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...
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The door to the room where I am, slams open. I'm suddenly on a higher alert. But it's not the force of armed men, or the force of my many enemies. It is the force of my captive American. Laura Hill throws her body to the floor and her eyes are fixed on me almost instantly. Fantastic, she's also on an even higher alert.
I'm on the bed taking a minute break from all the chaos that comes with being Capo of this great Dominion. And that's the whole essence of this room. It's on the first floor where no one usually is, and that makes me wonder just how far she ran to make it here. And how fast she was. And what she must have done to Helena Hidalgo to get here. Knowing the woman, she won't put up much of a fight, especially after everything that transpired in this very building.
I hear more footsteps outside and curses in Italian. She must have beaten up those two idiots. I was wondering when I would see the fire in her eyes again, the fire I saw during our first rendezvous at the murder scene in New York and when she invaded my underground party and left some wounds in her wake. And now I see that fire as she stands to her feet, a kitchen knife in hand.
Up until the knife came into play, you could mistake her for a damsel in distress, except that she's anything but. Laura is a warrior, which makes her a worthy opponent. She makes her way towards me with the knife in her hand. I am still seated on the bed, my face void of any reaction or emotion whatsoever, a trait I've mastered. It takes a few seconds, but Laura has the knife aimed at my jugular, and those light Hazel eyes lock on mine. I don't move, I don't flinch, my eyes stay completely locked on hers, and I stay indifferent.
Seeing them now in the light makes me consider the words of the Spiritual fathers at the Vatican. There really must be a sovereign creator of this universe, and he does make everything beautiful in his time.
Laura is beautiful.
The kind of beauty that makes you want to just lose parts of your soul within her, knowing all to well that she won't let you fall apart entirely. That she would hold on to you while you find yourself falling more and more into her essence, her spirit, a trend of souls mixed with eachother. And still, I refuse to break eye contact, I refuse to break the thread that she's so perfectly set by coming all the way here, finding herself in the same place with me. And I can't help but find myself lucky to exist at the same time at her and in the same universe.
And I fucking hate her for that.
Her chest heaves, up and down, erratic, breathless, no discernible rhythm, scattered breaths. She's seated on the bed, as I am seated too, except I'm relaxed and she's on the edge, two direct opposites. The knife is dangerously close to my jugular, a little mishap and I would be a dead man.
The fucking truth is that she is the only one I would let come up close to me like this without ending her.
Fuck. I hate her. I hate her so much that even at this moment, where she is so close to ending my life, the sudden urge to unravel her, pin her on this bed and do so many dangerous things to her fills my sense, dulling them to the point where I come up with the answer to what to do with her ever since I kidnapped her.My fingers itch with the desire to shred that last shred of defiance in her eyes. The thought of tearing her apart in every way possible—body, mind, soul—consumes me, drowning out every other instinct.
