8-1-0-9

Chpt. 18

It escalated quicker than I anticipated.

After Sam had to endure the snake organ in alcohol — downing it in one shot like a pro — a man approached us, claiming Zemo wasn't welcome in Madripoor. I had to keep a tight grip on my expression at the mention of the Power Broker, though it didn't stop the pit in my stomach from forming. We were poking the bear just by being here, but if things were to go south, that bear cave would only lead to the lion's den, and a stick wasn't about to protect us. Zemo said that as long as we flew under the Power Broker's radar, we'd be fine.

Yet, the man had given instruction for James to finally show off his part as the Winter Soldier when another man, more slow in his gait, locked his gaze to us. It was a quiet, subtle command, as if it were just another Tuesday.

Every step was caught in my ear; every gasp, every grunt, every hit of metal or skin on skin. It felt like Goyang all over again, but this time I was on the sidelines, subconsciously judging each move the Soldier made as he kicked and punched. He knocked people into others, sometimes into the structure's beams, flipped them ass over tea kettle, or through a pool table. My hands clenched tightly, one still around Zemo's right arm and the other wrapped around my fingers.

One of his gloved hands came up and rested on mine. "Don't forget just how strong you are, Miss Gale," he muttered, and with the faint note of strain I caught in his voice, I loosened my grip before he leaned behind me to Sam. "Didn't take much for him to fall back into form."

I squeezed his arm again, this time in displeasure. He simply smiled at me, then went back to observing how the Soldier had picked up a man in his metal hand by the throat. Watching the scene gave me an unintentional feeling of satisfaction, which sent a corresponding chill down my spine. The soldier of Hydra still found pleasure in witnessing threats being put into their place, but over the years I've been trying to drown out that voice. The one that would always whisper that I wasn't safe, that I should neutralize anyone who even breathed the wrong way in my direction. It left an ill feeling in my gut, even if the obedient child in me implored what the Soldier was doing. Every hit and dodge was marked on an instinctive scale that I wished wasn't ingrained into my mind.

I looked away once he dropped the man onto the bar, ignoring how Zemo had to lean over my shoulder to address how Sam couldn't break character, or the whole bar would turn on us. Folks had cocked their weapons, ready to interfere at a moment's notice. He consoled the Soldier to be at ease, and I had to force myself to turn away when his gaze flickered toward me.

     "Selby will see you now," the bartender said aloud, and my features automatically schooled into a polite smile as I faced the burly man.

     "Thank you," Zemo said, the man under the Soldier's hand groaning in pain and for air as he was slowly released.

The Sokovian tugged me along as I caught James looking in my direction, having to remain clung to his side to keep up appearances. However, I heard the soft words of Sam asking him if he was okay, but I couldn't catch anymore once Zemo led me around a corner.

I firmly pulled away once the crowd was out of sight, an audible sigh slipping out Zemo's nose as I turned. While pivoting on my heel, I automatically scanned the shockingly bare hallway we were in and found no cameras. Good. Sam followed behind the Soldier, the ladder of which I immediately stepped up to.

Something strange tugged me forward without thought, trapping his face between my palms while pressing my forehead to his. With the heels I was in, the height difference was more manageable, and it put less strain on the both of us as he dipped his chin to meet my level. My body involuntarily tensed as his hands found my waist in an automatic motion, his right thumb moving in a single stroke before stilling.