"Fuck me, I'm sweatin' my tits off."
You hit the side of your closed fist on the wall of the van after you grumbled that, and it shifted into gear, speeding off a second later, but your focus barely on the vehicle's movement as you sat inside, organizing the bullet casings you collected from the crime scene.
"That was close."
"Too close."
You rolled your eyes at their concerns and texted the driver who was blocked off from both sight and sound from the back about cranking up the air back here because you always got pissed when you were uncomfortably hot. After that, you unzipped the bag you had been carrying and smiled to yourself as the jewels glistened between the stacks of cash. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands in US currency and diamonds laid at your feet. And it was only one bag out of five.
You weren't paying attention to their mindless chatter until you were addressed directly.
"Boss, what're we going to do if we got made?"
That had you raising your eyebrows, peering up at the guy across from you who spoke, the one next to him tensing as he leaned back against the wall, but you could see his eyes darting between you both and your jaw clenched.
"Whaddya mean, 'if we got made'?" You calmly asked back, straightening your posture as you let go of the bag's straps, and he swallowed thickly, instantly regretting the question as his complexion paled, the drive a slightly bumpy one.
"Just...I mean, if we were – what uh, what happens?" He stumbled over his words, sparing a quick glance to the one next to him for help, but the smarter of the two avoided his eyes.
You peeled off your mask and then wiped your bottom lip with the back of your hand, your eyes never leaving his. You've noticed that your partners always take their masks off right as they enter the getaway vehicle, the heat from the restricting cloth always a complaint. And you understood, but it was always an afterthought to you for whatever reason.
"Were you," You spoke slowly, tasting the bile inducing words that left your tongue as you stared him down, looking for a hint of insecurity when he was currently bathing in it under your intimidating glare, "Made?"
"No, no, no," He rushed out, shaking his head and waving his hand around for extra emphasis, but that didn't waiver your opinion and you simply narrowed your eyes before he quietly added, "I don't...I mean, I don't think so."
"Dammit, Spires." The one next to him grumbled under his breath, shaking his head as he cringed down at his hands on his lap and he gripped the mask he held in them tighter.
"You...don't think so," You repeated his words like you were trying them out, nodding your head thoughtfully, and then you pulled your phone back out to send a quick text to the driver with a bunch of kissy face emojis and pregnant men, "Well, I mean," You shrugged with wide eyes, smiling a bit manically, "That's all that matters, right?"
He opened his mouth, but the words died on his tongue as the van came to a short stop, jerking everyone forward, and the second it was right again, you pulled your favorite dagger out of your boot before you jumped up to straddle his lap. You lifted it and before he could respond to any of it, you were plunging it repeatedly into his chest.
"Fuck!" The other one yelled in shock as you kept going and when he added, "What the hell did you do that for??" You yanked your pistol out of the back of your waistband and kept your eyes on your first victim's lifeless ones as you shot the other in the face, holstering it again a moment later.
As you got up, the door to the van slid open and you jumped out, dusting your knees off, and giving the driver a grin, completely ignoring all the blood splattered across your face and chest.
"Two?" He asked, nodding towards the back where the bodies were.
"One less than last time," You shrugged, turning to stand by his side as you both faced the fresh crime scene, "Maybe I'm getting better at this."
He wasn't one of many words, but he's been a loyal son of a bitch for three years now and the curious side glance he gave you was enough to read all he wanted to say. You both knew you could handle high-stakes high-reward robbery operations like this all on your own, but this was much more interesting for you. That, or you were assigned a team.
"It'll clean up nicely," You assured because last time you had messed up your shoulder trying to help him move the bodies, so you took your gun and dagger back to the van, "Murder suicide because this one," You slapped the one you killed last lightly on the cheek that wasn't blown out a few times, "Got greedy, but then paranoid or whatever – surely the pigs will think of something," You set it all up half-assed, "But they had stopped in a crime infested area anyway, so the money will be long gone."
You got out, throwing the five bags down next to each other on the dirt and then hummed the 'eeny meeny miny moe' tune before picking up the bag you landed on and tossing it to the driver as payment like always.
You quirked an eyebrow as he eyeballed the bag that was just as full as the rest, "We good?"
He sighed, his eyes scanning over the other four bags almost longingly as he contemplated something, and you subtly tensed, watching his every move until the point his eyes met yours. Conflicted.
Anyone can be completely still, their heart rate relaxed to a steady pulse, breathing even and regulated, and their physical appearance can be without one tell. But once you give someone a peek into your eyes, it's all over. With over two decades of immense patience and practice, you've perfected the skill of being able to read someone completely by peering into their eyes – even if only for a second or two.
"I'm-"
Bang. Thud.
You let out a breath, the early winter air fogging around your face, and you glanced around the area before you spotted the second car, unlocking it with your keys.
You popped the trunk and quickly threw the heavy as fuck bags into it before glancing back at the third body you left.
"We had a deal, and I don't renegotiate," You told him, albeit pointlessly, but then you raised your eyebrows curiously when he choked on air, whining in pain as he moved around, and you thought you had hit his heart, "Oof, that's gotta sting."
"Fuck!" He cried out, clutching his chest with his hand over his blood soaked top and sliding across the dirt path, but he was really just sprawling his legs out, aimlessly looking for traction.
"What was your name again?" You wondered, tilting your head curiously, and he coughed hoarsely, blood pouring out of his mouth, making you cringed in disgust.
"You d-don't," He sputtered out, his eyes glazing over with tears as he peered up at you with a set glare, your boots crunching the dirt below them as you stepped closer, but you figured his vision was blurry at best by now, "You don't e-even r-remember?"
You pursed your lips, not the least bit apologetic, "Nope."
"Fuck y-you." He spat. Literally. Getting more blood on your boots.
"Fine. Die then. You're taking forever." You groaned, kicking his side halfheartedly in hopes he'd move this along like those less stubborn ones in the van, and he groaned in pain.
"It's agent Jonathan Montego, you dick," He snapped, his voice weak, "And you'll n-never forget that name when SHIELD and the f-fucking Avengers come for your ass."
You raised your eyebrows, not expecting that, and a second later, his body was still. You saw him take his last breath and you narrowed your eyes in thought.
You knew you had been isolated nearly your whole life, being used to only dealing with local and maybe federal levels of law enforcement, but the news and trends and pop culture references were mostly lost on you. That is, if you don't count reruns of Golden Girls and, when you were younger, Boy Meets World. Those shows were what you filled your free time with, your own little escape, besides spending it outside when you were much younger with a couple of girls you hardly remember the names of.
"The avengers?" You muttered to yourself, "What the fuck is an avengers?"
