7 - The Masquerade

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Couples soon began piling into the room two by two, and the vast array of bodies was starting to make me anxious and nauseous. It also didn't help that 47 left me alone at our table so he can get us drinks and possibly Intel on our targets. I am to keep watch for either of them, and I also have to make sure that I keep track of wherever they go.

There are too many people in this one room, and I'm starting to think that maybe accepting to go on this mission wasn't such a good idea after all.

I have to get up quickly when a couple starts dancing a little too close to my table. I silently curse myself for all these damn problems I have. If I don't get them under control, they could jeopardize our entire operation.

Stop it with your panic attacks, Anastasia. I eye the couple cautiously until they finally dance away and I can sit back down. You're usually never this bad, so what's gotten into you, girlfriend? Come on. . . .I know you're stronger than this, so just get your act together. . . I sigh, fiddling with my fingers as I watch my surroundings very carefully. Nothing much is happening; just the sound of classical music and laughter/murmurs from the people can be heard. They all seem like they're having a great time.

"Excuse me, madam," a deep, masculine voice-that sounds nothing like 47's-snaps me out of my thoughts, "would you care to dance?" I look at him and get a mental picture of what he looks like. He's wearing a dark grey tuxedo, a black bowtie matching the ensemble. The dark brown mask of a coyote adorns his crisp features. He has broad shoulders, but not as broad as 47's, and his suit isn't as tight looking on him. I don't know if it's just me, but he gives off a really bad vibe; one that makes my stomach do flips. His hair is a dirty blonde color and is slicked back against his scalp. He's got a smirk on his face that makes my insides churn.

"No, thanks." I say, my eyes meeting his. There's a coldness and uncaring flame behind them that will give me great pleasure in watching it extinguish. "I'm just waiting for my husband to get back with our drinks." I was happy to let those words roll off my tongue the way they did.

His smirk only widens, and I notice something in it that wasn't there before. It's unsettling. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind it if we danced, sweetheart." He licks his lips.

"That, my dear Anastasia, is Michael Johnson, one of your targets." I can hear Diana's pristine voice from inside the earpiece. It doesn't surprise me that I can hear her, but he can't. I assume that 47 can hear her as well, considering we're both connected to her communication system. "A doctor turned tyrant, Michael moved from Liverpool to London with his wife after their fourteen-year-old son took his own life. He bought this hotel with his own money, and uses private areas around the back as 'holding cells' for the girls they kidnap."

I scoff, but still listen to Diana's words carefully. "And if he doesn't?" If there's an opportunity here for me to kill him, I'm sure as hell not going to miss my shot. This bastard deserves to die.

"Then I'll walk away. No harm, no foul, right, honeybun?" I have to keep myself from cringing at the way he pronounced those words.

Despite the disturbing conversation he and I are having, Diana continues to talk in my ear, "Perhaps if you could use your charms to lure him somewhere private and make your move there." She lets out a breath. "He's a serial rapist. Please, Anastasia, be careful." Her voice is filled with a sincerity that I seldom hear anymore. It makes my heart warm.

Will do. I think to myself as I continue to look up at the man in front of me. "If it's a dance you want, then. . .so be it." I get up from my seat, fixing my dress as I do so. From the corner of my eye, I can see 47 standing there.

His eyes follow our every move.

47's P.O.V.

My eyes fixate on the man who's got Miss Hartman in his arms. They narrow when he puts a hand on her hip and pulls her body closer to his. She seems uncomfortable, but there's nothing to be done about it.

When they move away from the table, I sit back there with our drinks to make myself look less conspicuous. This does not stop me from keeping a very close eye on her and our target.

Perhaps this situation could work to our advantage.

They dance to the entirety of the song until it stops. When he dips her, he looks right down at the exposed cleavage of her breasts. The look in his eyes tells me all I need to know about his thoughts at the moment.

Even after the song has stopped, he doesn't seem to want to let her go. She tries pushing him away, but he keeps getting closer. I get up from my seat and approach the two of them, my eyes letting Anastasia know that everything is okay.

Anastasia's P.O.V.

My heart leaps in my chest and my mind is finally put at ease when I see 47 approaching this man and I. I didn't want to draw much attention to myself by trying harder to push him off of me, so I gave him light shoves here and there. He still hadn't responded to them, though, and kept trying to put his hands on me.

"Is there a problem here?" 47 asks him once he's close enough that Michael can hear him without having to strain his ears.

He just smirks, "Nope, not at all." He says. "The lady here and I were just having some fun."

"Well that's my wife that you've got your hands all over." He blurts out, his normal pissed off expression becoming even more so. I blink, and it somehow occurs to me now that I'd never think he'd act like this. What's got him so worked up and protective of me all the sudden?

"Oh, is she now?" There's a bit of sadism in his voice that gives me chills right down to my very core. "I don't mind sharing."

There is a sudden and intense dark cloud that looms above the whole ballroom. The way 47 glares at Michael makes me feel like he's going to murder him right here in front of all these people. I wouldn't mind it, but doing so would compromise us and blow the operation. Please don't kill him right here, 47. I know he's a bastard, but we can't afford for you to snap. I plead with him mentally.

"Settle down, boys." I manage to speak up after the tension becomes a bit too much for me to handle. I push Michael away from us before I grab 47's hand into mine. "Come on, dear, let's go back to our drinks." I put on a pretty good act as I pull 47 away from him and, as we walk away, I can feel Michael's eyes burning into my back.

I try to play tough and brush it off like it's nothing, but the way he's staring bothers the hell out of me. However, when I sit down with 47 next to me, I feel a bit relaxed. Well, about as relaxed as one can be after they just danced with one of the most disgusting men I've ever met. How can he be so nonchalant?

With shaky hands, I pick up my glass and take a small sip of the spiked punch contents that are within it. My mind is fuzzy and a feel like the room is spinning. If 47 hadn't been here, I imagine that things would have gone much worse for me.

Get it together, ol' girl. I say to myself and take another sip, allowing the drink's soothing coolness to calm my nerves. Now that I think about it, I've never been as close to any of the rapists I've killed as this one. The others would be dead long before they could even put their hands on me.

They were horrible men, yes, but this one. . . He's a different kind of sadistic and menacing.

The kind, you know, that needs to be put down.

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