Double Agent

○ nineteen ○

| Ezra |

As irritating and time consuming as it is, Damien, Isadora and I keep on our search for Giordano. A week later, and the only information we manage to tease out is his place of work. It's a fucking club. I don't know why I'm surprised.

I haven't said much to Isadora the past week. She's definitely messing with my head. I want to talk to her, spend time with her, fuck, even missions with her aren't too bad. But she's getting in my head, Kathy wasn't wrong about that. She's fucking addicting, her laugh, her smile, the flirty little winks she does when she's trying to be funny but I'm trying to serious.

I refuse to let her in.

She's heading off to the arsenal, which I've miraculously allowed her access to. She easily gains access to the weapons, struggling for a few minutes against a tactical knife on the top shelf. I've half made up my mind to help her, but immediately I snap out of it, forcing myself to remain indifferent to her struggle. What the fuck is wrong with me? I promised I would keep her far away. She strolls out a minute later, carrying a few knives.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"To practise my throws?"

"Why in fucks name do you need four knives?"

She holds out the three in her hand, looking at me innocently.

"I can't believe we're still playing this game."

I hoist her knee up with my palm, sliding my hand into her shoe and pulling out another knife. I jab it abruptly at her neck and she jerks away inches before it reaches her skin.

"Training's working, I see?"

"Yours not so much huh?" She holds out my belt before me.

Her and her fucking slight of hand.

"Think faster," I quickly flick the belt over her wrists, tightening it and slamming her tied wrists up against the wall.

She smiles, her eyes drop down to my lips for a second, and my chest erupts; I lose my bearings. Stomping on my foot, she manages to slide the belt off, freeing her arms and placing one of her knives against my neck. I recover, pointing the one I took from her boot at her chest.

Stalemate.

We both back away and she smiles, walking away, "I could ask you the same thing."

She's becoming a weakness and I need to get rid of her.

—

"Is he... okay? He hasn't said a word all night," Damien asks Isadora.

"That's because he hates the both of us."

Well, her bratty, irritating arse got one thing right.

Damien's been discussing the plans of the mission tonight with us, and I'm torn between smashing his head into the wall or drowning him. My leg bounces up and down with boredom as he goes through all the tactics she'll need to use. Attraction first, then persuasion, then threat, then if all goes to shit, killing him.

Damien will be there as our background guy, making sure we don't raise any suspicion and that we can get away as soon as we have our information. He leaves after a while and we start to get ready for the night. I slip on a simple black dress shirt and pants, rolling the sleeves up to my elbows and keeping the front unbuttoned. The chains peek out and even though Chagrin specifically tells me not to wear both them and the rings, I keep them on just to spite him, because I can do the job just as well with them.

As I leave my room I yell at Isadora to hurry up, and she flurries out of the room in the tiniest fucking dress on planet earth. It's a simple low-cut figure-hugging mind-fucking black dress. My eyes run all over it, watching the material hug her waist and thighs. She fidgets a little at my attention and I smirk slightly, watching the goosebumps erupt on her skin. Her eyes drop down to my chest, avoiding my eyes.