Jason’s POV
I watch as Eden is dragged forcefully to the dance floor, Farren Miller, our objective, pulling her gently into the crowd of dancing men and women. I swallow nervously and take a step towards her, ready to go and get her out of the very deadly situation.
“Don’t,” Graves speaks quietly in my ear. I look around and spot him a few metres away, standing by a table and sipping a glass of champagne. He is not facing me, but I catch his eye in the mirror he is looking through. “If he thinks we’re on to him we’re busted. She can work it out for herself. She’s not helpless.”
I carefully walk around, nonchalantly watching as people twirl and sway to the music. I catch Eden’s eye for a moment and attempt to give her a reassuring nod. She looks away a moment later and smiles warmly at the man who is holding her in his arms.
“And what happens if he already suspects us? What if he takes her away somewhere quiet and does something to her?” I question into my earpiece, trying to keep my face straight as I growl the question.
“She can handle herself, I already told you. She’ll be fine. She won’t take kindly to you wrecking her plan.”
“She’s got no plan!”
“No. But she is certainly making one up right now. God knows what it involves.” I am by Andrew now, careful to act as if I have no idea who he is. He lets out a heavy sigh and turns to me.
“Evening,” he says stiffly, his eyes continually darting to his leader on the dance floor. “How are you, sir?” His Irish accent is forced into something that compares to Russian and he smiles lightly at me.
“Fine, thank you,” I bow my head minutely and try to smile as well. He hands me a glass of champagne, no doubt from the same place Graves got his. I sip it gratefully and let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. I feel someone at my shoulder and look to see a beautiful young women standing beside me.
Her dress is blood red, falling down to the floor. A split in the side reveals recently tanned legs, diamonds stud the gown in sporadic places, making it sparkle indefinitely. Her makeup is caked on, cheeks being flushed with blush and her full lips matching her dress in colour. Her eyeliner is dark and brings out her intelligent green eyes. Her black hair is pulled into a tight bun, but strands purposely fall to the side of her face, lining her sharp cheekbones.
She smiles mischievously at me, holding out her hand. When I stare at it skeptically she chuckles lightly; a low, husky sound, one that goes straight to my bones and informs me immediately that she is incredibly dangerous.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask me to dance?” she asks, her Italian accent morphing the words. “A handsome man like you, must have danced once or twice in your lifetime.”
I recover quickly and smile. “Of course,” I decide in a split second to keep my normal accent but make it a little posher, and bow slightly. “Please, forgive my manners. I was surprised that a beautiful women had not been asked to dance by a line of men.”
She laughs and I take her hand. Glancing back minutely at Andrew and giving him a nod. I lead her into throng of people, turn towards her, and grip her waist and hand. We sway in time to the music, letting it lead us. I catch Eden still dancing with Farren and have to swallow the urge to go and grab her from him.
“Marwol Bellezza,” she comments, one hand on my shoulder. Her green eyes are dangerous, I can feel them scrutinizing me, trying to find weak points. “That’s my name.”
I nod, swallowing and trying to formulate a plan in my mind. “Benedict,” I respond. Glancing again in Eden’s direction. Marwol seems to take no notice and continues to dance with me, her hand just a tad too tight on my shoulder, like she’s keeping me in place.
“What? Are there no surnames where you come from? Farren has one, so why not you?” Her eyes glitter as she grins when I whip my head back at her, the mention of our target quickly getting my attention.
“Jackson. Benedict Jackson,” I smile warmly at her. If she is close to Farren this could be my one chance to get close enough to him where Eden won’t get hurt. “You have a lovely name,” I comment, twirling her and bringing her quickly back to my chest. “It suits such a pretty face.”
She smiles, she’s barely stopped smiling, and nods. “Thank you. Mr Jackson.” The fake name on her tongue sounds odd to my ears. As we dance, I am careful not tread on her feet, fitting comfortably in stilettos that bring her to my height. More than once I catch her face so close to mine that our lips brush, her mouth soft and warm. Very contradictory to her personality. We continue to dance even after the first song is finished, talking and chatting, getting to know each other. Or rather she’s getting to know my alias: Benedict Jackson, a young business man with no wife and no kids. Only child, parents got divorced when he was young, that was what made him strive to be so successful in medical engineering.
After a while she rests her head on my shoulder and I sway lightly. I am very aware that she could be attempting to get me somewhere quiet. If she knows Farren Miller it is very possible that she is working for the Red Cats. She could be an assassin for all I know, Marwol Bellezza could be an alias. I would not be surprised.
“Mr Jackson, we might just have a spare bedroom,” Marwol eventually says, i can hear the smile in her voice and I have to fight the immediate impulse to run or contact any of the team.
“Is that so?” I grin down at her, making the suggestive tone in my voice very clear. “Then we might just have to go and give it a purpose.”
She chuckles lightly and looks up at me, cupping my face with her red fingernails. “That would be lovely.”
YOU ARE READING
Inhuman Origins (On Hold)
Science Fiction"They aren’t real humans, never have been. Even if they had come from a mother’s womb they would never have been normal. They are genetically engineered super humans. The government has made them and watched them and controlled them. The government...
