SCARLET

*trigger warning: this chapter contains mentions of vomiting and spiking drinks*

I throw the phone on the bed and run a hand through my hair, taking a deep deep breath. Grey hasn't been responding since yesterday; he didn't even show up at work. Greyson Ledger didn't show up at work. He comes 15 minutes early every fucking day.

Not only is Grey not here, but it's the night of the mission. I've probably never been on a mission without Grey being in my ear. It doesn't mean anything, but I'm worried. He never disappears like this, never.

I have no time and no mind to worry about Grey tonight. I have to get through this mission, and it has to be perfect.

Taking off this stupid maid outfit and the daggers I have hidden underneath, I walk into the bathroom and retrieve my makeup bag from the vanity. One that's been there for a while—I'm pretty sure half of what's inside is already expired. I sit on the bathroom countertop, and I grab the black eyeshadow from the bag along with a thin brush. Eyeliner can eat shit with its mission-impossible-level straight lines.

I use the eyeshadow as an eyeliner and smoke it out. Adding a blood red lip the same shade as my dress, I walk back and look at myself in the mirror. I look like one smoking hot show, yet I don't feel like it. I take a deep breath. Grey will be okay. Grey will be safe. Grey is safe.

I walk to the bed, putting aside all my worry for Grey and grabbing the silky red dress. I'm not even sure I can call it a dress. It's a leftover piece of silk that they sewed together, with a slit up my thigh and an opening all the way to the small of my back. Taking off my shorts, I slide the dress on, adjusting the three chains and the snake pendant that hold the back together so they're not a tangled mess.

I put my heels on, grabbed my shiny gold bag, and my phone. Even though I know the moment I get there, I'll slip it into Matheo's pocket along with my keys. These were supposed to be with Gre– No! Enough worrying about Grey now. I swear I'll murder his ass when I see him.

⇔

The cold breeze hits my legs as I get out of the cab to the familiar bar. I was here a few days ago to check the atmosphere, as I was instructed. I made use of the visit and asked for help from a bartender with my "alcohol addiction." So now every time I order any alcoholic drinks, I get water.

I walk up to the bar entrance, taking off my fake fur jacket. I'm met with two guards, not one step into the hot mess of music, poker, and dancers. "Your ID," the shortie with a beard says.

"She doesn't need one. Boss would love to know she's back," the tall, bald one with a scar across his eye says. I recognized him from last time, and I gave him a small, innocent smile, handing him my jacket.

His boss, Stefan, is the owner of the bar. From the knowledge Theo gave me, this is the first time the Russians have come to this bar, and it'll probably be the last.

I take slow and certain steps into the bar, the poker table coming into view, and with it the Russians. I made sure to put on one of my strongest, most vibrant men pulling perfumes so when I do what I'm about to do, it goes as perfect as I want it to be.

I sidestep a few people and walk directly beside their table, making sure not to look anyone in the eye as all the men on my side divert their eyes from the table to the woman walking with a man-eater smell.

"Welcome back, lovely," the bartender says as I sit on the stool in front of him. "I promised you I'd be back, didn't I?"

"And you kept it. The usual?" I nod as I watch him prepare another drink for a man a few stools over. He walks inside and comes out with a shaker that he pours the contents of into a cup and hands it to me.

It tastes almost the same as champagne without the alcoholic factor. I give him a small nod, accompanied by a naive smile. And he gives me a lopsided smirk in response, walking to a drunk woman ordering a night with him. "Good move with the perfume; it almost had me."

I glance sideways towards the voice speaking. Agent Zephyr, the second agent in direct contact with the Russians, stands beside me with his eyes straight forward, sipping a glass of God knows what. His silver rings glisten against the clear liquid in contrast to his dark skin.

"Of course it was. Got the dog's eyes on me."

"Be careful, Agent. Don't bark if you can't bite."

"I do something even better. I kill."

He hums, taking another sip of his drink and backing away to where he was. Zephyr should've gotten some kind of file about me sent to him, but he received nothing. And that I know by his should've-been-a-scary warning.

I sigh and turn around on the stool, my eyes instantly connecting with a green pair at the other end of the bar. He's wearing all black today, from the tips of his shoes to the glasses that, for some reason, I grew to like. Zephyr goes to stand right beside him in similar attire, but he has a gray vest on and a similar tie. I see his mouth moving as he talks to Theo, but he doesn't spare him a glance. He's openly staring at me, looking a little unfurled today than the usual calm demeanor.

I know he was against this in the first place, but I've done harder than this mission. And I'm not going to let anyone's fears come in between me and my work. I know what I'm doing, for fuck's sake. He throws back his glass and walks to the poker table, where the rest of the Russians are.

