SICARIO | BOOK THREE.

Chapter Twenty Five: The Beginning Of The End

The ballroom was filled with swaying couples. Their dresses sparkled in the orange fluorescent lights, their masks did the same. Some stood to the sides without a date, others were at the buffet in the far corner, munching on the slightly stale, rich people foods.

Freddie stood right in front of me on the other side of the ball in his glorious old fashioned black suit, a mask covering the space around his eyes, and he was watching me like a hawk, orange-brown eyes glinting at me, silently seducing me.

I craned my neck heavenwards, and found the blood red mask on the face of the most terrifying man I had ever come across, and that was saying something. I had met many men who attempted of silencing and distancing a room like Kirill, but none had successfully done it.

The moment he walked into the room, it felt as if a dark, heavy cloud rested on the shoulders of everyone in here. He was kind though, but I saw the devil glint in his eyes behind his kindness and hospitality. The man was walking sin, and although he was adored by the women in this room, I was practically crawling out of my skin when he caught my eye.

He gave me a gentle nod, as if to say that he was with us, and he was watching.

At first, it looked like a normal group of people moving into the ballroom. But then I noticed that they didn't come from the front of the room, they came from the back. They all wore the same suit, the same mask, the same everything. They were all roughly the same build too, the same dead look in their eyes.

Paying another glance above me, I found he had taken off his mask and was now smoking a cigarette. He didn't find my gaze this time, for he was looking at Freddie, and then he nodded once, and my head snapped to Freddie. But I only spotted the top of his head as he disappeared into the growing crowd.

I followed suit, twisting and excusing gently to get to the center of the ballroom.

I was there, almost. But I never reached it, for a hand—as cold as ice—curled around my wrist and pulled me back, holding me in place. I spun around, but before I could say or do anything, I was pulled into a dance.

The man was slightly taller than I was, smelled of pine and sweet cigars, and had sandy blond hair.

"Juliette Dupont," he said, a delicate slur to my name, his accent thick and Russian. "It is time," he concluded softly, his breath a gentle breeze against the side of my face, "I don't want to take you with force, but I will if I have to. It is either you come with me, and we keep your lover alive, or you struggle and resist and inevitably, you will watch him bleed out. Do you understand me?"

With tears burning behind my eyes, I nodded my head.

I found light blue eyes once more, and Kirill smiled at me, it was a gentle one, one that reassured me.

His hand took mine and he led me out of the crowd, and the very moment I tried to pull my hand from his hold, I watched him dig his hand in his pocket and then he flipped out a knife, his eyes giving me a swift, strict warning.

Faltering, I allowed him to tug me behind him until we were out of sight of the crowd, and just as I thought, he did not keep his promise. Not that he made me any, but I told myself he wouldn't actually hurt me if I tried to walk on my own.

But he retracted his arm, and the back of his hand crashed against my cheek. My mouth throbbed as my head whipped to the side, and when I came back, groaning, he said, "That was for trying to resist. Do you not understand? If I harm you, she will be mad. She will have my head, Mrs Archer doesn't like when we hurt her people,"

Confusion buried itself so deep within my chest that it clenched, "What?" I whispered, "Who's- what the fuck?"

I waved me off before pulling me behind him again, "Nevermind. You will know the truth soon. She wants to see you first, she's just around the corner—"

The warm, sticky splatter of blood against the side of my face made me close my eyes, and the hand around mine loosened and Sandy dropped dead at my feet. I turned on my heel, met with orange-brown eyes, and noticed that he was embarrassingly outnumbered.

They threw a perfect hit to his jaw, then to his abdomen, and then to his face once more. I pulled the dagger from the back of Sandy's head before I tossed it, and it sunk into the temple of the man with the black hair, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes.

I pulled the glock from my thigh before lifting my leg, and it crashed against the junk of a man with similar black hair. I pressed the barrel of the silencer between his eyes and pressed my finger down, and the dull noise of a gunshot vibrated off the walls.

Freddie had just finished stomping one of their faces in when we met eyes, and then everything happened in slow motion. I saw the silver glint of a dagger fly past my head, missing me only with a few inches. I spun around, watching a man fall onto his back with the dagger stuck between his eyes.

"God," Kirill said, pulling his suit jacket so it sat more uncomfortable, "I was never one for violence in a public place,"

"I find that hard to believe," I cocked my head as he walked past me and stepped on the mans chest, then pull his dagger out. He made a face as he shook the blood of the silver, "I'm more of a torture in privacy kind of man," he smiled as he used a black handkerchief to clean the knife off before dropping it on the dead man.

"So," he said, nodding to the corner, "There's going to be many more coming. It's either you fight them and potentially die- because, well, let's face it," he put his hands in his pockets, "these are trained Russian assassins. Who better than to kill them than their own, huh?"

Freddie took stand next to me, his eyes narrowed, "You've been known to betray your partners,"

And Kirill Ivanov smiled a sick, twisted smile, "Oh, but we're not partners. Are we?"

Freddie grabbed my hand and pulled me behind him to the corner, and I faintly heard Kirill hum the tune of a folk song, and then realized the man was genuinely psychotic.

Freddie checked his gun as I did the same, and then he gave me a nod, and I gave him one back. There was a red oak door right in front of us, and for a moment I truly couldn't believe the entirety of the group was behind this one door. But I knew better.

I told Freddie to wait with a hand as I slowly approached the door. I checked the door, nearly laughing out of disbelief when it slowly opened. I cocked my gun, and quickly realized there was someone at the door on the other side.

I kicked the door open, and heard a pained groan before I opened fire through the door, and then there was silence.

Opening the door again, I slowly entered the room, noticing the bullet holes on the other wall, the water from a shattered vase dripping n the floor, but what I didn't notice was the hand snapping towards me before crashing against the side of my head.

My body moved to the side, my grip weakening on the gun before it was kicked from my hand. I could almost focus again, the throbbing on the side of my head slowly passing but it was futile when a palm crashed against my nose bridge, sending my body and head back once more.

I looked up through bleary eyes, watching a hand close the door, lock it and then my eyes travelled to the face.

And I frowned.

Before I could question why it was a she who was beating my ass, she continued. Her heeled boot connected with my midsection, and I curled up into one as pain exploded from the point of impact. A hand curled in my hair at the roots, slowly pulling me up to my knees.

Then she dropped to her hunches, and her lips curled into a smile as she said, "We meet. Finally."