Played by the Enemy || Captain America || Book 2

Chapter 11: Ballroom Blitz

          Well, he clearly needs to be bathed in holy water. Maybe read the bible a couple of times. I wonder if an exorcism would work...? Only one way to find out; call the Winchesters!

          I judgmentally eye his startling white suit, bantering "And you're allegedly who, the milk man?"

          "Babe, I'm your ice cream man, and you're my sweet tooth."

          I snort, hip jutted out to one side and arms crossed condescendingly. "In case you haven't realized, this is a bar. You got ID junior?" Yeah okay, my response ain't that great, especially considering he's older than me. He doesn't know that though, and the makeup paired with the outfit I'm sporting makes me appear older than I really am. Doesn't being a girl come in handy sometimes?

          The red head barks a laugh, clearly amused as he fishes out his wallet and smoothly responds in sultry tone "If you wanted my number baby, all you had to do was ask."

          "Sorry to be the bringer of bad news kiddo, but I prefer my men old enough to shave."

          "Oh c'mon doll, you're breaking my heart."

          "You're not offering me your heart suga."

          "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," he half concedes, expression taking on a more severe turn. "But now isn't really the time to discuss it. Why don't you be a good little girl and scurry back to your corner. If you're lucky, I'll drop by afterwards and we can continues this arousing conversation, kay?" He winks so self-assuredly, like he's convinced that his offer is appealing to the point that I'll drop everything I'm doing and pine for his ever precious attention.

          Douchenozzle.

          "Oh I would baby, I really would," my voice is verging mockery, with an indiscernible, scathing undertone behind it. "But you see... when you've got a problem with Mark, you've got a problem with me. I'm sure your protection racket can do without one business. Not like you really care about any of the businesses on this strip anyway, they're merely conveniently placed for your move in on Castellano."

          With each word that flows from my mouth, Michael's face turns graver and graver, his plastic smile replaced entirely with a vindictive smirk. "You're one mouthy broad, aren't ya?"

          "Gotten me into trouble more times than I can count," I sweetly admit, folding my arms over one another on the bar counter and nonchalantly leaning forward and over them.

          The red head's eye twitches. "Keep going and I'll give the most trouble you've ever gotten."

          A genuine laugh breathes from my lungs and out my mouth, a stray hair that had escaped my side braid sweeping in front of my vision. "What you're offering is even less than a walk in the park, Mr. Weasley."

          "Last chance doll," he growls a warning, the air of brash arrogance still holding onto him for dear life. "Beat it, or get beat."

          I subtly push Mark behind me, hand groping for one of his bottles of beer underneath the bar. "I thought you'd never ask."

          In the time it takes for them to blink and register my response, I've already glided over the bar counter and swiped my leg to kick the semi-automatic hand gun from one of his body guard's hands, as well as smash the firmly gripped, cool neck of the beer bottle over the other one's head. Comically enough, as the fight breaks out, Ballroom Blitz by the Sweet blasts from the ancient Jukebox, turning the scene into quite a movie-esque moment.