"You all alone, Malyshka?" I turn, and I'm met with glacier gray eyes. Ivanovich. I smirk mentally. I mean, I don't underestimate myself, but even I didn't think he'd be the one to come.

"Should I have come with someone?" I put my act on the naive girl who thinks she's so smart. God, it's disgusting. He replies with a smile, walking closer and resting his forearms on the bar, his face coming mere inches from mine.

"Ivanovich," he says, extending his hand. I take it.

"Kiara," I say. He pulls my hands up to his mouth and places a soft kiss on my knuckles, maintaining eye contact. Ew, I hold back my gag, and I plaster a smile on my face instead.

He whistles, motioning for a bartender to get us two drinks. As he raises his hand, he connects his thumb with the middle knuckle of his ring finger. Theo told me about this; that's the sign they use when they drug the drink.

"Tell me, Malyshka, what's a lovely lady like you doing in a place like this all alone?"

"Can't a woman just enjoy a drink?" I say with a coy smile.

"She certainly can, but can a man join her?"

"Sure." I motion to the stool next to mine, and he leans on it, not fully sitting down.

The drinks arrive. Ivan slides a drink my way and takes the other, gulping half of it in one go. I know my drink is spiked; it'll probably take no less than 13 minutes to take effect. I take a sip. Oh god, that tastes like how old, rotten bodies smell. I take another sip, trying to force the liquid down without any visible reaction.

"How old are you, Malyshka?" I saw this coming already—the age, the life story, anything that would give him an indication that no one would look for me.

"Well, age is just a number, isn't it?" I force the sides of my lips into a sly smirk, looking Ivan up and down like he's some kind of snack I can't wait to have. If we're speaking about looks, he might as well have them all, but what's inside is like a rock in my throat.

He gives me a smile that I'm pretty sure turned my stomach. I blink a few times, and a sort of dizziness hits me. This is not disgust; this is the drink.

It's taking effect way sooner than I expected. I was supposed to finish this conversation and go to the bathroom to get the drink out of my system, but I'm not even sure I have more than 5 minutes before I pass out. I have to get to the bathroom, and I have to do it quickly.

There's only one sip left, so I take it and pretend to choke. "Are you okay there, Malyshka?" he dares ask in a mocking tone. No, fucker, I want to slap you.

"Looks like I drank a bit too much tonight; I'll be right back.'' I get up as quickly as I can and walk to the bathroom. I don't even have time to close the bathroom stool before my stomach turns against me and empties its contents into the toilet.

Not a few seconds later, I hear the main bathroom door open and someone barges in, saying, "Scarlet?" Matheo. I hear him going into a few stalls, the doors shaking in their hinges hard as he opens them.

"I'm here," I say, flushing the toilet and unlocking the door. My legs need a moment to gather their power. That shit they gave me is so fucking strong. How can any 18-year-old body handle that?

He opens the door, and crouches next to me. I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes for a few seconds, trying to regain the entirety of my consciousness. I feel his hand brushing my hair off my face and putting it behind my ear. "I told you not to do this."

"You told me it would take 15 minutes." I opened my eyes at that, and I'm met with Theo's. His face is mere inches from mine. He takes his hand back, resting his elbows on his knees. "I didn't know. Zephyr just told me they changed the-"

"Don't. I know you couldn't have possibly known, so just give me a hand up and let's get this shit done once and for all." He gives me a disappointed look, but his eyes have a hint of a smile in them. Getting up, he extends his hands, and I take them, forcing my legs to work.

"You're insufferable," he says, pulling me up to my full height but not letting go of my hands even when I'm standing. "Look who's talking," he chuckles, and I can't help but smile. As bad and disgusting as this mission was, I'm actually glad to have him here.

"You ready?" he asks. I nod, and he lets go of my hands and grabs my legs, throwing me over his shoulder. "This feels familiar somehow, don't you think?"

"Shut up." He starts walking, and I act unconscious. I'm already drowsy, so I don't have to pull my full acting career skill on. My eyes are closed, but I can hear him walk us out some kind of backdoor, and the cold wind hits my bare back.

There's a sound of a car door opening, and a man says some inaudible thing to Matheo, and he replies the same. Either the drink got me too good or these two are communicating in gibberish.

He leans into the car and lays me down on the backseat of the car, careful not to hit my head, adjusting my dress, and pulling it down so it covers what it can from my thighs. When I think he's done, he leans back in. I can't open my eyes, but I can feel his warm breath on the side of my face as he says, "Good job."

I almost broke the unconscious act just to slap him. Did he just say good job? I changed my mind; I don't want this insufferable ass anywhere near me or my missions.