Beautiful But Deadly

Chapter Fifteen

XV
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        "Don't get in our way, don't stray from the plan, and do NOT fucking blow our cover or I'll kill you before you even realized you did anything wrong. Got it?" I lectured Agent Marty, who sat on me and Mason's couch, in me and Mason's living room, in me and Mason's apartment. Not his. He shouldn't have been there at all.

Mason chuckled softly to himself at my blatant dislike of the agent, and the blunt way in which I was barking at him to not fuck up our mission. Marty was one of the agents who had always looked down at me and Mason with contempt, but seeing him quiver under my intense glare only solidified my earlier suspicion that his hate for us was solely out of jealousy and fear.

As it should have.

"I don't see the point in telling people you're fond of them when you're not, so consider it an act of kindness and honestly that I'm not going to lie and say that I like you in any way," I added, and he swallowed, "If you fall behind, I won't have my life or Agent Rider's life be put on the line to save your ass. Understood?" He nodded, and I grinned at how intimidated he was. To his credit, he was doing a pretty good job at hiding it.. but not to my eyes.

Marty was in his upper thirties, probably early forties.. I didn't particularly care enough to know his age, if I were being honest. Regardless, he was at least double my age, probably Mason's, too. He acted like it was the other way around, though.

"Just don't die, and don't get us killed, that's really it," Mason summed up what I had said in a less aggressive manner, but I continued glaring at Marty. "I'm sorry to hear about your teammates," he added, and Marty gave a solemn nod as thanks.

"I'm not," I chimed back in. "It's part of the job- and life. Everyone loses people, but if you care too much about it then that's on you," I snarled. Mason's eyes flicked across my face, but I didn't bother trying to decipher what emotion they held before I turned back around and walked over to the kitchen counter to start securing my weapons throughout my clothes.

I was particularly angsty today, because I was livid with myself. If Mason happened to die, I would be torn apart... I could barely fathom the idea. The fact that I had put myself in this position, the fact that I allowed myself to possibly go through that experience again... I hated myself for it.

Last night, while Mason was holding me, I felt things that I had forgotten existed. It felt as though I was experiencing him, and me, for the first time and in a new way that while also put me in a potentially vulnerable situation, also felt too good for me to walk away from in the moment.

Sex was good. I liked sex. It was a good distraction and a fun way to blow off steam. But what we did last night.. damnit it was euphoric. It was a little taste of beauty in an otherwise suffocating, grey existence.

And I hated myself for allowing that little taste.

We didn't do much talking this morning, not when we realized we had overslept and had to rush to pick up Marty and bring him back to our apartment.

So not only did I hate myself for that little bit of happiness, but I hated Marty for ending it before I had been ready for it to end. And Mason, well, the unfortunate part is that I don't think I could hate him for one second. Even if I tried. Even if he one day went haywire and tried to kill me (and I say tried because he would never beat me in a fight to the death), I would simply knock him out, restrain him a little, and put on a hot pot of coffee for when he'd wake up.

And incase you were wondering, yes. This situation had occurred before. A few times, actually. And to both of us.

"So what is the plan again?" Marty asked from the back seat as Mason was driving and I was scowling out the passenger's seat window. I shot Mason a look as if to say 'is he for real', but I didn't think he caught it as he glared forward in his own annoyance.