I was sent to capture the CIA's most wanted fugitive.
But things took a tragic turn,
My entire team was murdered before my eyes, and I was kidnapped by said fugitive.
It seemed like my government had forgotten me and I became a puppet for the fugi...
*THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS EXTRA GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND MURDER. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. THIS AUTHOR DOES NOT SUPPORT OR ROMANTIZE MURDER, BUT IT IS A CRITICAL PART OF THE PLOT.*
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I DAY AGO
Americans are such morons. I'll never understand why my brother left Italy, our beautiful country, to settle in this cesspool of idiots. How he managed to get married and make friends here will forever remain a mystery to me, figuratively and literally.
I'm seated in a dingy karaoke bar, the air thick with the stench of cheap beer and desperation. Drunk losers stumble around, belting out off-key tunes, while the unhappy, underpaid bartenders barely muster the energy to pour another round. At the table behind me is a group of CIA agents, supposedly waiting for someone, yet they're more interested in arguing over which song to butcher next.
A group of CIA agents is supposed to catch me. And here I am, almost within their line of sight, while they're busy choosing their next karaoke disaster. I fold my gloved hands, a faint smirk tugging at my lips, as I watch them- completely oblivious to the fact that the very criminal they're hunting is sitting just one table away.
The sheer stupidity of it all.
The door to the bar swings open and I sense her presence even before she steps inside. She's here. Agent Laura Vittoria Hill. I casually glance over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of her determined face as she scans the room. The photo on the ID in my hands doesn't do her justice. The American passport system really has a way of dulling the beauty of even the most striking individuals.
Too bad she might be unrecognizable for a while if I go through with my plans. Her pretty face might end up a canvas for something more grotesque- I'm kidding-of course I want her to remain as beautiful. I also want to be the man solely with the ability and will to ruin her.
I watch. The other agents light up the moment she walks in, especially this Agent Jesse Wright. You don't need a microscope to see that he's got feelings for her. It's obvious. The way he hugs her as soon as she steps inside, like he's holding on to something more than just a colleague. She's either oblivious to it or just cold-hearted. Then there's Agent Elliot Rodriguez, the tech guru of the task force, stumbling up to her. He's already wasted, slurring his words as he wraps her in a sloppy embrace.
Fucking lightweight.
Laura looks... tired, like she's had the worst day of her life. The pictures I have of her show a woman full of life, a fire in her eyes. But now, that fire seems dimmed, barely flickering. And what does she plan to do to shake off the day? Sing fucking karaoke.
What she really needs is a good, proper fuck. I'd recommend dear Agent Jesse Wright, but for all I know, he might be a disappointment in bed. Christ, I'm starting to sound like these Americans.
