24. Chapter 24
Sophia
When it came to my work with S.H.A.D.E, the days were usually few and far between. They typically only needed me for ten missions a month, each lasting just a few hours. And while I never pictured myself doing work this dirty, it paid well... Not only that, but it was kind of fun.
It was no secret that I liked to be in charge, and there was nothing more thrilling than deciding if someone terrible lived or died—spoiler alert, they always died.
Tonight’s mission was an easy one. The target was a lower level hitman who decided to manipulate his evidence and blame his ex-wife for a string of stabbings in Bar Harbor.
I hated men who thought they could hurt their partners the second they grew tired of them.
That was the problem with a lot of the hitmen in S.H.A.D.E; they’d get too big for their britches and think they were gods.
Unfortunately for them, they were only human.
Bar Harbor was a nice town, just about forty-five minutes north of Hartwood.
That’s what made it believable when I matched with this guy on a dating app.
My momma had set up my profile so we were guaranteed to meet, but I pretended I couldn’t find anyone to fit my impossibly high standards in Hartwood.
And, realistically, if I hadn’t imported my partners, I probably couldn’t.
Not that this guy actually did anything for me. He was too easy to lure in. All it took was a hello, a lewd selfie, and suddenly he was putty in my hand. One thing led to another, and now this guy was showing me the boat he lived on—which, admittedly, was really freaking cool.
He’d anchored the boat just off the coast. The night was cool and still, leaving us to languidly bob with the rhythm of the sea.
The boat itself was a bit dated. Most of the interior was either wooden or covered in faded florals. It screamed eighties to me, which was so ancient it was almost chic. That being said, the exterior was sleek and well-maintained.
I leaned against the railing, watching city lights twinkle in the distance. The chill of the metal seeped through my jacket and into my skin.
I was having a good time, but letting him bring me out here was dumb. How the heck was I supposed to get back to shore? I’d never driven a boat—were they different from cars? It probably had a steering wheel and a pedal of some sort.
“Alright, I grabbed us a couple of drinks.” The man’s voice destroyed my train of thought.
How rude .
I turned to face him, forcing a sticky-sweet smile as my eyes met his. He had a name; I just didn’t bother to remember it. It was easier this way.
The man was stereotypically attractive, in the bland, cookie-cutter way that most of S.H.A.D.E.’s lower level agents were. It was part of the job—being good-looking made people trust you more and that made you seem less threatening. It was a weird psychological trick that had worked for centuries.
But this man wasn’t as pretty as Sebby.
Sebby had a way about him that made people underestimate him.
Maybe it was his nerdy disposition, the way he seemed more interested in Legos and video games than in the deadly work we did, or maybe it was his boyish good looks.
Whatever it was, it made it easy to forget that beneath that exterior, Sebby was six foot five, built like Hercules, and absolutely lethal in ways I never thought he could be .
This agent, though? He didn’t do it for me.
He was far too gruff, and I didn’t like the way he looked at me. The spark in his eyes said he thought he was in charge, and that would never be true.
“Thank you,” I said, reaching for the short glass he offered me.
The amber liquid rippled as I brought the drink closer before taking a small sip.
The whiskey was smooth, but it still burned on the way down, as alcohol should.
For a beat, I enjoyed the pleasant warmth spreading through my chest, then I realized my date probably expected me to wince, or at least protest.
And while I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, I needed to get him to leave me alone with his drink.
I kept the glass to my lips as if I was hesitating before taking another sip. After a moment, my nose wrinkled, and I set my drink down on the railing.
“It’s really strong,” I mumbled, pretending to be embarrassed. “Do you have anything I can mix it with? Maybe soda?”
The man smirked, and I hated the fact that I’d stroked his ego.
“Not much of a whiskey drinker, huh?” he teased in that gross way men with small willies did.
I swallowed my pride and forced a sheepish smile. “I don’t usually drink at all.”
That was a lie, and if this man had paid any attention to our messages, he would have known I liked to end my nights with a glass or two… or three, if the kids were extra psychotic, of wine.
“No problem, sweetheart.” He chuckled before placing his glass right next to mine. “I have a few diet colas in the galley.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and gave him an appreciative nod. He turned away from me, and I let my smile drop. Listening to his steps, I watched him disappear below the deck, and once I was sure I was out of his line of sight, I turned back to our drinks.
I quickly fished the small vial of clear liquid out of my bra.
I wasn’t exactly sure what was in this vial, but it was a poison of some sort that S.H.A.D.E’s pharmaceutical department developed.
It was completely odorless and tasteless, which made it undetectable—perfect for someone in my position–and it worked fast .
With the flick of my thumb, I popped the silver cap off before dumping it into his whisky.
The poison needed to be ingested to kill someone, and normally I threw it away, but there was no trash can nearby, and I really didn’t like the idea of getting any on my skin.
Reluctantly, I tossed it into the water and hoped there weren’t any nearby fish.
If there were… well, I hoped they liked fish Jesus.
Once the man got back, all it would take was a sip and he’d be dead within the next few minutes.
It wouldn’t be a painless death. Normally, the men I drugged screamed before a bloody froth filled their mouths.
It was kind of funny, watching the high and mighty fall, and it gave me the satisfaction of watching the men suffer without getting my hands dirty.
According to S.H.A.D.E, no one other than Sebby really liked the mess that came with stabbings.
At first, that was surprising to me. Actually, this whole thing was.
Growing up, Sebby was a sweet boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Then, word got back to me that he used to hate killing, he was just forced into it, as we all were.
But, apparently, he used to make a point to kill people as mercifully as possible.
That made me wonder what had shifted in Sebastian to make him the man he was today .