| ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ | ʜᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ʜᴏᴍᴇ

      Iron black gates stand in the north-central region of Portugal, between the Tagus and Mondgeo rivers. An iron-wrought emblem of two goat skulls encircled by overgrown dead tree limbs and the leviathan cross etched in their center. This very symbol is that of the deadliest organization ever to exist, and its assemblage stretches back centuries. Hellgate.

    No one knows when Hellgate formed, but records prove their existence, as well as their worldwide reach and massive operations aimed at eliminating scores of leaders, figureheads, infamous gangsters, kingpins, or even citizens who had the misfortune of witnessing the crime-some operations even breached as terrorist level attacks throughout history and most corners of the world. 

   The core belief that underlies most assassinations is religious intent, and sinners are the targeted. A hand-picked selection of promising members issues the 'inevitability of death,' or the 'call to execution'. Hellgate's Executioners. Highly skilled in sabotage and silent killing, they aim to reshape the world in their image. One in which no one goes hungry or faces injustice or poverty, and so on. Hellgate has made a significant impact by putting an end to one miserable life at a time.

    Under his divine authority, the organization labored effectively for twenty-four years to fulfill that precise goal. He had her tethered to his side like a dog on a leash. His pet. She would soon be home, and he was all the more eager to see her again.

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      Counting is a self-employed chore Adina recognized came naturally to her and had fast become a bit of a habit. It engaged her brain from an early age, evolving into a defensive mechanism against activities such as being ordered not to eat dessert until she cleared her plate, being prohibited from watching TV because it was bedtime, or anything else considered stressful to a young child. But mentally grouping passing vehicles, her toys, or the cracked ceiling tiles of her old childhood house in Bulgaria, offered relief in that short instant when frustration and stress took root and she wanted to curl up in a ball and shut out the world.

     On the contrary, time is an intangible force; a sequence of existence. Captivated from the start, there was a sense of childlike wonder and a desire to understand it and its workings. Of course, curiosity is accompanied by some form of consequence. Adina's merely happened to be in the shape of a spoonful of force-fed unpleasant reality. Because everything and everyone ran on time, there was always the possibility that it might eventually run out. Furthermore, no one lives forever, and no material object lasts forever. Everything, including mankind, has an unavoidable end. 

     As a result, the entire purpose of being has no meaning. One may think that such a conclusion would be too grim for the developing mind of a ten-year-old to conjure when it came to the subject of time. As she grew older, her self-discovery made more sense, and the less disturbing it fell on attentive ears.     

   And yet, for some reason, she unconsciously notes the winding seconds as they morphed into minutes then hours after her brain went blank and before it could regain its functionality and fully comprehend the amount of absentminded mental math that she accomplished between the night spent at the hotel to the day and a half on the flight. '....56....57....58.....59....60....18 hours and 6 minutes and 1 second.... ' and an SUV arrived for her and Vlad at the Humberto Delgado Airport. 

      She crawled out of the deep dark depths of her state of reverie after 22 hours and 45 minutes passed and took note of their surroundings of the austere grandeur of mountain scenery as they were approaching closer to the ever-glistening black iron-clad gates to Hellgate. Home.  

     He's waiting for her for sure within those imposing limestone walls of the manor, vast enough to be hailed as its own town. Perhaps his praise should come sooner than expected. The car then pulled into the driveway after the gorgeously hideous gates parted for them, and the driver entered the lane leading to the allocated parking spot, which was surrounded by other SUVs and luxury modes of transportation. The femme fatale felt herself become a victim, beheld by a steady gaze that couldn't be defined as anything other than predatory, dare anyone say.

      Adina locked eyes with the bearer of the piercing blue stare that never failed to set a trap for weak-minded prey, and being another's prey is the last thing she wants to be in this or the next life.

  "Say, is someone relieved to finally be back?" inquired Vlad, his tone tinged with amusement. 

    Her aloofness has her neglecting his striking good looks, and it is not her intention. To hapless victims dense enough to cross his path, he is a handsome devil, a tall dark, and an enigmatic man with seductive eyes and an even more tempting smile. A more perfect trap. Against an apex predator like him, the lonely, desperate, or weak-minded souls of this sad cruel existence in time have no hope. The hunters and the hunted are separated by an endless food chain, with Vlad at the very top.

