V.

D O U B L E  D A R E

—aka, counter business offer with devil number 2,

EXT— A REALLY GOOD RESTAURANT.

POSITANO, ITALY — MORNING.

SCENE II.

"— AND AFTER THAT, I kept to myself in Russia until she had one of her goons pick me up." With a fork, I pushed around a stray piece of tomato, idle and mostly tired from recounting possibly the most stressful last week of my entire life. "Saw you at the boat, wanted to do it quickly but you didn't look like an easy mark. And I'm not used to doing jobs I know I can't walk away from, so from the get-go it's been a stressful do or die."

My eyes flickered back to the billionaire that ultimately, if we were going about this the honest to God way— kidnapped me to a very beautiful restaurant just on the outskirts of a cliff by the shore. A table by a veranda, surrounded by intimate tables of other morning patrons in more comfortable clothing than us and looked more comfortable with their respective partners.

We didn't look totally odd one out— the complete black tie on us was one thing (although he didn't have a black tie and the first buttons of his collar was popped), but it was the way we respected each other's distance that made us differ.

Everyone else seemed like lovers or people who really liked invading each other's personal space.

I tried to ignore them.

Positano was beautiful, and though the anxiety of following a man I thought was a prey to a fully tinted car, only to arrive at a restaurant a few minutes later, order for the both of us in flawless Italian, and demanded politely an explanation, you didn't really mind all the fanfare.

Honestly, this could've gone way worse.

A gun to my head wasn't a far cry to rich people after all.

I stared at him impassively for quite a bit, just moving the tomato around my plate and inclined back casually in front of him; my posture seemed unravelled, exhausted. And that was true, somewhat, but not vulnerable. Never vulnerable. His head was turned, facing the glittering sea filled with white-capped boats and sun kissed boaters. Every few minutes, there'd be a hoot from someone, then a peeling of laughter. They were picturesque enough for postcards.

Really, everywhere but our table was picturesque enough for a postcard.

But my eyes were on the billionaire and his 'neutral' front. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, not when we were at that dead silent drive when I thought I was about to meet my end in a clearing somewhere with a bullet hole to my forehead, nor when the devil told me to tell him everything as the food poured in one by one.

Neither now.

When I was recounting my part in the scheme, he had kept to himself and listened well. Not even a single flinch when I told him what I needed to acquire from him.

Threatening and my life in a precarious position sans it, this wasn't a horrible Morning After.

If I was going to be truly fair— and thinking about this entire situation in a different light — I've had worse endings when I got caught.

As little as those times were.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, waking me up from my reverie and musings. He was still looking faraway, contemplative. My burning stare might've made his sixth sense prickle.

"Nothing," I said honestly, still staring. It was really a wonder to me how hard it is to get a read on him. It was annoying and interesting at the same time. "I'm not looking for anything particular. Just." I sighed. Here's to honesty. "I never intended to acquire a child from you."

His eyes flickered to me, dark mahogany and unreadable. It wasn't an expression of disbelief, but I could feel it in his stare.

My mouth quirked, a soft laugh escaping me. I'd have to learn you, I thought. If this wasn't such a shitty situation to be in, I'd poke you around like an experiment.

He would be an interesting read. Men usually were, one way or another. But he had diamonds for walls and guards who didn't need to sleep. He'd need time to pry and test.

If I could, I would.

"It's true," I said instead, sitting a little more upright. "I wasn't going to follow through with whatever your sister concocted— frankly, it was insane. And an almost full year job? With an added 50/50 percent chance of me living through during childbirth? No, thank you. I don't gamble my life on such ugly odds. Plus, a child borne for that reason? I'm an awful human being sure, but I'm not despicable."

I sighed, flicking a hair, feeling it tangled and realising I didn't get to fix it, nor apply makeup. Fuck, I'm as bare as an elk to a hunter. Then I shook my head slightly, lips upturned. I'm not ugly as sin without makeup so it's fine. I was just used to makeup as another armour.

"But she had people on me, even when I got to Italy, I knew she had people scattered around making sure I followed through with my end of the 'business deal'—" I put in air quotes so he knew I was serious. He just stared at my hands as they moved. " — and that's insulting to a woman of my stature, by the way. We follow through plans, no matter the odds as long as I'm on board, I follow through. That's the code. But this business deal was broken from the start."

My eyes turned back to my plate as I speared the tomato; the pent up annoyance and anger from being cooped up, forced and played like a little doll gyrated through the sharp skid of the fork against the ceramic. A few eyes flickered by, but I only gave them a dismissive smile.

