Bucky chuckled, cradling her cheek delicately and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, "You had me so worried, baby girl."
"Like I was hit by Mjolnir," she tried to smile weakly. She tried to lift her head but stopped, w...
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It was quiet. Too quiet.
His target's villa was supposed to be littered with bodyguards, even as Bucky made his way silently through the hallway leading to the man selling the latest deadly drug on the market, something felt off about the silence.
He'd encountered almost no resistance.
His heartbeat was thrumming steadily in his ears as he neared the main bedroom, the door beckoning him like a bullseye. His steps were quiet as he closed one fist around the handle while the other tightened on his trusty blade.
The door didn't make a sound as he opened it and slipped through it, closing it swiftly as his ears caught the faint sound of music. Bucky's brows furrowed as he inched closer to the noise leaking through the spacious wing. His intel was solid, he'd been monitoring the French-Algerian mercenary for a month now.
Batroc had a set routine; hide in plain sight while making connections with the local higher ups of the island he was currently hiding in, stay in his villa to host parties on the weekends, and he was always alone on weekdays. He even went to bed early.
Which is why Bucky was confused as to why he was awake– apparently with a companion from the sounds of seductive music filtering in through the walls, when he was supposed to be sleeping. The job was supposedly an easy in-and-out.
Pulling his gun with the silencer attached, he held the two weapons and decided to spring into action with quick steps only for his feet to stop at the sight of a very familiar body swaying seductively in front of a dazed looking French asshole. The woman's back was to Bucky while she slowly stripped off a trench coat and dropped it to the floor. The blood rushing through his veins was boiling hot but not because of the black corset that was painted on her every delicious curve. No, it was because that body with a distinctive constellation of birthmarks on the back belonged to his wife.
Betrayal. Anger. White hot rage burned everywhere.
"Florence? What the fuck?!"
"Bucky," a tiny whisper left her lips, whether it was annoyance or surprise, Bucky wasn't quite sure.
His eyes flickered between Florence and Batroc, a dangerous man now with the upper hand as his realization clicked into place that he was in danger.
"Guards!" He bellowed, scrambling up from his seated position and tumbling over the side. Within seconds four sets of boots were rushing down the hall at them.
"What the hell are you doing here?" She whipped around on her stilettos. Clicking across the floor toward Batroc as she swiped her jacket from the floor, but it wasn't the jacket that came up in her hands, it was a slim, black pistol. Poised to kill.
"What am I doing here?" Bucky growled, slamming the thin doors closed behind him. They wouldn't keep the guards out but it would buy them some time. "You're a kindergarten teacher!" The shock was settling in, grasping a hold of any rational thoughts he might have had coming into this mission. "What are you doing here?" He kicked his boot against the couch and sent it flying up against the doors, barricading them inside.
