Burn for Me (Chaotic Love)

3. Three

Three

8-21-2024

I’ll be what they think I can’t.

-Jasmine

“Can you sit still?” Sam hisses beside me as I slide the tip of my boot along Tide's desk. He constantly nitpicks—like my little habit of fidgeting. I made sure to tuck in my shirt and loop my belt properly this morning, but that doesn't matter to him. We've only been waiting for Tide and Sharkie for ten minutes, and he's already irritable. I could blame it on the early wake-up call, but I know it’s because his schedule has been disrupted.

The door opens, and Tides grumbles, “Sorry about that.”

Sharkie slips in with a mischievous grin, shutting the door behind her. I focus on my perfectly tied boot as she settles into Tide's chair.

“Okay, let's see…” The clacking of keys fills the air until she slams her hand down and growls, “I hate these stupid things.”

Sam yanks the computer screen and keyboard toward him in one swift motion.

“Watch it,” Tide warns. Sam can get away with much more than I can, but he's not immune to Tide's wrath when it comes to Sharkie.

“There.” Sam huffs and pushes the equipment back in front of her. I stop moving and narrow my eyes in his direction. If he's pulling stuff up, he already knows what's happening. He’s already killed my mood for the day by putting on his cold act again, as if he wasn't asking me to sit with him last night, but this makes things that much worse.

“Why are you even here?” I grit out, and as expected, Sam doesn’t answer. He leans back in the chair, arms crossed casually.

“Aha!” Sharkie exclaims excitedly.

I’m about to lash out at Sam when Tide interrupts, “We’ll skip the formalities. The event is in two weeks, so we have three days to prepare, seven days to travel, and four days to gather information—unless transportation changes come up.”

Tide clears his throat, leaning over Sharkie to see the computer.

“Not much preparation is needed. We just need to identify the head of this operation. Maybe they live close, and we can infiltrate,” Sam starts, but Tide cuts him off.

“Preparation is necessary for this scenario.”

“You need to act the part, and Jasmine must prepare for worst-case scenarios,” Sharkie adds. I smirk while tilting my head to get a better view of Sam's cheeks turning a light shade of red— that’s new.

It’s likely because he’s still adjusting to Sharkie as our superior and doesn’t trust her. However, he can't voice his concerns without risking an argument with Tide.

“You mean to say you want to make sure I won't snap before we go out there.” Sam tests, glancing at Tide but addressing her.

I clear my throat, trying to ease the tension. “Can I get details on my mission?”

All eyes turn to me, and I feel the weight of their stares. At least it’s not like being trapped with a ticking bomb anymore, but it’s still uncomfortable.

"Hey, you uh–called?” Moe’s voice echoes as he enters, and everyone returns to their tasks as if we weren't about to have a war break out within the base walls.

“Learning moment,” Tide says, stepping back as Sharkie rises to switch places with Sam.

“Jas?” Sharkie calls quietly, causing my muscles to tense. Since when has she ever had a nickname for me?

I start to panic and instinctively look at Sam. As if sensing my gaze, he flicks his eyes toward mine. Nothing about his expression is warm, but that’s what brings me the most comfort. He seems indestructible, and that simple gesture also makes me feel strong.

“You don't have to do it that way. You can just–” Moe starts but is interrupted with a grunt as Sam elbows his thigh. Their exchanged glances reveal little, and I don't get a chance to question it.

“You'll need to be undercover,” Tide says, stepping beside Sharkie with his arms crossed defensively. He can stop acting like I'm going to fight her again; I've learned my lesson.

“We’ll help you through it the next few days and review any info we receive, but…”

“Fuckin’ hell, it's not that hard to tell her we’re married,” Sam snaps and my head turns in his direction slowly to process the words.

Moe shifts nervously, clearing his throat.

“Fake marriage,” Sharkie corrects.

“It’s most believable to have someone like Sam on your arm—big scary businessman and trophy wife style.” Her tone is light, but I’m too busy staring at the top of Sam's head, not getting a glance in return.

“Sounds cool as hell, right? Think of all the shit they can hide under their fancy clothes,” Moe chuckles, and Sharkie joins in, but I’m not amused. I glance back at Sharkie, who glares in response.

“ Great .” The word drips with malice and lacks any confidence.

“Sam’s wiping your photos from all databases. Something as simple as a traffic camera could tip someone off, so it’s best to erase you both completely,” Moe says, focused on the screen.

“Wanna do it?” Sam asks as he stands, the leather creaking from the weight shift.

“Do what?” I snap, feeling left out. No matter how much I try, I can't seem to fit in. They don’t trust me, and even though it's my fault, I always feel like they're just waiting for me to fail.

It’s like being a child again, hiding in my dad's office while he talks to his business partners, knowing the solution to his problems but staying silent under my mother’s watchful gaze.

“He's uploading an encrypted file with information about you two,” Tide replies, annoyed.

“Names, birthdays, social security numbers, fake marriage license,” Sharkie adds while Moe coughs, trying to hide his amusement.

“And if we don’t play our parts well?”

Tide and Sharkie share a glance, and it’s clear that the outcome won't be good. Sharkie stands, biting her cheek.

