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❛ Who am I fucking assassinating? ❜
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VANESSA'S MANAGED TO HIDE HER REAL JOB FROM HER HUSBAND even though they met years ago on one of his missions and she was forced to act like she wasn't sent their to kill him and his brother; he still believes she is a bartender at a pub in London.
Surprisingly even Lemon isn't able to read Vanessa and claims she's a Percy from Thomas the Tank engine. He'll ramble on about the subject for what feels like hours, and Vanessa sits and listen to every last second. Tangerine, on the other hand, wasn't as content with enduring his brother's antics.
"Lemon, if you fucking grill my wife one more time about how she's a fucking Percy, I'm gonna grab my gun and shove it right up your fucking arse," Tangerine will spit in anger, "Shut your fucking cakehole."
Vanessa will always laugh, or sometimes even roll her eyes at how worked up Tangerine gets, but Lemon will stop and realise that maybe he has rambled for a bit too long.
A few days earlier and at the crack of dawn, Tangerine had slipped out of bed as quietly and gently as possible in an attempt not to awake his wife. He got ready like usual, using the cufflinks Vanessa had given him years ago before eventually muttering a quiet goodbye to her and pressing a kiss on her temple before slipping out of the apartment to meet with Lemon.
What he hadn't known was that Vanessa had been wide awake for at least an hour before him and was ready to get the exact same flights to Japan as him. She didn't have to follow his every movement, and could've got her own form of transport, but there was something fun about sneaking around right in front of his face.
There had been several times where Tangerine had believed he'd seen his wife's face, and he grumbled at himself under his breath and claimed he was just being a stupid twat.
"It's just 'cause you miss her," Lemon said, pulling open a packet of free crisps, "You always fucking do when we have missions."
Tangerine had glared at his brother, but for once kept his mouth closed.
Arriving in Tokyo wasn't Vanessa's most ideal holiday. She had to squeeze herself into a public bathroom and change in there before heading to the bustling train station. To say the building is packed, would be an understatement.
In her small handbag hung over her shoulder, her phone begins to ring. She curses lowly, bringing out the device and sighing in relief at the contact name, thankful that it isn't Tangerine messaging.
"James, thank fuck you called me," She mutters quietly as she holds her phone against her ear, "I have no fucking clue what I'm supposed to be doing. What is my job exactly?"
