Red Assassin ~ Pietro Maximoff x OC

"Red Assassin: Civil War" Preview

Hey, guys! Kalyn here. It's been a while since I finished this book, but here I am, editing it lol. I debated doing this when I finished, but I never did, but I decided that while I'm editing, it wouldn't be a bad idea to add a little preview of the next book!

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The crystal blue sky looks less serene through the cloud of dust in the air, the ninety-degree dry heat making me wish I was wearing lighter colors to absorb less warmth. My mapopo are lukewarm—I would've eaten more than two or three of the candied papaya if my stomach wasn't in knots from this mission. It'd be rude to leave them uneaten, and I am a little peckish, so I start to nibble on one as I scroll through my phone. A small half smile forms on my lips from the photo Clint had sent. Lila, Cooper, and Nate are a mess, covered with various colors of finger paint.

"Miss you guys," I mumble to myself.

"Is everything all right? Do we need to call in a replacement?" Wanda asks over my com-set.

"Let's keep the crazy talk to a minimum, shall we?" I say hurriedly, giving my spray-dyed raven locks a shake. "Sitrep. Both of you. Go."

"No sign of the Skull or his crew," Pietro responds. "Alley is still clear."

"Black SUV about a hundred yards from you, Kat. Your ten o'clock. Plates are missing and the VIN numbers are bouncing back. I'm keeping my eyes on it," Wanda says coolly.

"Damn." I heave an annoyed sigh, starting on another one of my mapopo candies. "You know, maybe I should get some of these to go. They're delicious. Or at least find a recipe."

A waitress comes by my table and sets the check down with a smile. "Here you are. Can I get you anything else?" she asks.

"Yes. Can you top me off please?" I reply in her language as I hand her my empty lemonade glass.

"Of course." She leaves with the glass and I steal a quick glance at the SUV Wanda mentioned. I can only see its front bumper.

"I didn't know you spoke Tanzanian," Pietro says.

"I don't. I speak Swahili. And yeah, they make you learn, like, thirty languages in the Red Room," I say. "I practice them for fun sometimes with Nat."

Pietro snorts. "Nerd."

I let out a small chuckle. "Tell me, Sil, how many languages do you speak?"

There's a pause before he responds, and I can almost see him hanging his head and blushing in embarrassment. "Two."

"Great. When I need help with English or Sokovian, I'll let you know," I say smugly, and he mutters some very colorful words in Sokovian.

"Pietro, there are ladies present," Wanda teases.

"This doesn't feel right. The Skull is meticulous about being on time," I say as the waitress comes back with my lemonade. I give her a smile to thank her and she leaves.

"Why does this seem so personal to you?" Wanda asks. "I mean, every other time I've seen you as the Red Assassin, you're usually less paranoid."

"Wanda, never, ever call me paranoid again. And it's because this joker crossed a line with me that no one crosses," I reply. "About a year and a half ago when S.H.I.E.L.D. blew up, one of the guys who was Hydra and helped orchestrate it—"

"You were there, too," Pietro reminds me.

"Semantics. Don't interrupt me," I continue. "Anyway. So, the S.T.R.I.K.E. team was all Hydra. They were led by a dude named Rumlow. He went on to become an arms dealer named Crossbones, who we have yet to track down. Our friend Skull was Rumlow's right hand man."

"Now the dumb name makes sense," Pietro mutters.

"When I first heard S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed, I never thought it would be so messy," Wanda comments.

"What'd you expect, that they'd disband all nice and pretty and tie things up with a ribbon?" I say sarcastically. "Natasha putting all of their secrets on the Internet might have stopped Hydra from growing as a parasite inside S.H.I.E.L.D., but cut off one head and two more shall take its place. This is the closest to tied up with a ribbon we've had in a while. We've got eyes on all of the major players who were Hydra thugs except Crossbones."

"That still doesn't explain why this is all so personal to you," Pietro says.

"The Skull tried to kill Steve. Multiple times. And he tried to kill me multiple times."

"Is he the guy who gave you the scar that looks like a Cheshire cat a little bit?" Wanda asks, and I give her an "mm-hmm" in response.

"Wait, a Cheshire Cat scar? Why haven't I seen this?" Pietro whines.

I pause for a moment, double checking his words in my mind. I know exactly what he's getting at, but I don't want to burst his bubble by telling him that the scar in question is on my right upper bicep. "I'm not explaining myself there. Wanda, can you see inside the SUV at all? We should have a buyer and two guards."

Silence hangs over the coms for a moment before she responds. "Barely. I see a driver and two passengers. Not sure who's who. But...facial recognition is a dead end."

A crash from the same direction grabs my attention and I notice a homeless man with lighter skin than most other citizens is recovering from crashing his shopping cart into a building. "Wanda. Homeless guy. I need a face," I say. My phone chimes with a text, and I open it up. It's a blurry, but still definable, shot of the man's face.

"Kat? You want to say something?" Pietro says impatiently.

"Yep. On my signal, move in." I leave some cash on the table, take a last gulp of my lemonade, and briskly move away from the small cafe. "Are you alright, sir?" I ask the homeless man in Swahili, jogging up to him.

He smiles darkly, reaching for his shopping cart, and producing a .22 Magnum. "Wouldn't you rather speak in English, my dear?" he responds in perfect English.