Unmasked (Simon Riley)

Chapter 2

*Brooklyn's POV*

As we approach the others, I can feel the eyes belonging to Ghost burning into me, angry, and I'm left wondering what the hell died up his ass.

I'll admit, the whole secretive identity thing is attractive, but his attitude ruins the entire thing, and makes him borderline repulsive. "Ready?" Price says looking towards me. I force a smile and a light nod.

We head out the the vehicles, the others falling into step behind me and Price. I take shotgun, Price driving and the other three taking up the second row. The drive is silent, until Price finally speaks up.

"You know the plan, Laswell?"

"Yes sir," I reply confidently, turning to face him. "Go in, play it cool, get the hard drive, get out." He nods, looking towards the others through the mirror. "Eyes on her at all time," he commands. They don't reply, but I'm sure they acknowledged in some way.

I glance back out the window, trying to avoid the pair of eyes burning into the back of my head. This guy has a serious problem. The ride falls awkwardly silent again, until we finally reach our destination. Price parks behind a building, and we file out. I glance at the others, my eyes falling on the concealed man.

His muscles ripple under the tight fabric of his shirt as he stretches. I advert my gaze, not wanting him to find a reason to hate me more than he seems to already. Price hands me a small device. A comm. I place it into my ear, using my hair to help conceal it.

"We'll be waiting," he reassures. I smile, then turn to head towards the hideout. It's a short walk. I round last the building between me and my destination, heading straight towards the door I know Dmitri is behind, along side his armed soldiers.

I knock on the door, unzipping the small bag on my shoulder, and pulling out the fake identification. The door creaks open, just a smidge as I spot a face behind it. I hold up my identification, him studying it for a moment before opening the door. I step inside, taking note of the rifle slung over his torso.

He closes the door behind me, glancing out first to ensure I wasn't being followed. "I need to speak to Dmitri," I state, the russian words rolling comfortably on my tongue. He stares at me a moment, studying me, then mumbles something into the radio on his shoulder.

Dmitri appears from a doorway a moment later. "I don't believe we've met," he states. "Abram sent me," I reply, flashing my identification once more. His eyes widen ever so slowly, nodding and motioning to follow.

He leads me to the basement, and into a room that looks like an office. I keep my cool, glancing around for possible exits. There is one large door down here, guarded by two men. No windows. He shuts the door to the office behind me, walking around the desk and sitting down. "Why are you here," he asks, getting straight to business.

I glance around the room, taking in the lack of decor, the stains lining the walls, and the lamp doing a terrible job of lighting the space. "Abram's wondering how you're progressing, how you plan to infiltrate America. He's questioning your effectiveness." I state, tilting my head to the side as I speak. He stares intently back at me, "I'm working on it," he says, the anger rising in his voice.

I walk slowly around to his side of the desk, his eyes never leaving me. I rub a hand slowly down his shoulder, grazing the top of his chest. My eyes land on the target as I lean towards his ear. "He'll need more than that," I whisper, pulling away a moment later. His eyes stay trained on me as I return to my original spot, his gaze sporting a slightly different look, and I know my plan is working.