    Apart from an organization whose major goal is to rid the world of inept leaders and shiny lies used by the media and timid viewers to divert attention away from real-world issues such as weak governments and poor climate change. The Englishman is far cry from an obedient votary. Due to his aggressive tendencies, the 'call to execution' bit draws him in more than anything else. He has had a fascination with blood since he was a boy. 

      Those days as a simple politician's son from a more prominent section of London will be remembered by someone of his caliber When you're born with a silver spoon in your mouth, it's likely that people will condemn you straight away seeing as they'll be looked down upon as scum of the earth in the midst of the wealthy and powerful. This fact has been known throughout history, and it has been the basis of several wars.

       Anyone, even the privileged, is a target of ridicule in a sea of unconcerned affluent. And it was Vlad who took the brunt of it. Motherless, his busy barely-there father remarried to a young gold-digging ditz and was forced to attend an all-boys catholic school where fellow students were relentless in extending nothing but pure unadulterated visceral hatred and violent fists shaped him into the merciless bone-splitting, neck-snapping, knifing killer Adina and Hellgate knew today. He snapped after years of vicious school bullies from the same socioeconomic class, on top of his only parent's unwavering indifference. 

    He embarked on a killing spree when he was just fourteen years old. His family members, especially the lads at his private school, were not spared from his wrath. Fortunately, he swooped in before authorities at Belmarsh could seize him and sentence him for his heinous crimes. However, there is another great component of the organization to consider. 

    Condemned souls like Vlad and her, the damned kind society, and an ancient book conjured up and translated more times than one can count were offered a second chance. Not fate or by some divine intervention capable of fabricating some great design. Him. A man who has the right to her body and soul and her eternal devotion. 

    While the rest of humanity saw impending doom in the form of volatile children on the verge of becoming psychos and the worst type of wretched existence imaginable. He witnessed magnificence. He compelled their strength, and with intense training, he would forge ruthless mercenaries brandishing the power of change through guns.

     Recently, the femme fatale has understood that Vlad's bloodlust is insatiable, particularly in relation to his machinations. Due to his unearthly beauty on the lethal end of his ever-growing knife collection, he isn't getting his fill of targets who are always too stunned to give pursuit, much less fight back, during missions. 

    Adina would notice how shivers ran through his strapping frame in all directions whenever she accompanied him. He'd exhale slowly, plainly relishing the gore that adorned his alabaster skin and dilated pupils as they drank in yet another one of his masterpieces.

    But even all the arbitrary methods in the world he could use won't cure his bothersome increasing ennui, or longing not while he insatiably craves for more. Earlier on, he's made known to her what he wanted.

    'Missions always end too fast for me, no matter how much I try to relish them in the heat of the moment. Don't misunderstand me, love, but I can't help but enjoy a challenge. I want my next target to put up a good fight. Give me something to work with that isn't a bloke or a gal that is easily stunned in my presence. I want someone who is defiant, strong-willed, and has unyielding tenacity....someone like you.'

   Putting two and two together, the Londoner came to the conclusion that the very challenge he coveted that would ultimately curb his ravenous barbarism was none other than the Vixen herself.  'You're perfect. So beautiful. Allow me to chase you down and release those lovely hazel eyes from your skull.' 

    Every request was met with an unequivocal refusal. She would not, again, reduce herself to the level of prey. Although, that doesn't take away his inexplicable persistence.

     Her face then dons an unimpressed expression as if she doesn't want him to try mind-fucking today, as the poking, prodding, and light teasing frequently led to. His cherry-colored lips curved into a pout.

    "Please spare me your enthusiasm. It is claimed that home is where the heart is. However, you did not burst into tears or exhale a sigh of relief." He leans forward, "Please tell me, love. Is there really such a thing as human emotion where you come from? Do they have factories where they manufacture them one at a time and then transport them to add to your dreary personalities? Or are Bulgarians inherently heartless?"  

   Fuck off, she thought, resisting being verbal about how the raving lunatic European sitting across from her was almost achieving his goal of pestering her to the point of no return. She'd rather not argue with him now since they've just returned home. Hours of journeying beside Vlad had exhausted her vitality; a steaming hot bath and a snooze would do some good to replenish her depleted energy till she saw him... 

   "I like to imagine what face you'd make if I buried an ax in your skull."

   "No," She blinked, climbing out of the vehicle right as the driver popped open the trunk to fetch their things. 

