both of you are too lazy to change into better clothes for sleeping. Well, he was lazy. All your things were still in a suitcase at your safehouse. Reluctantly, you agree to share the bed.
You shove a pillow in the middle, creating a wall.
“There. Don’t trespass on this side.” You huff, dropping down onto the left side of the bed, arms folded.
“What, are you? Eight?” He chuckles lowly.
“I’m highly suspicious you orchestrated this whole mess of a mission.” You grumble.
He smirks, picking up the pillow between you and tossing it.
“You give me too much credit.”
“I’ll smother you.” You respond hotly.
You both lay down in the bed. The lights are dimmed, but not quite off. The air is thick, with tension. Tension that involves unnamed and unwarranted emotions. You can hear Sylus breathing next to you. Steady and controlled—much like the rest of him. He was steady but not asleep. The scent of gunpowder wafted over you. He always smelled like that. Even in Turkey, in Belize. You shift away, but the mattress dips, rendering you closer.
Minutes pass, then his voice breaks the silence, quiet and knowing.
“You’re still thinking about the documents.” He says. “Aren’t you?”
You exhale through your nose.
“I don’t want to lose.” You mutter. “Not to you. Not to anyone.”
You can practically hear him smiling.
“I don’t think I care about the documents anymore.” He whispers.
His admission has you speechless, so much so you even turn to look at him, only to have your sight blocked by his chest. Sylus shifts over you, his limbs trapping you, yet his position was vulnerable enough for you to kick him if need be.
“What the hell are you doing?” You question, eyes wide. He lowers himself onto his forearms, lips hovering over your cheek. He’s quiet at first, breathing against your skin, taking it all in.
“What happened in Turkey…I won’t ignore it. I’d burn those documents right now if it meant getting you to forget about your mission.” He whispers.
“You’re the leader of Onychinus. I’d be declared an enemy if LADS—”
He shushes you gently.
“Don’t think about any of that. It doesn’t matter. I’ll make sure they find out nothing–-if you so wish.” He murmurs.
“Go to dinner with me tomorrow.” He requests, though his tone begs no rejections.
You swallow thickly. His red eyes are honed in on yours, like they aren’t leaving your face anytime soon.
“After I get the documents.” You reply through a strained voice.
A rumble escapes his throat and he leans in to gently kiss the corner of your mouth, the action making you sigh softly.
“I can deal with that.”