Phoenix's Revenge

4.

Nikolai POV

That was a bit reckless. But, it was either that or death.

Her body wrapped around me without hesitation, leaving me wondering why she trusted me so much if we just met. I could've easily pried her off mid air and then killed her family.

Easy.

So why didn't I?

My thoughts are interrupted when we crash through the window of the building next to us. We crash hard and go rolling through the room. I instinctively curl my body around her so I take most of the force.

We come to a stop and she practically leaps out of my arms. I furrow my brow but quickly rectify it. We gather our wits and look around us. It's a dark office.

As we turn to leave, she whips around and presses her body to mine against the wall. Her chest is pressed to mine as I look down at her. I go to ask her what's going on, but she slaps her hand over my mouth.

Another Italian warehouse. She mouths.

Ah fuck. That makes sense but fuck. Now we're alone in here. She checks her knives and we both check our ammo. There's no nearly enough. She shrugs.

"Go out, guns blazing right?" She whispers, barely audible.

I smirk.

I like her.

I nod.

She draws her gun and slinks her way to the opposite side of the door.

"Wanna do that thing?"

Another nod.

I step back and look at her. She smiles and winks at me, saying she's ready. I send my foot crashing through the door and we start picking them off one by one.

She shoots with such precision and accuracy, completely focused.

A man comes barreling towards me.

Fucking finally. Time to get some of this anger out.

He swipes a knife at me and I dodge it, grabbing his hand. I slam it into the nearest wall and he drops the knife. I instantly pick it up and slit his throat.

Another one tries but doesn't get very far. I whip my gun out and bang. Dead before he hit the floor. It carries on like this for what seems like forever. They just keep coming and I have no time to check on her.

Not that I care.

Yeah you do.

Shutup.

Finally, there's a lull in the men and I whip around to find her. My eyes land on her. She sits on someone's shoulders and grasps her knees around his head. She then uses the momentum of her hips and upper body to twist as hard as she can. A snapping sound fills the air and the guy drops limp to the floor, neck hanging at an odd angle. She smirks.

Her eyes land on mine.

"What? I told him that I would do it and he didn't believe me. Proved him wrong."

She stops next to a body and yanks out one of her knives, wiping the blood off on her sleeve.

So. Fucking. Hot.

A smirk takes over my own face. We run side by side out of the building and into one of our vehicles. She must've called them over the coms.

We both sit and become brutally aware of how exhausted we are. My knuckles are caked in blood. As is the rest of my body. I stink.

I look at her. Her hair hangs loosely. Her face has blood splattered on it as well as a couple bruises and a cut on her eyebrow that bleeds heavily. I reach into my vest and pull out a miniature first aid kit. You go on enough of these, and you start bringing one.

I reach up and press a piece of gauze to her eyebrow. She flinches back away from my touch. My eyes meet hers. I can see how conflicted she is. Finally, with a sigh, she allows me to stop the bleeding and bandage it.

"Thanks." She says with a yawn.

I just nod once.

I watch as she leans against the window and closes her eyes.

The feeling I have of knowing her from somewhere is something I just can't shake. I didn't have much of a childhood, let alone friends. Only person I considered a friend was a girl, in a cell, a long time ago.

I shove those thoughts to the back.

I don't attempt to heal those memories. I cope by random spurts of violence and alcoholism. That can of worms will stay sealed.

We arrive at the tarmac and board the jet. I carry her sleeping body up and set her in a seat, before taking one of my own. I lean my head against the wall.

I feel my eyes drift and I let them.