Chamber of Reflection - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC

Chapter Eight: Mandala Cancun

The car ride to Mandala Cancun was a blur of nerves and adrenaline, a deadly cocktail flooding Smoke's system with every passing mile. She gripped the edge of her seat so hard, she could feel her nails dig into the leather. The Humvee's AC only blasted humid air so the team were forced to roll down their windows. Her body was aching from being cramped in the tiny space, practically squished in between Soap and the car door. He, Gaz and Alejandro had been bickering, chatting, and laughing for the whole ride, and they wouldn't shut up about anything.

As the wind whistled through the cracks of the car's windows, it whipped around her head like the fingers of an icy ghost. It sent a shiver down her spine and did nothing to quell the shaking of her hands. Why was she nervous? Was it the fear of failing, not living up to their expectations? This wasn't new to her. Smoke had done a mission like this hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. And yet...the butterflies still fluttered away inside her ribcage. She let out a sigh and tucked her hair behind her ear, fingertips brushing against her earpiece.

The car screeched to a halt in front of a long row of buildings, all made of gleaming white stucco. The faint boom of music echoed over the street, the melody pulsating in her ears in tune with her heartbeat. People had spilled out into the street, some mingling and others dancing, as they waited in line. Smoke leaned forward, craning her neck to get a glimpse.

Mandala Cancun looked like something straight out of a magazine, or maybe a postcard. A neon sign flashed red and yellow, the letters spelling out the club's name in swirling cursive font. It hung over the arched doorway, covered by ornate carvings of palm trees, fruit and flowers.

Alejandro was the first to break the silence. "Straight in and straight out, sí?"

"Right. If there are any issues, speak into the comms. All you've gotta say is 'rum and coke', and Ghost'll be in there faster than you can blink." Price nodded to his team.

"So, what do we do?" Soap asked, his gaze fixated on the entrance. "Do we just walk right in?"

"Blend in a little, grab a couple of drinks?" Gaz suggested, from the trunk.

"Aye, wonder if I'll find a lass to take home."

Smoke grimaced at the comment, eyeing her two companions for the night. The two men were dressed almost identically in dark jeans and button-up shirts. They looked more like businessmen than anything else. Their clothes screamed money and influence, the glimmering watches on their wrists and cuff links giving them away immediately. This wasn't going to work.

She slipped out of the car, leaving the others behind but only got a few steps away before she heard a certain Scotsman belt out her name.

"Aye, Smoke, what're you doin'?" He yelled, leaning on the centre console.

A coy smile played across her lipstick-clad clips as she turned to look at him. She strode back over to the car and shrugged nonchalantly, feigning ignorance as she leaned on the passenger side window. She ducked her head into the Humvee, right where Ghost was sitting. He froze at their sudden closeness, her breath tickling the side of his mask. The scent, her scent, infected his lungs and marred his insides. That sugary sweet aroma of cherries and vanilla, mixed with a faint tinge of gunpowder. His tongue went dry at the sight of her lips, only inches from his. If Smoke rose her head, even an inch, she'd kiss him. Or rather, his mask.

"Oi." he croaked.

"Somethin' the matter?" Soap tilted his head curiously.

Price rose a curious eyebrow at her as he sipped from his water.

"The last thing our friend Martin wants is to be cockblocked, sergeant." Smoke said, voice smooth with amusement as she threw him a wink.

Price choked on his water, coughing violently before regaining control of himself and wiping spittle off his moustache. That was certainly the last thing he expected to hear, coming from her of all people.