"A job can't work without trust. So I was going to betray her. I just had to find an out." I ate the tomato and met his stare again. I was getting used to the whole staring in dead silence with him. My man of a few words. Marble and pretty as he were. "You became my out. Now, of course, I'm realising you were a very easy mark for a reason. Sure you liked the idea of overthrowing your sister's plans, it's obvious now why, but it did help that you were attracted to me. Might've made you feel better about the whole thing but it definitely became a smoke screen against me."

A shadow of movement: he raised an eyebrow. I simpered a smile.

"Sir, I may not have seen the underlying awareness you already had of who I was, but I know a man attracted when I see one. If anything, I was also attracted to you. You're obviously very good looking, owns a fat wallet, and knows how to make my body sing seven verses to Anglican Heaven. Although that was more the latter part of our story, isn't it?"

My smile turned into a grin as soon his expression twitched at my blatant statement. Interesting. Are you more prudish than I thought?

The strong urge to pick him apart tides over, a stronger waver after another.

I leaned forward as if sharing a secret. "I wouldn't be attracted to a man who doesn't desire me. Want, attraction. . . it's a sexy aphrodisiac after all."

"And your plan was to just leave?" he asked, face back to absolute passivity. I didn't know if he intended to just brush past my sentiments like a common banality coming from a downtrodden whore that he was used to hearing, but he passed it like a bird flying overhead. I let it slide. I wasn't so petty. And to him, I may as well be a common whore.

"I did feel guilty about that. I'm going to be honest, when your sister said you weren't much of a, well, sexual adventurer for a lack of better term—" I stamped my grin when his jaw locked, " — I thought you weren't as good in the sack as you were. Imagine my surprise when my body felt so holy enough not to wake up in the dead of night to scamper of, and instead, thoroughly enjoy the warmth of slumber. My calculations were simple. As long as your sister's goons had it in their good graces that I did sleep with you, escaping wouldn't be much a big deal. I betted she wouldn't care as much for that little escape as long as I did the deed. All she'll have to do is pay the little shit who found me to find me again."

"And that wouldn't be a problem?"

I nearly gritted my teeth. "I know someone who can make me disappear."

He scoffed lightly, eyes narrowing. "Someone better than the man she used to find you?"

"Oh, yes, definitely." That was a lie. I didn't know how good her goon was. But he didn't need to know that did he? Instead of flat out lying, I was hoping it was the truth. "I mean I hate her guts so I never want to owe her favours, but she's absolutely amazing at disappearing. To this day, she's in the CIA's most wanted." I twirled the hefty fork around, mindlessly wondering the amount of it if I nicked it, while the memories of the bitch of the North came in my mind in flashes.

"The CIA doesn't have a most wanted list."

"Yes, they do. Privately." I smiled. "And I know you know that. You're fishing if you really do know if I know."

His mouth twitched. Ah. A smile. Or what he thinks is a smile. Nothing more than a slight curving of the upper right corner of his lips. It was more amusement than warmth, but for him, I think it passes just as good. "Really?"

"Really."

He leaned forward, straightening his spine. The movement pulled my muscles at attention, but I forced the urge to run, to escape— down. Every little movement of his punished my anxiety, reminded me that I was in the face of a predator.

Which I absolutely loathed. I stopped being a prey when I got my first mark down pat. When I stop getting ceaselessly caught by carelessness or stupidity.

But it was hard to deny.

I felt like a rabbit facing a fucking panther.

"What if," he leaned forward, hitching his elbows on the table and observing me over his fingers. I watched as he moved his head so his bottom lip grazed against the long digits and a small ring on his pinky; it was thin enough to be an afterthought but Mr. Park didn't seem like the type for afterthought jewellery.

"— you were actually pregnant?"

My heart jumped to my throat. I narrowed my eyes at him, curled fingers on the fork getting tighter. "D'you think I'm going to use a child to get you?"

"My sister's plan, though, horribly executed—" The felt nothing short of an insult as he said it so casually through a hardened emphasis, " — was well thought out in its depravity."

I blinked. "You're not saying it would've worked."

"My family will never let me throw away a child, especially a possible heir," he said simply, all casual. "Yuna was betting on my grandfather finding out. And my grandfather, if he wants to, finds out everything. For a while now, he's been . . . favourable of me. A marriage is important with the right breeding, but he isn't going to pass up on legacy if it arrives well packaged enough."

His gaze flickered up and down my torso, and as casual as that was, I felt my whole body shiver.

Well packaged. . . does that mean he thinks I'm pretty enough to have his baby?

