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she asked a question. "eh. not bad. but why exactly should i help you with this? and do not say it’s because you want to shoot me. blah blah blah. bullshit. something real."
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of course. he wanted someone who was skilled in a variety of different things and a brain full of intellect. she knew better than to ask who it was, but she was still curious. which is why once he was finished speaking, (…)
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your 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑠. [ the truth is, she's an exceptional agent. he knows he won't find anyone else on her level. ] i need access to a cia database, and someone willing to steal it.
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that’s what he was. but then again, who knew how much money he would be able to collect from killing her. "okay… other than the information that i have, what do you want?"
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"i didn’t make it hard to." molars grind against each other as her jaw clenches, the cold metal pushed harder against her. even in situations in life or death, she didn’t seem to mind which one was her fate. soulless. (…)
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"what a shock." her voice is monotone, no emotion showed in it or upon her visage. truly, a 𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑙𝑙. if he were to fire, she would more than likely be paralyzed. saved? mm. *that one had a bit more depth (…)
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americans want you dead. [ a half-truth. finger rests on the trigger, ready to fire at the slightest threat. ] you've been a huge problem for them. 𝘨𝘰𝘥, they hate you.
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eyes roll as he explains their hatred, not really fazed until he leans closer——lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. once the cigarette was out, she exhaled a laugh. stub crushed beneath heeled boot. "oh, i see (…)
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"svin—ya." the barrel is
pressed against clothed flesh,
breathing remaining steady as she
smokes. "what deal? if it gets you
away from me, consider me all in."
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her spine stiffens as he inhales
her scent. clean scent of laundry, small
sprits of perfume upon neck and
behind ear, slowly being masked by
cigarette smoke. but still, he knows
each hint——and how long they’ve
been parted (…)
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i missed that 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵. [ brazenly inhales at her neck, blood and death filling his nose. she hasn't changed since the last time they met. ] six months, nine days, and twelve hours..
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stores. all over the place. but
she wasn’t, nor was the person at
the distance, staring as the russian doll took slow drags of the stick of
tobacco. but will the *𝗥͟𝗘͟𝗔͟𝗗͟𝗘͟𝗥 just
stand there or make a move?
speak?
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she’s standing with a cigarette
between her index and middle fingers,
smoke swirling as it rises into the air.
the sun has gone down, moon taken
its place——street lamps and glowing
lights of 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫 signs from bars and
liquor (…)
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