TWISTED ꜜ LOUIS PARTRIDGE

⟾ 11 | CATCH? CAUGHT.

And feelings meant nothing when it came to her.

They can't.

And they won't.

It wasn't a question of my own self morals—because I knew I'd want to let her go if it was—it was a question of my job. My standing. My ego, because I had a reputation to uphold, and I wasn't going to let a criminal (who wanted to kill me, might I add) stab me in the back in the end.

Because let's face it, she would.

So I have to be the one to do it first.

"Tell me you've got good news, Partridge," William said when I walked into the office, "I'm getting tired of the bad ones."

I didn't bother taking off my jacket. "It's good."

For Team Dagger, not for Ash.

"Wonderful," my partner said, "elaborate."

I didn't tell him about the kiss—I just told him I 'secured a sense of trusting' with her. I knew he'd overlook it through his hate for Ash. Ever since she left him humiliated in his own office, he'd hated her more than anything. That's why he joined Team Dagger, and that's why he was so bent on making sure I got my job done.

And I was glad for that, because I would have gotten off track otherwise.

So we made a plan with the group of Tacticals lended to us by the Agency, and we planned an extensive roll out that would garner success. I tried to ignore the doubts picking in the back on my brain while I went over everything. No regrets, I had to keep telling myself, this is your job.

And soon, all we had to do was wait.

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Tuesday, 7:34pm

Lou.

Ash.
Let me guess.
You're bored?

Yep :)

Let's meet somewhere then.

Where?

Trailer Park.
You know the coordinates.

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SHE WALKED IN WITH A SMILE ON HER FACE.

I stood there, in the center of rusting metal and cars, watching as her hair tossed side to side as the wind blew past her face. She wasn't wearing black today. I don't think I've ever seen her wearing something but the color, but this time she was wearing a white shirt.

She looked pretty.

And she was, but I shouldn't care.

"Lou the Lemon," she said, coming to a stop in front of me, "why do you look so sour today?"

Something was different about her—maybe it was the way she spoke to me. Usually it was full of spite or anger, but this time it was sweet. Like the way you'd talk to a friend. But I wasn't her friend, I was her opponent. I didn't want her to change, because that would make it harder for me to get my job done.