“Let’s go shopping for new attire.” She tries to lighten the mood, but I remain serious. They underestimate me if they think I’ll fail. I'll play my part well. I was raised for a life like the one we’ll be portraying. All I have to do is keep my cover for my team and myself.

“She needs to train. You said it yourself.” Sam interjects, looking ready to explode as he grips the desk. Tide places a calming hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” I say with a bright smile, keeping my focus on Sam.

Good. Be pissed. Get mad. Feel what I feel.

A babysitter—really?

“Is this necessary?” Sharkie grumbles from the passenger seat, her irritation evident. I get them not trusting me, but she’s shown her loyalty, so sending someone to watch us is utterly uncalled for.

“I, uh—come on, please stop blaming me.” Moe stumbles over his words, his eyes focused on the winding road and the beautiful morning scenery. Sharkie keeps her gaze out the window, rubbing her fingers together nervously. I feel my knee bouncing and place my hand on it to steady myself.

“It's humiliating,” Sharkie mutters.

Moe laughs and shakes his head, “Come on, I’m not that bad to be around, am I?”

“Oh, Moe, no! That’s not what I meant…” Sharkie trails off, so I step in.

“Thank you for taking us.”

It’s not his fault; we all know that. Moe catches my gaze in the rearview mirror and smiles, the kind that rarely reaches his eyes. He’s only four years younger than me, cute with red hair and an athletic build, but everyone sees him as a kid.

“You two might be surprised. I have an excellent fashion sense.”

Sharkie and I laugh, and as Moe eases into a parking space, his gaze remains on mine.

“Is that a challenge?” He purrs, his voice dropping to a rasp, and his boldness takes me aback. I roll my eyes as Sharkie's laugh grows, and we step out of the car into the humid, cloudy weather. Moe bumps my shoulder, reminding me of our height difference, though he’s still shorter than Sam. Sharkie links her arm with mine, making me flinch slightly.

“I thought I told you I don't bite…” she says, biting her lip with a stifled laugh, reminding me of our first meeting when she looked like a caged animal. I was jealous then, as she was treated like a guest while I had to earn my spot.

“Any more, that is.” she finishes with a shrug.

“That's good information to have,” I say quietly. Despite my mind begging for distance, I let her guide us into the mall, seizing this rare moment of normal social interaction. We wander aimlessly until we stumble into a boutique filled with elegant dresses and suits. The scent hits me first—clean with a hint of orange blossom, as if the clothes were hand-stitched rather than factory-made.

“Martinez's clothing,” Sharkie hums nostalgically. “My mother's closet was filled with this stuff.”

My shoulders tense up; it’s been so long since I’ve seen this stuff that I hardly recognize the designer. Finally, I relax, realizing someone shares a similar background.

“Mine too.” I force my words out while sliding my fingers through the silk racks; it’s the closest I’ve come to sharing my past.

“Just say you two were rich. It'd be more humble. Have you seen these price tags?” Moe holds a stunning blue dress, and I laugh at his angle.

“Blue is a good color on you,” I purr, catching Sharkie’s attention and prompting her cackle. Moe fumbles over the dress but quickly puts it back.

I wander through the aisles, collecting outfit after outfit on my arm, getting lost in the familiar motions until Sharkies nearly tackles me, ripping the clothes from my hands.

“ I found it!” Moe shouts while throwing a dress over my face, obstructing my view. He shoves at my shoulders, and Sharkie growls as I stumble.

As I collide with a wall, curtain links echo the space, prompting me to pull at the fabric until I can see properly. I'm alone, trapped in a small space.

“Hurry up! We want to see how it looks,” Sharkie calls. I struggle to steady my breathing, panic rising as sweat accumulates on my palms. I’m hot—not as hot as that day- but uncomfortably warm.

“Damn it, I need to find her a mask,” Moe whispers.

Sharkie responds with a barely audible mutter, “Sam said he'd handle that.”

I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the comfort that Sam’s name brings. He isn’t here, but neither are the daunting sparks of my nightmares. I strip off my clothes and slip into the dress, feeling it snugly wrap around my hips and chest.

“Cordelia,” I call out, the name unfamiliar but necessary. I need help, and if I’m feeling vulnerable, I might as well make her feel it, too.

“Are you decent?” she asks, her fingers clutching the curtain, hesitating. I pull it open, holding the dress tightly against my chest.

“I can’t zip it,” I admit, frustration creeping in. Instead of jumping to help, Moe and Sharkie stay still, surprise and amusement written on their faces—Sharkie’s mouth hanging open and Moe rubbing the back of his neck with a grin.

“That's the one.” He murmurs.

“I’ll uh… heh–” he chuckles, looking away, his smile growing. “I’ll let Sam know the color scheme.”

“Holy fuck, you're pretty!” Sharkie gasps, pulling my hand to make me twirl. I growl, trying to hide my blush.

“Hurry up and take it off before you burn the building down with how hot you are.”

I laugh, but I'm not entirely comfortable with Sharkies' compliment.

When left alone, I remove the fabric and toss it aside to put my clothes back on.

If I can force my fears to the darkest depths of hell, then I can do this.

I’ll be what they think I can't.

After all, I am excellent at changing into whatever is needed of me.