𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑇𝑜 𝐷𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑟

07.

We slip out into the alley behind the club, the air thick with the scent of garbage and the distant sound of music muffled by the walls. Oren follows me, his steps cautious as if he's unsure of what awaits him. I lead him to a secluded spot, hidden from prying eyes, and turn to face him, the syringe concealed in my hand.

In a sudden, unexpected move, Oren lunges at me with a knife, his face contorted in rage. I sidestep his attack, narrowly avoiding the blade as it slashes through the air. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I react swiftly, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until he drops the weapon with a grunt of pain.

"What the hell, man?" I exclaim, glaring down at him as he lies on the floor, groaning in pain. "This could've been easy," I continue, my words laced with frustration, "You would've gone out like a ...little lamb." Unsure of the wisdom in my own words, and still not entirely sober, I move closer, straddling him, and prepare to finish the job.

I cast a glance back at the discarded syringe lying among the damp Paris streets, where it joined a medley of others amidst the mingling scents of urine and rain. Shaking my head, I pushed myself upright, feeling a slight wobble in my stance. Just as I turned to head back toward the club, a honeyed voice, one that froze me in my tracks, cut through the night air.

"You're back," she rasped, I stood there, Kate stood before me, her presence commanding attention despite the dimly lit alleyway. She wore a sleek, form-fitting black outfit that accentuated her slender frame. Her hair cascaded in brown
waves around her shoulders, framing her angular face. Her eyes, a piercing shade of brown, held a mix of intensity and mystery, while her lips were set in a determined line. Despite the darkness that surrounded us, there was an undeniable aura of confidence emanating from her posture and demeanor. stunned into silence. "Kate," I uttered, the name escaping my lips almost involuntarily.

"Hey, soldier," she said wryly, a hint of amusement dancing in her voice. "It's been a while."

I felt a surge of frustration, my grip tightening on the knife tucked in my waistband. "What changed?" I demanded, my voice edged with tension. "When exactly did you decide not to ruin me?"

"Maybe it was when I saw Oren holding a knife to your throat," she replied calmly, her tone betraying no hint of remorse. "Or maybe it was when I realized the bruises on your neck were fingerprints and wanted to kill the person who did that to you. Maybe it was the first time I recklessly kissed you, or when I realized I'm messed up because I can't stop thinking about doing more than just kissing you."

Her admission caught me off guard, my breath hitching at the unexpected confession. She sighed and let her hair fall to cover her face.

"Does it even matter when, as long as it changed between us?" she continued, her voice soft yet resolute.

I whispered, my voice barely audible, "Don't do that."

She lifted her head, her gaze locking with mine. "Don't do what?" she asked, her eyes searching mine. "Tell you I can't get you out of my head? Or speak directly into yours?"

"Either," I replied, feeling a mix of apprehension and longing swirling within me.

"We can't be seen together," I declared, my frustration palpable as I glanced around, aware of the imminent arrival of the getaway car. "You're with the Nemesis Agency, for God's sake," I added, a tinge of exasperation in my voice as I tugged at my roots.

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words escaped. "I'm not your enemy," she finally managed to say, her voice soft yet firm.

"Yeah? Well, you're mine," I retorted sharply, my expression hardening as I met her gaze.