    He lets out a deafening laugh. "So dull, see? Will you, girl, liven up? I didn't mean it. Having said that, I will someday get my hands on you. Just you wait and see." A grin shapes his face, each glittering bone-white tooth on display. 

 His threat dwells feeling more like a malicious promise rather than some empty dismissive jib. 

   Will he? Hearing that, Adina almost snorted. If he wants his pound of flesh, he'll have to get in line like with the rest of those who have made the same vow, albeit for different reasons. But,  there was no chance in hell that he'll receive even a taste of what he so desperately wanted. She's far too inaccessible. He made sure of it. 

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   While crossing through the door, the distinctly familiar whiff of pine that swirls throughout the foyer assaults her senses and conjures forth a flood of memories. After being aroused by the deep earthy air drifting among them, long-dead and buried ghosts dare to emerge. Followed by a foreboding sense of homeliness, which complements the mood of the Spanish-inspired exquisite entryway that opens to the dining area and living room beneath the stairs.  

   Something else lingers as well. Mediterranean spices also welcome them, adding to the atmosphere's warmth. As predicted, it was a quarter to six in the afternoon, which meant dinnertime was approaching. Adina took in the familiarity of her surroundings, from the elaborate crystal chandelier suspending overhead to the marble-tiled flooring beneath her feet, which were so gleaming and squeaky clean that she could almost see her reflection in them.

    The esteemed manor's butler, Tomás took their bags whereas two maids stripped them of their coats. 

  "Damn crappy American airline food. I'm starving. By the smell, I guess we're having Italian tonight!" Vlad says, his voice bouncing off the walls. "Where's everyone?" 

   The Vixen couldn't help but wonder why this area was so deserted, much less manned by staff, given the fact that it looked to have been swept through and carefully cleaned from top to bottom. That explains why she detects pine.

  "Taking part in a meeting. I recommend that you keep the volume down unless you want him to take your special part and add it to the walls." From the stairs sounds an accented voice. 

   They look up to find the Detonator descending them, her Dutch accent particularly strong notwithstanding her brief display of irritation. Hellmouth is close behind, producing no noise, not even her footsteps.

 "Detonator!" He beamed sarcastically. "I'm glad to hear you're still as nasty as ever. Yet' s it a wonder you haven't gotten laid."

   Her mouth was pursed in an unimpressed line. But his attention changes to Hellmouth, who stood still beside the passive-aggressive Dutch woman.

  "Hellmouth, too! Aren't we still playing the quiet game? I'm astonished by your calm demeanor in the company of someone as stiff-arsed and dogmatic as Mother Theresa. Quite good." 

   The ever-silent Haitian does not respond, as is customary. She approaches the situation silently and methodically as if it were any other, making her a deadly yet formidable addition to the group. 

   "Fun we're all back together again, innit." 

    "As I already stated, you meatheaded persistent pain in my rear, be quiet while you still possess your manhood." The Detonator retorted in a low, venomous tone. 

     It would be the last time she would have to repeat herself with them, as her rank did not require it. Vlad saw that continuing with his petty maligning meant crossing dangerous ground, which leads inevitably to a point of no return. He restrained his tongue for that, but a wicked glimmer persisted in those scrutinous eyes, eager to dispute against reason as he left and headed upstairs. He is so insanely careless.

    At that point of his departure, her gaze met Adina's, which was devoid of any feeling other than indifference. She gave a graceful nod, balancing the numerous braids piled on top of her head in a perfect bun like a crown so heavy a load given precedence. "Vixen. You've returned. In your presence, I am always humbled."

    Or threatened by it. " 'In a meeting,' you mentioned before, is it of anything significant?" Inattentive to her interval of feigned profound admiration, the femme fatale inquired. 

   The simulated awe faded fast as it was replaced by the coolly tone of professionalism she so well knew to meticulously don like armor at every interaction. "Very." 

  " Am I needed?"  Not pleased with her evasive reply, she asked further, determined to steer the conversation in her favor and see him again.

    The Detonator shook her head, likely seeming smug to shut down any expectation she has.

    She paused at her response. Her astonishment pales in comparison to her displeasure at the sight of this insipid lady turned obstacle in front of her, assuming the role assigned to her by the powers that be as if it were something to dangle over her head. Her. She has the arrogance to deny her the right to be a part of an assembly by his side as though such were ever a thing. They appear to have reverted to their training days when they were young and ambitious children.

