Betrayal | Ghost x Reader

Bargaining Chips

word count: 4.6k

"I think I have something you might like," the grin on my face only seemed to grow bigger with each passing millisecond. The British man's eyes continued to bore into mine, his icy gaze not letting up for even a second. I'd be lying if I said his sharp stare didn't give me a sense of unease, but like hell if I was going to show it.

The room fell silent once more as both men said nothing, the air surrounding all three of us seemed to grow even heavier as I waited for any sort of response, any indication that they were intrigued, any hint of emotion at all, but I was only met with annoyed looks and menacing stares. I felt the blade of the knife press harder against my throat, letting me know his patience was wearing thin.

"I know it's Major Hassan you're after," I finally spoke, I studied the eyes of each man. The Scottish man's lips curled into a faint smirk as the balaclava'd bitch finally dropped the knife from my neck and re-sheathed it back on his thigh strap, all in one quick fluid motion.

I stretched out my neck, not realizing I had craned it so far behind me, a light stinging feeling erupted at the top of my spine, and my eyebrows furrowed in slight pain before my expression returned back to its usual bitch face. "I know where you can find him," I continued. My voice was low and steady as I made sure to articulate each word. 

The British man fell back, slowly making his way beside his butt-buddy, mohawk man. They gave each other a look, their eyes spoke a language only they seemed to know. It seemed like hours of conversation could be shared with just one glance. After a second, they both turned back to me. Each pair of eyes looking me up and down, studying me. 

"Where is he?" The Scottish man finally asked, breaking the silenced tension of the room. The skull man crossed his arms tightly against his chest, his biceps bulging against the thin fabric of his long sleeved shirt. I rolled my eyes, how scary and intimidating. I fixated my gaze back on the Scot, "Las Almas, I'm not sure who or what that is but apparently they owe AQ some favors," I replied, I instinctively bit my lip, had I shared too much? 

I furrowed my eyebrows once more, my green orbs narrowing down at the Scot, soaking up every expression, or lack thereof, he made. He seemed to do the same to me. It felt like hours of just us staring at each other, each of us studying every move, every breath, anything at all that could be observed from the other person. 

"Anything else?" The skull-faced man interjected, of course there is you stupid Brit. I rolled my eyes, "why is that not enough for you?" The Scottish man let out a low dry laugh, "do you enjoy playing with your life?" he growled as his lips pursed together, making a thin tight line. 

I observed each of the two men's body language, taking note of the veins twitching in their arms, the sweat glistening on Mr. Mohawk's forehead, either from the dank ass room we were in, or from frustration. The Brit's hand slowly grazing his pistol, brushing his fingertips lightly against the the handle.

I flashed a cocky smile at his stupid question, "that depends..." I drawled, speaking lowly and slow, my pearly whites flashing with each syllable flowing from my mouth. I relaxed back further into the metal seat, sighing lightly, a ghost of a smile still etched on my face. "That would mean I'd have to care about it in the first place," I remarked, a tone of disdain evident in my voice. 

Obviously I was bluffing, and I prayed the way I portrayed myself would keep them from seeing right through my semblance like an open window. I kept the cocky smile plastered on my face, flashing looks of judgement and indifference between the two men before me. 

The longer I held my gaze between them, I could almost see the irritation dripping from every pore and crevice of their bodies; and I must say, I was enjoying every second of it. Both of their patience were wearing detrimentally thin, the skull man's calm facade deteriorating faster than the Scot's. I could see his jaw tightening under the thin layer of his balaclava. "I suggest you start talking woman," he barked, his angry words coated in pure venom.