The Operatives Part 2 | A Romantic Short Story
A single night reaches a critical juncture when a determined spy partners with a cunning assassin. A LVNDR Romantic Short Story. 18+
The Assassin discarded his empty glass on the bartop before marching into the crowd of partygoers. The Spy followed quickly behind him as he descended the wooden staircase tucked against the dark, ornate walls.
“Where are we going?” Sabine growled as she stumbled after him, the alcohol weighing her legs down.
“Home,” Dorian stated plainly as he held the main door open for the Spy. She furrowed her eyebrows at him before cautiously walking through it, temporarily disarmed by his chivalry.
Once outside, the Assassin nursed a cigarette in one hand while reaching for her hand with the other.
“Take it,” he commanded, “or you’ll get yourself killed.”
It wasn’t until Sabine found herself stumbling off the curb and into traffic that she realized what he’d meant. Dorian grabbed her hand just in time to pull her back onto the sidewalk and shift them so that he was between her and the road.
“Thank you,” Sabine begrudgingly offered from where she now walked, wedged between the hedges and the Assassin. “Where are we going?”
For the first time that night, Sabine was truly concerned. She looked back toward the restaurant, now fifty yards in the distance. This night was not going according to plan, and her brain was growing foggier with every rapid heartbeat.
“Did your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” The Assassin snorted, a light gesture that directly combated his naturally dark tone. “You’re following me to my car.”
Sabine stopped in her tracks, pulling her hand from his. “I’m not leaving with you.”
“As much as I’d love to argue,” Dorian huffed, looking at his watch before placing his hands in his pockets before turning towards her, “you need to save it for the drive.”
“Exc-” Sabine began to say as her limbs grew heavier. She tried to turn around, but her feet didn’t follow her body. The Assassin caught her from behind.
“Me or Jones,” Dorian asked as he picked her up.
“What do you mean?” Sabine’s tongue tripped over itself as she fought against the simple sentence.
“Do you feel more comfortable with me,” Dorian repeated, grinding his teeth, “or Jones?”
She’d known Jones for the better half of a year. She’d known the Assassin for the lesser half of a night.
“You.”
The roar of thunder mingled with Sabine’s dreams, gently pulling her back to consciousness. She desperately collected her memories of the evening’s events before opening her eyes.
Her floor-length gown was tangled around her legs from where she lay tucked beneath a rich cream duvet. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the high-rise apartment was the bright city skyline. The Assassin’s home, she realized with a start.
Standing on shaky legs, Sabine turned towards the clock on the nightstand. It was just after midnight. She’d been out for four hours.
Pulling out the small dagger that was still tucked behind her neck, she exited the room. The Spy wasn’t surprised to see Dorian standing in his kitchen. She was surprised to see him making a grilled cheese. Shirtless. He didn’t turn towards her.
“If you throw that little butter knife at me while my back is turned,” Dorian warned from where he still stood facing away from her, focused on the stovetop, “I will not be happy.”
“Am I not a threat?” Sabine fumed, slowly treading closer to him. She must have looked like a wild animal with her knotted hair, bare feet, and the dagger cinched in a white-knuckled grip.
“A threat? Yes.” Dorian’s wolfish smile took over his face as he turned towards her. “A threat to me? Absolutely not.”
The Spy plated the sandwich onto china too fine for a drunken snack as Sabine took a seat on a bar stool. “What happened tonight?”
“You were drugged,” Dorian explained, turning around to set the sandwich down in front of her with a glass of water. “Drink.”
Sabine wanted to argue, but her throat was dry, and her stomach was empty. She propped herself onto the leather barstool and took a single bite of the sandwich before inquiring further. “Did you drug me?”
The Assassin took a second to shoot her a truly offended stare before leaning his elbows on the countertop before her.
“That’s not my style,” Dorian growled, annoyance rolling across his words.
Sabine took a deep breath. He had no reason to lie, but the truth was hard to swallow. She’d let her guard down, and — to her frustration — he’d saved her. She didn’t have time for the pity party, however.
“Where is the opal?”
“Safely hidden, I assure you.” Dorian’s tone slipped back into that of mischief as he yawned, running a hand across his toned core.
“What’s your price?”
The Spy was no longer trying to appeal to him. Everyone had a price, and it’d save them all time if he just told her what his was. There wasn’t anything that was out of the realm of possibility for her clients.
“Truth or dare.”
Sabine lowered her chin to stare him down through her lashes. “Fine. Whe-”
“No,” Dorian said, his low tone threatening as he rested his elbows on the countertop between them. “I already answered your question.”
“No, you didn’t,” Sabine debated, leaning in as if getting closer to him would force him to listen to her.
“I told you that the opal was hidden somewhere safe. Truth or dare?”
Sabine placed the sandwich back on the plate, readying herself to play.
“Truth.”
Dorian smiled.
“Who do you work for?”
“An organization.” The Spy could play dirty, too.
The Assassin ran a tongue under his lip, grinning ear to ear. “Touche.”
“For what it’s worth,” Sabine continued, offering more information than she needed to. “This job is freelance.”
Dorian seemed surprised by this, but didn’t remark on it. “I choose truth.”
“In what city is the opal located?” Sabine jumped straight into her next question.
“Now you’re getting it.” Dorian crooned, his smile exposing sharp canine teeth. “This one.”
The Spy stopped. This one? Does he mean to say that she could not only know the location of but also be at the location of the opal this very evening?
“How are you so close with Jones?” Dorian’s question broke through Sabine’s reverie before she could start the round. Her surprise at the question cracked through her cool demeanor, but only for a moment.
“A steady stream of bad decisions.” There was no need to sugarcoat it. Her quest for The Stygian Opal had brought them closer in more ways than one. Her delirious ambition had become a tool for him to play with. Each feeding into the other's game.
Silently pushing himself off the counter, Dorian turned his back on Sabine to open the refrigerator.
There was a beat of awkward silence between them before his light-hearted arrogance returned. “I wonder what he thought of you salivating over me all night.”
“I was not salivating,” Sabine argued, cheeks burning bright red at the accusation.
“If you say so,” Dorian said, cracking open the beer he’d pulled from the refrigerator. “I’ll give you two options. Take the info I gave you as enough and go back to the flimsy series of events you call a plan, or stay here.”
Sabine simply raised her eyebrows, waiting for the proverbial beat drop.
I’ll take you to the location of The Stygian Opal. Tonight.”