Marie's Movie Magic: I love, love, loveee this scene from Harry Potter! Neville's speech was so cute yet incredibly awkward. The entire time, I was just like, this is a perfect time to fire at the enemy bro, what are you doing???

I swear to God, Angel Johnson, if you fucking breathe, you are a dumbass bitch.
Swallowing a deep breath, and with a sweaty hand covering her mouth, Angel stayed hidden in the tiny closet after hearing the loud gunshot reverberate through the enormous living room. Her heart raced in utter fear and she was trying to be a tough-ass, hood bitch raised in Atlanta, but Angel was scared shitless.
This is how fine bitches die. This is it.
Her senses were on haywire as she tried to listen closely for any sounds but all Angel could hear was silence.
Then, low, groaning begs.
"P-please... y-you don't want m-me. I c-can get you the b-bigger dogs."
Bigger dogs? Angel was 75% sure the voice she heard was Harvey Weinstein or whatever his name was, but who was he talking to?
This. With her love for gossip, Angel blamed the aunties at Kayla's salon back at the A.
Then, the British voice she heard, made her panties wet and her kitty purr.
Okay, God. Listen, I know this ain't the time, but damn, the voice could get me pregnant. Do you really want me pregnant and dead, Lord?
It was soft, hoarse and filled with no emotion, yet the sound of his tone filled the whole house.
"Really? Bigger dogs? Feel free to elaborate."
Telling herself she could get a bit more comfortable to truly digest the tea coming her way, Angel nodded curiously, in support of the sexy-voice British guy who sounded to be torturing Harvey. She leaned into the soft cashmere coats that smelled of Dior Sauvage and held her urge to puke.
Before she could reflect further on her hatred of Dior Sauvage stemming from Atlanta men, Angel heard Harvey plead;
"Y-yes. You w-would want M-madame, right? S-she's the one w-who breaks the g-girls in, s-ships 'em over to all t-those Arabic s-sheikhs and Spanish d-drug lords-"
"She's dead."
Shit. Angel swore for Weinstein, eyes widened at the Britsh guy's interruption. It seemed like Harvey dearest shared the same sentiment as Angel as he began to whimper softly in fear.
"Just before I tore out her carotid artery to stop her from rambling in that godforsaken accent of hers, she directed me to you." The sound of his gun cocking followed his words and for the first time since Angel heard mystery-British-guy talk, he seemed either weirdly amused or bored. "So, Harvey, would you like to try again, mate?"
"I-I-"
"You have no one. It is unbelievably unfortunate that you failed to know the first rule of being useful and protected in an illegal organization; have blackmail, know people, and tell no one."
Lemme just take notes because that's good info, not gonna lie. Angel thought randomly, nodding at how the British guy's words made sense. Then, it slowly dawned on her that Harvey was in an illegal organization. One that sexually trafficked girls. Where was Olivia Benson when you needed her?
Ah shit.
Her eyes flittered nervously around her surroundings and the hallway she just came out of. How was she supposed to leave? Maybe she could wait until British-gun-guy left. She wasn't about to play savior to Harvey or something.
YOU ARE READING
The Kill Shot
Humor"what on earth are you doing, miss. johnson?" "fixing my lashes," "and why, miss. johnson, are you fixing them as yushikamov's men are currently fucking firing at us?" "so that if i die, at least i die cute," ------------- Angel Johnson is an aspiri...
