~MOUSE~
Three weeks.
Three.
Fucking.
Weeks.
Apparently, that's how long two people who shamelessly fucked each other could go without talking.
She had never been as furious as she was.
She was used to the feeling of waking up alone, but for some reason when he did it, it felt like a betrayal.
And what she hated even more was that it hurt.
Nothing was supposed to hurt her, and here she was.
The warmth that had enveloped her the night before had dissipated like a morning mist, leaving behind a cold reality.
She was sorer than she had ever been in her life and had a pounding headache with pure embarrassment searing through her blood.
His absence in the room that morning told her everything she needed to know.
He regretted it.
Which only doubled her embarrassment when she woke up in her own bed in a completely empty room.
Of course, he regretted it.
He was nine years older.
Her superior.
And he hated vulnerability.
She had learnt that pretty fast.
The morning had gone downhill from there.
After she showered and dressed to cover the bruises he'd left on her body she'd greeted the rest of the team in the mess hall.
All equally hungover and miserable.
That paired with their Colonel's shitty attitude as he made everyone who went to the bar run laps around the base as he refused to look her in the eye.
She guessed they were forgetting it happened.
She needed to get over it.
She was used to it.
She kept telling herself she knew it would happen.
It was all she was really good for.
She was just a pillar of flesh she'd turned into a weapon.
Sometimes she forgot that.
The shared room that had once begun to feel safe now felt like a battleground.
He wouldn't talk to her, wouldn't look at her and if he could help it, tried not to be in the room with her at all.
Ophelia, unable to bear the deafening silence within the four walls, retreated back to the couch.
Yeah, it was petty, but she didn't give a fuck.
At least on the couch, she could sleep.
He didn't message her. She didn't message him.
She did however message Amara.
The 141 was in Las Almas and apparently, she was having a hard time with Ghost.
She called him 'insufferable' 'terrifying' and 'white boy'.
Ophelia was pretty sure that meant she had the hots for him.
She just told the woman to make friends with Soap and get him to whack the LT over the head when he was being a dick.
Much like she used to.
For the first time, she missed them.
The Los Vaqueros and the 141.
She'd written and deleted a few messages to John.
She didn't want him to know what she was doing, he would be so furious with her.
The 141 and KorTac didn't have a great relationship.
Yeah, KorTac paid way better but the 141 did things to help people because they wanted to help people.
She wondered what that said about her.
Two weeks passed with Ophelia sleeping on the couch, each night a silent protest against the void that had enveloped her.
She fucking hated silence.
Apparently, three weeks was how long it took Callisto and Zeus to prep for their next mission.
In some ways, it was good for Ophelia. The wound on her side had healed and she could return to the field.
On the other hand, she was bored out of her mind and had taken to running laps every morning at five am just to pass the time.
Sitting in the intel room she looked down at the diagram in front of her.
Dimitri Kozlov's club loomed like a fortress, its classy façade concealing the illicit activities that fuelled the underbelly of the city.
He was the mob boss to go to in Russia if you needed something done.
His father had been running it all before him but mysteriously vanished a year before Dimitri took over.
All assets had fallen to Dimitri.
And by the look of his club.
He was doing very well for himself.
Callisto stood before a large screen displaying a blueprint of the club's interior.
Her black hair pooled behind her as she drew points on the map.
The hum of whispered conversations and the soft glow of the overhead lights made Ophelia's head swim as she leaned back in her chair.
Zeus's fingers danced across a keyboard, navigating through a virtual landscape of blueprints and security protocols.
The image of the club's interior materialized on the screen, a snapshot of the labyrinthine layout that awaited them.
The pulsating beats of music and the dim lights suggested a world of revelry, but underneath it all there were snakes.
Ophelia let her fingers dance with practised ease around the hilt of the knife in her hand.
The one she slept with, the one that kept her safe.
And the one she wanted to ditch at the hooded man in the corner.
The metallic glint of the blade caught the ambient light in the dimly lit room, casting fleeting shadows on her face.
The weight of the weapon felt reassuring, a tangible extension of her mind as she flicked it through her fingers.
Her gaze alternated between the weapon in her hand and the image on the screen, where the activities of the strip club played out.
Of course, it was a strip club.
What mob boss didn't own one.
She was just tired of the cliché.
Why couldn't there be any bakery-owning mob bosses?
The revelation brought a twist to Ophelia's expression.
She twirled the knife around her fingers as she looked at the image in front of them.
