steve - haunted (part 2)

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GOD BLESS AMERICA ^^^^

. . .

Though you hadn't slept in months – years, the sound of your alarm clock still set your teeth on edge when it went off the next morning. Your bones groaned as you forced yourself out of the warmth of the itchy, shit-hole bedding from the cheap motel you'd elected to stay at for the next few nights. Just until the mission was complete. Then you'd go wherever the hell you wanted. Do whatever the hell you wanted. The thought of it alone – the closeness of the life you so desperately craved – electrified you. And it would only take one last death before that life was yours.

You went over the plan once more as you strode over to your dresser. You ran your fingers over your freshly polished guns, the knives you'd sharpened in preparation the night before. The cold of the metal bit into your skin, and you savoured the small pain.

The plan was simple, really. All the best plans were.

You'd spent the better part of an hour studying the famous Steve Rogers and had come to the conclusion that drawing him out would be an easy task. All you needed was to snatch a member of his team, and he would – being the sacrificial prick he'd shown himself to be time and time again – offer up himself in their stead. Then you'd make it quick. A slash across his throat. A knife through the heart. You didn't like the idea of someone who'd spent their entire life fighting for others suffering for long in the arms of death.

Of course, there was the matter of capturing one of his teammates. But you didn't think that would be too difficult. Tony Stark was throwing a party at Headquarters in honour of another successful mission on behalf of the Avengers. A few minutes online, and you had an invitation downloaded onto your phone, addressed to Miss Sombers (one of your many covers). It was all too easy. And by the end of the night, Captain America would be dead.

And you... You would be free.

. . .

The dress was a bit much, even for you.

Showing a little skin was part of the job, but this... You almost laughed when you saw your reflection. The neckline was cut dangerously low, and there was practically no back to the dress at all. Complete with six-inch heels, you were the perfect trap. The perfect killer.

You knew how to use your womanly attributes to get what you wanted. Men were slightly disgusting in that way, and you knew Tony Stark would be the same – especially if the rumors of him and his long-term girlfriend Pepper Potts breaking up were true. If you couldn't get Rogers alone, you would use Tony Stark as a ploy to get to him. Perhaps not the greatest plan, but... Well, if you succeeded, then you would have your freedom. And if you didn't... Then you would end your own life before your master had the chance to drag it out as he'd promised. Either way, both paths led to a freedom of sorts.

You applied a red lipstick before strapping knives to your thighs, pinning your hair up with deadly, five-inch blades that could easily be used to slice a throat, and sauntering out the door.

. . .

"I'll have another one of these," you called to the bartender. It probably wasn't the best choice to be consuming alcohol on one of your missions, but, hell, you were celebrating. And maybe, after seeing the Avengers all laughing with each other – seeing the way they looked at each other, as though they were a family – you needed something to take the edge off.

You hadn't known what to expect upon entering the vast, mammoth-sized building known as the Avengers' Headquarters, but it hadn't been this. It was so unlike anything you had experienced – the party, that is. It was buzzing with people. Very qualified, very public people. It felt as though the room itself was alive, breathing in time with the thrum of the obnoxiously loud music. You had taken one look around the room, and headed straight to the bar. Perhaps you were a coward. Perhaps, after all this time, you didn't have the guts to make the final kill.

You swirled your drink, the red liquor lapping at the sides of the cup. Your fingers grazed your thighs, feeling the weapons hidden there, concealed beneath the black, silky fabric of your dress. They hadn't even patted you down for weapons at the entrance. They had unwittingly led their deadliest foe right into the heart of their territory. For some unknown reason, the thought didn't sit well with you.

How could a group of people – probably almost as damaged as you – be so trusting?

"I haven't seen you around here before," said a sultry voice to your left. The red hair was a dead giveaway. The Black Widow herself had sidled up next to you.

You lifted your hand away from your thigh – and the blades hidden there – to bring your glass of bourbon back up to your lips. She was the one Avenger you were worried about. Your master had compared you to Natasha Romanoff on multiple occasions, sometimes even calling you 'two sides of the same coin', or some bullshit like that. Over time, you had built up a sort of resentment towards her – and a fear. If you and her were so similar, then she would undoubtedly be able to figure out who you were, and why you were there. "I was surprised to have received the invitation." The lie rolled off your tongue with practiced ease.

A light chuckle. "Yes, well. Tony Stark always finds the most beautiful women to invite to his parties. You are no exception."

The hand that had been drifting to the pins in your hair paused. Was... Was she flirting with you?

"Oh, please," you waved her off, but allowed a little blush to paint your cheeks.

"I never forget a pretty face, Miss Sombers."

A spike of fear. Then you remembered: everyone at the party, including you, had been given a nametag to wear.

"Would you like to dance with me? I promise I'll show you a much better time than any of these men could offer."

You almost wanted to say yes, because who in hell would say no to dancing with Black Widow? But you were here for a reason. You couldn't let yourself get wrapped up in... in fun.

"I appreciate the invitation, but I'm afraid I'm not looking for company tonight."

Natasha hummed lightly. Her full lips turned upwards in that sultry smile. "Too bad. If you change your mind, you know where to find me." She got up from the bar, but before she turned to leave she leaned forward and whispered, directly into your ear, "And if you're not into women, my friend Steve over there has been eyeing you all night."

A chill went down your spine at the invitation she had so boldly laid out in the open. If you were here for a different reason, maybe you would have said yes. But you had a job to do. And across the dance floor, a beer in his hand as he tilted his head back to laugh at something one of his friends said, was your target.

"I suppose you could introduce me," you said, allowing your eyes to glitter briefly with the promise of something scandalous.

Natasha laughed lowly, tilting her head as if to say, follow me.

You got up from the bar, and allowed Natasha to lead you with her swaying gait towards Steve.

It was time to make your final kill.

A/N
Remember when I promised to update right away and then didn't for an entire week? Yeah me neither let's just forget that ever happened.

:)

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