   Rivals at odds, each vying to be the greatest overall and a member of the famed elite team that has, as promised, made its mark in history. Nothing and no one would stand in their path if not each other. Both gained a position, with Adina succeeding the Detonator and the rest as each member contributed their abilities to aid in the reform that would soon right the world's brokenness. The femme fatale proved to be particularly beneficial.

   She prefers not to be kept in the dark about decisions or matters because she has proven to be both loyal and more than valuable on several occasions. As an upheld member of the organization, a critical element in their cause, she was among the first to know what was going on—every established mission, target, and information entrusted to her behind closed doors enticed directly from the keeper's mouth. There wasn't much she didn't know about the Hellgate personnel, and Adina preferred to keep it that way lest the week she was gone on a mission altered that otherwise. If they did, then she'd be damned.   

     "I'd like to see him." Adina tried again, calmly. 

     "He's presently preoccupied. Eat first then rest. His orders. Not mine." This bitch....

     " Take me to him, now."  

      The bomb expert pressed forward without slowing her stride, unrelenting and ever firm. 

      "Surely, after a long journey, those are things that cure a weary traveler. So, once again, I advise you to retire for the evening. I'm sure he would like to see you tomorrow, primed and ready."

       To put it in other words, you have no idea what you're talking about. It's typical of you to attempt to convince me differently. Don't hate the player, hate the game, right? Right?!? Wrong. 

     She had one more card to play, one that she doesn't often use. "I outrank you." 

   There. It's been said. Oh, did I hit a nerve? Too fucking bad!

     Palpable annoyance contorted on her serene features proved that success. Those days of squabbling to achieve their respective positions are over. It's apparent who's above who, and while the Dutch woman's discontent may run deep, it's just as much of a concern to her as global warming is to world leaders and the public alike.

     But then her expression fades to one of cold calculation. "And he, you." And in light of that reality, the resolve she had crumbled. 

    "Strange don't you think how weariness is likely to induce a transient lapse in judgment?" What is supposed to be a harmless remark comes off more like an invitation to reject not hers, but his commands. As her piercing stare to match indicated. 'Go ahead. If you challenge me, you'll only end up dead. I dare you.' 

    The Detonator was little more than a modest messager who knew better than to oppose him if she valued her life. Adina did, too.  

    And with that knowledge, she decided to let it go. "I believe so."  

   "Then some rest ought to do you good. I'm sure you'd find a way to keep yourself entertained until you are called upon." Her tone is light yet forewarning, similar to how she addressed Vlad beforehand.

     Wow. For once, he's right. She needs to get laid as soon as possible.

    "You're right. Maybe I'll get some sleep." Both were deadlocked in a tense stare-down for a brief moment until Adina yielded and turned to walk upstairs. "Hellmouth. Detonator..." She notices the quiet, ever-observant sharpshooter who has been staring at them both, saying, "....you two have a nice evening."   

    For the time being, you've won, bitch, the Vixen thought, gripping the banister so tightly that her knuckles turned white. But, as much as she'd like to know what he was up to, there's another matter she'd like to discuss with him as soon as possible, something that's been plaguing her since the moment Harrison Wilkes' spirit bid farewell. One might pray there to be room for understanding in that man—perish the thought. Alas, in Hellgate, there are no miracles. Only sinners and psychopaths and the merciless end of a smoking gun.

   At the top, she finds none other than the man with looks that ought to be a sin. He stood leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his muscled chest as if he had been waiting patiently for her to accept the same dismissal from the same hard-pressed woman downstairs as he had. 

   "And here I never imagined we'd see the day when our beloved old Detonator finally told you to piss off."

   She stormed past him, but instead of ignoring his snide comment and cursing him in her head, her middle finger flicked him off, eliciting a booming fit of laughter from his end that bounced off the corridor walls.

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   Her shoes had already been removed when she arrived at her own chambers in the house. Huffing, she placed the pair of thigh-high patent leather black boots at the foot of her bed on the carpeted floor to be stored later in the room's walk-in closet. Frustrated at garnering nothing out of the seemingly drawn-out encounter with the same woman she's shared her childhood with but a near-headache.

