Miss Classified (Book 3 of the Miss Series)

Twenty Two:

Aimee

I went back to my hotel after Noah and I had sat on the beach for almost two hours. We said nothing for awhile and then we started talking and then we never stopped. It turns out that he is also a Yankees fan, and that really sparked almost an hour of conversation. He has a signed T-shirt, as well as a baseball bat that he won in a competition when he was a kid. He loves sports, as I do, so we have that in common. He loves basketball most of all, because he used to play it all the time. He says it keeps it close to his dad.

"So you like basketball?" I ask Noah. We are standing in the ocean at the moment and I'm almost soaked through.

"Love it! I used to play in school. I was pretty good. I played through acting school too afterwards. I was told multiple times I could have played in the NBA. There were always scouts looking and I was told by my coach I was being considered for the league." He explains and I turn to him.

"So you are basically Troy Bolton." I conclude. Noah almost chokes when my words sink in. I burst out laughing and he pushes me into the sea. I topple over and land on my ass into the cold water.

"I am most certainly not Troy Bolton." He snaps, which only makes me laugh harder. I hold up my finger.

"Yeah, right." I roll my eyes and splash him. "If it makes you feel any better, you are a badass African American Troy Bolton with tons of sass!" I click moving around my body to over exaggerate.

He splashes me in response and he holds out his hand to help me up. Bad idea. I pull him into the water next to me. He splashes me as he also falls to his ass. He looks at me in disgust and rubs his back. I laugh and roll my eyes. He's a big baby. It's low tide now, and the water is warm.

I smile as I remember our conversation which happened a few minutes ago. We dried off after that, talked a bit more and then ordered ice cream, got a few brain freezes and fought a little, made up again, and kissed. No. I'm only joking. I would never kiss Noah.

I research my hotel room and I unlock my door and my gut starts to churn. The hairs on my neck stand up and my senses become alert. Deep down, I can feel that something isn't right. My gut is almost always 100% right. I am very good at judging situations, and I can tell when something isn't quite right. That is one of the reasons why I am so good at what I do. I feel that same feeling now. I don't have my gun on me, which worries me a little, but I will have to make do. I am experienced, after all.

I open the door and close it behind me. My senses are alert and my mind is ready to take whatever action is necessary. I make sure not to make a sound. I look in the bathroom first. My shampoo is no longer in the shower. It has been put on the large counter which holds the basin. The cleaners might have done that, so it doesn't phase me too much. Next, I look in the dressing room. My high heels no longer lie on the shelf, but are on the floor. I remember doing that this morning. Nothing new. So it must be in the bedroom. I open the dressing table drawer, and take out my gun. It is already loaded, and I tuck it into my pants, putting my shirt over it to cover it. A good spy never leaves a trace, and they avoid human contact, and avoid using violence. But the handgun makes me feel more safe and confident.

I walk slowly into the bedroom, my hand hovering over the position of the gun. He stands looking out the window, his back to me. "Welcome back, Aimee." His voice breaks the silence. My hand leaves the gun.

"Get out, Will." I bark and he laughs. Out of all people, they have to use my brother against me? I feel disgust writhe up and down my body.

"Do you not think that we have been so nice to you, Aimee?" His voice is deeper than I remember. It only goes to show how much I have seen him lately. All I know is that that man standing by the window is not my brother. He looks like my brother, sounds something like him, holds similar DNA to me, but he isn't my brother. Not anymore. He lost that privilege when he left me behind. "We gave you a gift Aimee, and yet here you are, refusing to work with us. I'm not sure I understand. We are offering you a golden opportunity! We don't give that to just anybody, you know! But that isn't the point. I came here to warn you. We only act nice once. We don't ever give second chances, and yet because you are so desired, you are getting one. Join Nemesis, Aimee. We can fix everything. I promise. We can go back to how it was before I left, without an abusive father. Nemesis killed him for us, Aimee. Shouldn't you be thanking us? Wasn't this what you wanted? To be away from him, but to be by my side? Well you can have everything you have ever wanted, Aims. Nemesis will give that to you. We won't ever be separated again. You will become a spy again. Isn't that what you want? Your life back? They took it from you. Your government. We want to give it back!" His words are so tempting. I want my brother back so much and I want my job back too. I wish I could run to him. My heart is screaming for me to run into his arms, and it seems to think that everything will be alright again if I do. But I can't listen to my heart. It is committing treason.

I dislike the saying: Follow your heart! That saying might sound sentimental and it is probably something many people hang on their walks and use as their phone backgrounds, but it is also stupid. If you heart is telling you to murder someone because they hurt you deep, do you do it? No! If your heart is telling you that you are okay when you look at the cancerous lump on your left hip, do you just ignore it, because you know you should follow your heart? That's a very bad idea. If your heart is telling you to jump off a bridge because it looks like fun, do you do it? No. You don't. Don't be an idiot. But you can't also just follow your head, though. You need to feel and have emotions. It's okay to cry, but be rational about it. Cry a little, then build a bridge and get over it.

I ignore my heart. "I can't Will. I can't follow you blindingly wherever you want to go. As much as I want my brother back, I can't support a terrorist organisation! I can't believe that you would ever ask me to do that! Who do you think I am?" I swallow the lump forming in the back of my throat, "So," I pause, regaining my confidence and acting cold like I usually do, "I will refuse every time you ask me. I will never join Nemesis, and I will never stop trying to stop it. I never ever stand down when I see that something is wrong. This is wrong! The government might have many problems, but it doesn't murder thousands of innocent people." I argue.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Will shakes his head sadly. "Because this was your last warning. The next time you will not be asked. You will be forced. All the best Aimee. You have no chances left!" Will yells and drops out the window. I rush to look out of the window, but it seems he has disappeared.

I sit on the bed and rest my elbows on my knees, and rest my head on my hands. I close my eyes and blink away a few tears. I want to scream and cry at the same time. I can't believe Will could that to me!

I turn on my phone and play some slow music. My feet move on their own accord and start to dance. Ever since I was little, I loved to dance. Dad, on some of his good days, used to dance with me in the kitchen. He would come home some evenings and he would put on music. It was usually the same song: La Vie En Rose. It was so old, but we would dance in the candle light around the kitchen. He would twirl me and spin me and we would dance over and over again. Those were some of my fondest memories of him before the abuse. I loved him then truly.

I hear a knock on the door. I walk over to open it, switching off the music first. Outside my hotel room door lies a pair of Prada heels, with the words:

Now the devil can wear Prada.

Unfortunately, you have lost all of your changes, Aimee. Please accept the heels as a good luck gift. We do feel sorry for you, because while you might be a devil, Nemesis is the hell that even nightmares cannot begin to compare to.

Best of luck,
Nemesis

I examine the heels. They are even more beautiful than the Gucci ones I threw back in their faces. They really do know how much I love shoes. I take the note, which was written on fancy paper and tear it up and throw it in the trash. I take the shoes, try them on, and they fit like a glove... that saying really doesn't make much sense either.

I walk around in them, pleasantly satisfied with how they feel and then I throw them in the trash too. I plonk on the bed again and rest my head on my hands again.

Am I scared? No... Maybe a little. I feel more heartbroken and betrayed than anything else. It's so difficult to have a brother who has turned to the dark side. I can't seem to help it as my eyes drift over to the shoes sticking out of the tiny white trashcan. If I throw them away does it show them that I am scared? If I wear them proudly and confidently... Does that show them that I accept the threat? Do I? Yes. Bring it on Nemesis. I'm ready.