As Ophelia observed the women in the club.
There was a stark contrast between the ones dancing, adorned in scant attire and masks, and the others standing with men, draped in extravagant dresses.
"The dichotomy you're witnessing is intentional," Callisto explained, her eyes reflecting a blend of detachment and disinterest.
"Kozlov exploits this contrast to maintain a semblance of legitimacy. Those dancing are the distraction, while all transactions happen behind closed doors."
Zeus broke the silence with a low, confident tone.
"Kozlov is hosting one of his parties tonight, and that's our ticket in. Callisto managed to get her hands on an invitation, but there's a catch. It has to be someone who can navigate the language barrier."
All eyes in the room turned to Ophelia, an unexpected silence following Zeus's revelation.
Ophelia, usually simmering with fiery determination only shrugged in response.
A hush fell over the room, and the weight of the movement hung in the air.
Ophelia, meeting the collective gaze of her team, felt a wicked smile curve her lips.
"I'll be more than happy to," she replied, her voice laced with wicked glee as she twirled a knife between her fingers.
Her eyes remained fixed on the image of Dimitri.
Callisto, recognizing Ophelia's coy smile, smirked knowingly and threw a bag onto the table with a confident thud.
"Told you she'd say that," Callisto remarked with a wide smile.
Ophelia rolled her eyes at the woman's words and opened the bag, revealing a long, blood-red silky dress.
Ophelia's gaze shifted from the image of Dimitri to the dress, her expression betraying a mix of surprise and appreciation.
In each photo they had of the man, he always seemed to be wearing something red.
Something Callisto had definitely noticed.
The fabric seemed to ripple like liquid, the rich red hue that pooled like blood around her fingers.
"You're going to fit right in with Kozlov's world," Callisto remarked with a hint of mischief, her smirk widening.
Ophelia smirked and dropped the dress on the table.
"Also, and please don't stab me, you'll need this," Callisto said as she winced and handed Ophelia a small black box.
Ophelia frowned in confusion as she pulled the box close and gently lifted the lid.
Her eyes widened in shock and disgust as she saw the red lace staring back at her.
Slamming the box shut she swung her gaze over to Callisto.
"You're joking, right?" she said in horror as she eyed the box in her hand.
Callisto just shrugged and pointed towards the image on the computer.
"It's a strip club," she said as if Ophelia didn't understand.
Lingerie.
Callisto had given her lingerie.
Ophelia threw the box into the bag in front of her and glared at Zeus.
"You want me to sleep with him for information?" she asked in disgust as she gripped her knife tight.
Zeus raised a brow.
"Of course not, but Callisto is right. You need to blend in," he said with a shrug.
"But given the chance you totally should," Roze said from beside her as she eyed the pictures of Dimitri.
Ophelia turned her gaze towards the woman, a small smile breaking across her face.
"For fun," Roze clarified as she looked back at the man on the screen.
Ophelia huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.
"Fine. To blend in," she said as she looked over at Callisto.
"Thank you," she said stiffly and watched as the woman grinned.
"You won't thank me after you see the shoes," she replied with a sadistic smile.
Zeus smiled at Ophelia, a subtle acknowledgment of confidence as he nodded to her.
"Think you can handle it, Mouse?" he asked his tone a mix of reassurance and playful challenge.
Ophelia rolled her eyes in response, drawing the bag closer to her.
"Pretty cartel boys, espionage and strippers," she mused with a serious expression, her words laden with a touch of sarcasm.
A hint of a smirk played on her lips as she continued.
"The reason I joined, to be honest."
She heard the team laugh around her as she crossed her legs and drew the bag onto her lap.
"When do we leave?" Ophelia asked, her gaze focused on Zeus.
His response carried a weight, and he looked down at his watch before answering.
"Four hours. Everyone get ready. We'll need to be on standby in case she gets made," Zeus instructed, the urgency in his tone cutting through the room.
Ophelia smiled as she picked up the bag, a silent acknowledgment of the task ahead.
Walking over to Roze she ignored the rigid man in the back of the room that seemed to be staring at her from under his hood.
"Help me get ready?" she requested, and Roze, eager to assist, jumped up.
"Of course!" Roze replied, her enthusiasm evident as she led Ophelia to her barracks.
The room remained charged with a sense of purpose as each member of the team prepared for the impending mission.
This was a mission, and she couldn't wait to get her hands on Kozlov.