That's not the point right now, Nin.

My mouth felt dry. "Are you telling me. . . that your sister's crazy fucking plan could've worked?"

He frowned, suddenly knotted eyebrows and turned down corners. "Don't swear."

" . . . You're joking."

"I never joke," he said flatly.

My eyes narrowed. He didn't look the least bit bullshitting. "So talking about crazy pregnancy plans to get you all tied up is a-okay, but saying fuck gets a reprimand? What kind of people raised you?"

His eyes narrowed at the corners again, but continued to say nothing but honesty. "Monsters. With manners."

Holy fuck.

He's serious.

As I continued to gape at him— because truly, the strangest fever dream was happening before my very eyes and I had no fucking straws to grasp at — he cleared his throat and leaned back again, exhaling. His fingers were still tented together, long and pretty and distracting as they were, they now rested just above his chest as he put both his elbows on the side of his chair.

He looked comfortable. Casual. This absolute demon of a man.

"I have a better business deal for you, Ms. La Verne."

I snapped out of my gaping for that.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I am not kidding you and stop swearing." His eyes were narrowed again, full of reproach. The urge to say 'fuck you' for the hell of it was a sin just at the tip of my tongue I held ready. But his tone urged my better instincts to stop. "Did you really think you were going to get out of this unscathed?"

"Well I had a plan. And it was a good plan."

"And yet you failed."

My eye twitched. "Because your sister said you had a defective little solider. How was I to know you were good at fucking?"

His jaw tightened. "Must I teach you manners before we continue on, or must we do this with you over my knee?"

I ceased all movements.

". . . You're joking."

"Ms. La Verne. This is the last time I will say this. I. Don't. Joke."

He's dead serious.

Rich people are crazy.

That was hot but he's crazy.

"Stop looking at me like that."

I blinked at him, exhaling. Trying to find my bearings, some semblance of normalcy. "Pray do tell, how am I looking at you?"

"Like that." His eyes narrowed again. "Enough of this. Do you want to hear it or not? I don't like wasting my time."

I clenched my jaw. "And I don't like wasting mine. If I don't take whatever your deal is, which I'm assuming clashes directly with what your sister has planned for you and me, what're you going to do about it?"

And he did that again. That fucking curving of his mouth. This time, his eyes looked dangerous. Dark mahogany, asking to try and see. Try and defy and see what you get in return.

But his words were sweet and cool as if they were factual.

"Then you're putting yourself in my sister's side of the war. And that will entirely be your right. I never pull an unwilling woman. After all, she made you a deal first. But know that I don't intend to lose to such. . . clumsy attempts. Clever and banal as they are, they're still clumsy. You've met with both of us, given ultimatums on either side. Which one of us do you think is going to win this war?"

"I don't like war," I said softly, my forefinger stilled. "I don't want to be in one. I'm a con artist, not a soldier, Mr. Park."

"And I don't intend to use as one," he spoke just as soft. But wherein mine, it was a slow crawl of fear, his was a silky hiss. A temptation. . . and a promise. "I have my own. I need a con artist."

My brain churned. So many plans, so many solutions and so many endings. But there was one clear line of path I knew I needed to take. He made it look that way. As unappetising as it was, he made it seem like everything else was inedible in comparison.

I straightened in my seat, head flushed out of plans, of calculations.

"Look me in the eye. Come closer."

And I think he recognised the seriousness, the defeat— oh, I think he's seen defeat in preys he's encountered with plenty of times — watching me carefully for a mere two seconds before he leaned forward to meet my gaze.

"How sure are you that you're going to win?" His eyes were so dark as I stared at them, defying the volume of fear they brought down my walls. "I don't choose the losing side."

And all the devil did was smirk.

Immediately— like a flash of memory deep within my bones, a part of my existence that long since nestled within, I saw how the snake convinced Eve. The crucification of the woman that led to humanity's downfall.

All he had to do was tell the truth.

If he was that confident he was going to win, then who the fuck was I not to take a bite?

So I side-stepped every warning that flashed in my brain, and my forefinger started moving again. "What do you need me to do?" I whispered, head in a platter, neck in his hands.

And the devil smiled, as if he had checked a queen.

Tag yourselves as common snickerous metaphors and allegories—

[a] chess references,

[b] somewhat biblical references,

[c] characters asking other characters of impossible requests (and knowing they're choices are rigged),

and [d] characters reading threatening atmospheres (wanting to escape but never actually do).

+

Fun fact: wrote this in one massive pull because the words just came pouring out. 1 am writing is a crazy art form.