My Severe Brother

ch 174: Angel

Malik's pov

In the heart of Chicago, at a party teeming with life, Diana and I hunted for the elusive spy. The music was pleasant, people were engaged in lively conversations, laughing and dancing, but none of it could divert my focus from the mission.

I felt boredom creeping in. She huffed for the third time, clearly as uninterested as I was. Maybe a dance would break the monotony.

One with a gun, the other with a knife. Both weapons are hidden behind our backs.

"May I have this dance?" I asked her, trying to keep my tone light.

"No." Her voice was cold, filled with contempt.

"We can pretend to like each other just for a bit, don't you think?"

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Flatter yourself."

Undeterred, I pulled her closer, feeling the heat of her body against mine. Her scent, a mix of floral perfume and something uniquely her, filled my senses. I whispered in her ear, "Come on, I know you know how to dance, darling."

She glared at me. "Of course I know how to dance, but I would never with you—"

I interrupted her, my voice firm. "You must. I insist that you dance with me."

She was about to protest further, but I seized the moment, grabbing her waist and dipping her. I placed my hand gently on the small of her back, feeling the softness of her skin beneath the thin material. Her hand rested on my shoulder, her touch light. Our eyes locked, Our bodies moved together, a seamless flow as we danced to the rhythm of the music.

Our hands locked, and a lifetime of bitterness surged through me. Yet, as the music enveloped us, we moved as one, a paradoxical yet perfect waltz.

My hands were meant to kill her, yet I found myself in her embrace, dancing at the beat of the music and our heartbeats. They say keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Well, I decided to take that to heart.

"Just as before, it started with a dance, how will it end this time?" she questioned, reflecting on our past.

With a knowing smile, I retorted, "Maybe on someone's bed."

In a flash, she broke away and shoved me against the wall with surprising force. Her elbow pressed against my neck, pinning me in place. Her eyes blazed with fury as she leaned in, her breath brushing my skin, warm and threatening. We were so close I could hear her heartbeat, a rapid, angry drumbeat that mirrored my own.

"You got your dance," she snapped, her voice low and intense. "Now zip it."

Fighting never felt more like dancing.

The closeness was electrifying. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, the rhythmic motion hypnotic. The scent of her perfume, a heady mix of floral and musk, enveloped me, adding another layer to the sensory overload.

I managed to push her back against the wall, reversing our positions. Our faces were inches apart, breaths mingling in the charged air. "I wonder how quiet you'd be if I were to kiss you right now," I teased,, my lips dangerously close to hers.

"I hate you!" she spat.

"No, you don't," I whispered back, my voice soft but firm.

She parted her lips about saying something but hesitated. Her lips were soft, inviting, with a hint of gloss that reflected the lights. A part of me secretly wishes to close the gap.

What am I doing? I hate her.

Maybe I don't?

She noticed my gaze and a smug smile curled those tantalizing lips. "You wanted it, huh? You want me, don't you?"