Undercover Hate

Chapter Twelve: Get In, Loser, We're Going On A Mission

Sitting in the back of the car as it hums toward the airport, the silence is thick, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional ping of my phone. Every few minutes, I glance at Ace, who's staring out the window like he'd rather be anywhere else. Good. Because I feel the same.

I can't stand the way he sits there all calm and collected, like he's not the most irritating person on the planet. The urge to say something snarky bubbles up inside me, but I bite it back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he's under my skin. We're supposed to be professionals. But how can I be professional when all I want to do is tell him to shove it?

When we pull up to the curb at the terminal, Ace sighs and opens the door, stepping out without waiting for me. Typical.

"We don't have all day, Adriana," he calls back, reaching into the trunk to grab the bags. His tone is like nails on a chalkboard.

I grind my teeth together, pushing down the surge of irritation. "Thanks for the help," I mutter under my breath, grabbing my carry-on and slamming the trunk shut.

The airport's busy, people rushing past in a blur of movement, and it's almost enough to distract me from how insufferable Ace is being. Almost. But of course, he can't just let me have a moment of peace.

"You seriously had to bring the boots?" he mutters as we walk toward the entrance, his eyes glancing down at my black combat boots.

"What's wrong with my boots?" I snap, already feeling the anger rise in my chest.

"They're not exactly 'blend in with the crowd' material, don't you think?" he says, shrugging nonchalantly as if he hasn't just insulted my entire existence.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't realize you were the fashion police. Should I run all my wardrobe choices by you from now on?"

"Just saying," Ace shrugs again, his lips twitching into that infuriating half-smirk. "We're trying to be low-key, not scream 'look at me.'"

"I'm not here to take style advice from a guy who thinks a plain black t-shirt and jeans is the height of sophistication," I snap back, my fists clenched at my sides.

"Hey, I didn't say anything about your outfit," Ace says with a smug grin. "Just the boots."

I roll my eyes so hard I think they might get stuck. "Whatever."

We make it through security with no issues, though I swear I see Ace roll his eyes at me when I have to take off my boots. He probably thinks this is some kind of victory for him. I choose not to engage, not wanting to escalate things further. But of course, he doesn't know when to quit.

As we put our shoes back on, Ace glances at my boots again and mutters, "See, they're already slowing you down."

I snap my head toward him, glaring. "You really have nothing better to do than criticize my footwear?"

He smirks, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "I'm just saying, you could've made things easier on yourself."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I ask for your opinion?" I say, my voice rising a little. "Because I don't remember doing that."

Ace raises his hands in mock surrender, that infuriating grin still plastered on his face. "Relax, Adriana. I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" I laugh bitterly. "The only help I need from you is for you to keep your mouth shut."

His smirk falters, and he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. "You know, maybe if you actually listened to me once in a while, things wouldn't be such a disaster."