The Pentagon Paradox

Chapter Nineteen

SCARLET

*trigger warning: this chapter contains mentions of vomiting and spiking drinks*

I throw the phone on the bed and run a hand through my hair, taking a deep deep breath. Grey hasn't been responding since yesterday; he didn't even show up at work. Greyson Ledger didn't show up at work. He comes 15 minutes early every fucking day.

Not only is Grey not here, but it's the night of the mission. I've probably never been on a mission without Grey being in my ear. It doesn't mean anything, but I'm worried. He never disappears like this, never.

I have no time and no mind to worry about Grey tonight. I have to get through this mission, and it has to be perfect.

Taking off this stupid maid outfit and the daggers I have hidden underneath, I walk into the bathroom and retrieve my makeup bag from the vanity. One that's been there for a while—I'm pretty sure half of what's inside is already expired. I sit on the bathroom countertop, and I grab the black eyeshadow from the bag along with a thin brush. Eyeliner can eat shit with its mission-impossible-level straight lines.

I use the eyeshadow as an eyeliner and smoke it out. Adding a blood red lip the same shade as my dress, I walk back and look at myself in the mirror. I look like one smoking hot show, yet I don't feel like it. I take a deep breath. Grey will be okay. Grey will be safe. Grey is safe.

I walk to the bed, putting aside all my worry for Grey and grabbing the silky red dress. I'm not even sure I can call it a dress. It's a leftover piece of silk that they sewed together, with a slit up my thigh and an opening all the way to the small of my back. Taking off my shorts, I slide the dress on, adjusting the three chains and the snake pendant that hold the back together so they're not a tangled mess.

I put my heels on, grabbed my shiny gold bag, and my phone. Even though I know the moment I get there, I'll slip it into Matheo's pocket along with my keys. These were supposed to be with Gre– No! Enough worrying about Grey now. I swear I'll murder his ass when I see him.

⇔

The cold breeze hits my legs as I get out of the cab to the familiar bar. I was here a few days ago to check the atmosphere, as I was instructed. I made use of the visit and asked for help from a bartender with my "alcohol addiction." So now every time I order any alcoholic drinks, I get water.

I walk up to the bar entrance, taking off my fake fur jacket. I'm met with two guards, not one step into the hot mess of music, poker, and dancers. "Your ID," the shortie with a beard says.

"She doesn't need one. Boss would love to know she's back," the tall, bald one with a scar across his eye says. I recognized him from last time, and I gave him a small, innocent smile, handing him my jacket.

His boss, Stefan, is the owner of the bar. From the knowledge Theo gave me, this is the first time the Russians have come to this bar, and it'll probably be the last.

I take slow and certain steps into the bar, the poker table coming into view, and with it the Russians. I made sure to put on one of my strongest, most vibrant men pulling perfumes so when I do what I'm about to do, it goes as perfect as I want it to be.

I sidestep a few people and walk directly beside their table, making sure not to look anyone in the eye as all the men on my side divert their eyes from the table to the woman walking with a man-eater smell.

"Welcome back, lovely," the bartender says as I sit on the stool in front of him. "I promised you I'd be back, didn't I?"

"And you kept it. The usual?" I nod as I watch him prepare another drink for a man a few stools over. He walks inside and comes out with a shaker that he pours the contents of into a cup and hands it to me.