Undercover Badge 2; Girl With A gun (Badass with a badge ) UNDER CONSTRUCTION

***CHAPTER 8***

***

RECAP;

"There she stood in the doorway, could hear the mission bell. I was thinking to myself, this could be heaven or this could be hell. Then she lit up a candle, and she showed me the way. Heard vices down the corridor... thought I heard them say..."

I grinned, playing faster.

"Welcome to the Hotel California. Such a lovely place, such a lovely face. Plenty of room at the Hotel California. Any time of year, you can find it here." I giggled.

This was the part people said was for me.

"Her mind is definitely twisted. She got that Mercedes Benz. She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys... that she calls friends. Held a dance in the courtyard... sweeet summer sweat. Some dance to remember, some dance to forget. So I called up the Capitan, said, 'Please bring me my wine'. He said; 'We haven't had that spirit here since, nineteen-sixty-nine.' and still those voices are calling from... faaaar away. Wake you up in the middle of the night just to hear them say-"

I sang the chorus again, about a welcome and a lovely face. This was the most amazing song ever written.

"What a nice surprise. Bring your alibi's.... Mirrors on the ceiling. They pick champagne on ice and she said; 'We're all just visitors here, of our own devise.' and in their masters chambers, gathered for the feast. They stab it with their steely knives, but they just cant kill the beast."

I began strumming slower, singing lower to the last, most beautiful part.

"Last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find passage back to the place I was before..... 'Relax.' said the night man, 'We are programmed to see. You can check out any time you'd like. But you can never leave!'"

I began playing the solo in acoustic, smiling to myself.

Slowly, the last strains of the music faded into nothing.

"You lied to me." I whipped around, my hair stinging my cheeks as I turned to glare at James, leaning on the doorframe. I narrowed my eyes. "About what?"

He grinned cheekily. "You said you COULDN'T sing."

I snorted, rising. "I cant."

***

Sorry, its short.

***CHAPTER 8***

I was grunting.

In pain, strain, ache, you name it.

Across the roofs main support beam was now a leather belt. my right hand was holding it in a fist, my left hand behind my back, and my ankles crossed. "Forty-eight," I grunted. "Forty-nine, fifty." With a sigh, I brought up my left hand that I'd already lifted with, and swung it over the beam. My right hand followed, and I lifted my body onto it. I was wearing a black sports bra, black yoga pants and black pumas. My hair was up in a high ponytail. I slid down, and jumped. Then my feet hit the floor, there was a snapping, crunch-like sound. I crouched, both arms out to absorb the impact.

A high, long whistle cut through the air. I rose to standing, looking at James, standing in the doorway where my oak wood doors used to be. His eyes surveyed the chaos.

Class was still allover the floor, hence the crunch when I landed. My couches, cupboards, tables and bar looked like Swiss cheese. My large window with a view looked like someone had had a snow ball fight with it. The pullets had caused spider web like white splatters. And finally, there was me, in all black, sweat oozing from every pore.

"Looks like a war zone." I heard him say.

I snorted. "War zones look worse." with that I turned my heel, crunching toward my Swiss Cheese-ed refrigerator. I opened it, and reached into it, pulling out a bottle of vitamin water.

I opened it up and took a sip. I stood, facing the fridge when I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder. Instinct took over. in front of my, to the counter on the left was a wooden block with a butchers knife set. Immediately, my right hand grabbed the largest one, and my left hand grabbed the arm. Spinning immediately, I twisted the arm, hearing a shoulder pop, and a his in pain, before my hand found a tie. I wrapped it around, my fist, lunging it around, and slamming the persons body to the kitchen island, slamming the Butchers knife down across their throat. The tip dug into the wood on the island, so it was standing at an angle, the blade sharp edge standing a hairs breadth away from the skin on the persons throat.

James' eyes stared at me, wide with sock and fear. "Crap. Sorry." I mumbled, giving the knife a good yank so it came out of the wood. I turned around ,putting the knife back in its holding place. "What was that?" James chocked out.

I shrugged, nonchalantly and replied. "Force of habit." I said.

"Old habits die hard." James murmured.

"Yea," I growled. "And once they do, so do you."

There was a bone chilling silence.

"I know this isn't you." he whispered, and I felt him stand behind me.

"What isn't?"

"This."

"I'm not a person. I'm a spy. I have no identity, so I can be whatever I want."

"I wasn't talking about something YOU want."

"That I want, or what you do?" I snapped.

"I know you."

"Which means that I have to kill you."

"You wont."

There was another silence.

"Want a bet?"

***

"Hey, I need Kat." Amy said from the doorway. Her long, still platinum blond hair was tied back into a high pony tail. Her eyes were black with makeup, and she was wearing skintight black leather pants with a short-ish white t-shirt that just brushed the waistband of the pants. And Prada heels.

"You look gorgeous." the panting coming from all the dogs in the room proved me right. "Thanks. Lets go." she said, cocking her head. I shrugged and rose to standing. "I'm coming." James started to stand. Amy let out an angry growl in his direction narrowing dark eyes. "No." she snapped. And just like that, every mans hormones were back in check. Amy had the voice and the eyes to stop anything that didn't go how she wanted it to.

I smirked his way, and walked toward her. "A friend of mine wants you." she informed me as we speed walked down the hallway. "Dear God, please inform me this friend is male?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes." her sharp tone made me stop. She spun on her heel to look at me, her straight hair crossing over her left shoulder. She opened her palms up, arms out in the universal; 'Why'd we stop?'

"Who." I growled.

She dropped her arms. "Off any and all records." she asked, not missing a beat.

"Yes."

"An.... An old friend."

My blood froze. "An... an old friend."

She, and I, myself knew what I meant. Amy, before joining the CIA, had been stuck with the Russian Mafia. Dimitri was the man that had yanked her out six years ago. She was nineteen at the time. She was trapped, paying off her parents debt to them. Working as a prostitute/assassin. She had no choice.

Amy's "Old Friends" entailed the worst kind of bad guys.

I narrowed my eyes at her.

"And?"

"Kill Zone."

My question had been 'and if you don't help?'. her response; Kill Zone, meant that if she didn't, a half mile radius around her would be a kill zone. Every one in it is dead.

"Please." she choked.

I sighed. "Lets Go."

***