  Adina sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Yet when her mind dares to wander to the plans being discussed outside her presence, hellbent on shattering her yearning for richly overdue peaches and cream oil-infused bath salts, dove soap, and rejuvenating cucumber and lemon sparkling water- it's the plan for now. 

   Eat and sleep. She didn't like it at all. But it's something to do instead of doing nothing or going against every fiber of her being, including pride and stubbornness, and marching to the lounge to participate in a meeting she wasn't summoned to for once. 

   Peaches, on a similar point, she smelled them coming from the bath. Unraveling her tidy braid, she moved in the direction of the overwhelming intoxicating fragrance that filled the whole master bedroom. As she approached the threshold, she noticed a pair of finely carved stone pillars supporting a covered marble ceiling above the tub in a grandiose master bathroom. Granite stairs lead up to the rimmed, bubble-filled white tub with a window and intricately patterned classic draperies. 

    The snake, it appears, had prepared ahead of time to keep Adina out of the way. Otherwise, she would have arrived at an undisturbed tub. Fuckin' arse-kissing, undesired cunt....actually, now that she thinks about it, Tomás did take their luggage, and hers is likely waiting on the other side of her closet until when she deems it suitable to unpack.

    That might have to wait after she has gotten some rest. Still, fuck that bitch and her shit-eating, smug expression! Every profanity ever said imaginable, she mentally iterates in her native tongue. Long, rich camel brown locks tumble down her back, unbound from its do.  

   Her feet carried her to the opposite side of the bathroom, where she stood directly in front of the massive vanity counter set beneath an archway. The mirror spans the full wall and is illuminated by classic wall-mounted lights. Her fingers began to comb away the sweaty knots. The gentle lamplight accentuated the lighter tones in the tresses, and she maintained a steady mirthless look focused on her reflection.

   Nobody said the waiting game was always enjoyable or simple. Patience is essential in this field of work. And, as infuriating as it was to learn that she had to sit on the bench from an arrogant mouthpiece far inferior to her, it would be folly to shoot the messenger. Bullets won't change the fact that he wanted her on the sidelines. She would not challenge him or his judgment since everything has a purpose, and it goes without saying that he legitimately earned her loyalty, among other things, and therefore the femme fatale can sit still. She'll be a good girl and play the game for the time being.    

   Adina unbuttoned her shirt buttons. Her sleeveless purple silky garment landed in a heap on the cold marble floor, quickly followed by her lacy turquoise bra, khaki slacks, and grey footies. Eventually, the young woman stood completely nude, bare. The reality stares her in the eyes of a lifeless killer with a damned soul. 

   Sin stained the flesh clinging to a beautiful shape, but absolute perfection could still be seen in her mirror. A light caramel brown complexion, long shapely toned arms, and legs, a flat, taut tummy, tits that aren't too big or too little..... Her face, even. People drooled over such a face.

    It would be different if she turned around and pushed her long, wavy locks aside. For she had the mark of an Executioner etched in black ink on her back, signifying her true nature, who she belonged to, and what cause she served. 

    The leviathan cross descends from the base of her neck to the middle of her back, flanked by two goat skeleton heads with dead tree branches growing around them—the Hellgate insignia she routinely hid with makeup on missions. But she wouldn't turn around knowing its permanency would never be erased given the quantity of concealer she would apply, especially since she had successfully earned it in a death-defying rite to passage scrimmage at the end of training years ago. 

   In opposition to the legitimately earned symbol of her position as an elite executioner, it didn't stand out as much as the burn scar on her left ring finger, which was covered up by the rings adorning it after receiving it once on a mission in Morocco that nearly went horrifically wrong. Adina was fortunate to have merely a puckered pink malformation in this exact region of her body as a result of that awful night, which also essentially shaped her into the infallible obedient killer in the reflection.  

   Exhaling through her nose, she turned to face the freshly drawn bath with a specific goal in mind. She will eventually see him. When she does what has been plaguing her since peering into the dead eyes of Harrison Wilkes, will be revealed. But, once again, she must wait. All good things come to those who wait.

- A/N -

Word Count: 4489

Another long-ass chapter for my patient children! One long overdue. hehehehe. Anyways get ready for the next few chapters. The chapter is dedicated to @whysteriarose I read an Au fantasy BTS fanfic called Recrudescence. Yall it's so good! Till the next chapter

- bbdqqce1