~MOUSE~
The heavy oak door creaked softly as they entered Dimitri's dimly lit office.
It was far too extravagant for her liking, but Ophelia was never one to judge.
Large glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, revealing a panoramic view of the city lights below.
The glow of distant skyscrapers painted an ethereal backdrop against the darkening sky.
He was so comfortable in his little cage.
In his power.
He couldn't possibly think she could be a threat.
He was an idiot.
Her penetrating gaze swept across the room, meticulously dissecting every detail.
The air was filled with the faint scent of aged alcohol and cigars.
The absence of cameras told her the room was also soundproof.
Both of those were good, but it also meant König couldn't see her anymore and her team would have to rely on her.
As the door clicked shut, the sound of Dimitri turning the lock echoed through the room, sealing them inside.
She moved with deliberate grace, a panther stalking through the shadows.
The subtle echo of her heels on the polished hardwood floor resonated across the otherwise silent space.
The dim light played upon the curves of her figure, revealing glimpses of a carefully concealed allure.
Seating herself at his imposing desk, letting the cold wood touch her bare skin, she made a conscious decision to let her heels dangle just above the floor.
He wanted to see her as meek and innocent.
"I've always wanted to see your office. I can't believe you get this view every day. Is this the looking out to the Southside of the city?" she asked in her fake soft accent.
Dimitri smirked as he began to unbutton the top of his shirt.
"North of it, gorgeous," he said with a grin as he looked her over.
A seductive smirk crossed her lips.
She knew she was wrong, but she also needed to make sure he didn't see her as a threat.
Boosting his ego was good, but the whole point of saying it was so that her team knew she was there.
"Copy," she heard König voice in her ear and she was almost positive she could hear him walking.
No.
He was running.
She couldn't think about it as she turned her gaze to the man in front of her.
Her fingers traced the edge of the polished mahogany, feeling the cool surface beneath her skin.
The air between them crackled with tension as she waited.
Dimitri, a silhouette in the shadows, began to move.
The soft shuffle of his footsteps betrayed an air of confidence, a man accustomed to navigating the intricate web that defined his world.
He hadn't met her yet.
And she was a spider.
The glow of the city outside filtered through the tinted windows, casting fleeting highlights on his sharp features.
Dimitri's movements were deliberate, each step calculated as he closed the distance between them.
The dim light played upon the expensive fabric of his attire, casting shadows that accentuated the contours of his frame.
Her pulse quickened as his eyes roamed over the delicate lace of her lingerie, desire and hunger in his gaze.
He wouldn't look at her like that if he saw her scars.
He walked between her legs and the air crackled with the scent of his expensive cologne.
She liked König's smell better.
Noël's smell.
Leaning over her, Dimitri's dark eyes searched her face.
Her hand emerged from her side, moving with a practised seduction as her fingers wrapped around his red silk tie.
Bringing him closer, her eyes met his with a smouldering intensity.
If she pretended it was the stupid hooded man waiting out in the chopper she could pull this off easily.
Dimitri's voice, a low and commanding cadence, cut through the charged silence of the room.
"You want something from me?" His eyes, dark and penetrating, held a challenge, a silent dare.
He wanted the thrill of the chase.
She could do that.
A coy smile played on her lips as she tilted her head, meeting his gaze with an air of feigned innocence.
"I'm just here to play. Whatever you want, you can have," She purred, her voice a sultry whisper.
Ugh, she wanted to throw up in her own mouth.
His fingers traced a subtle path along the edge of her lace-clad shoulder, the touch both possessive and exploratory.
"Play, hm?" he mused, a knowing glint in his eyes.
"Let's see just how well you can follow instructions. Lay down." He ordered and Ophelia tried not to roll her eyes as she sat back a little.
The red silk tie tightened slightly in her grasp as she maintained eye contact.
"So you'll be a good girl for me?" His voice, a seductive purr, seemed to caress the very fabric of the room.
Ophelia met his gaze with a nod, a subtle submission that defied the complexity of her intentions.
Her hand, still wrapped around his red silk tie, tightened in response.
"The best," she whispered, her words a soft promise that lingered in the charged atmosphere.
Before he could speak again she yanked the tie downwards and in a fluid motion, slammed his temple into the desk below them.
The crack of bone meeting polished mahogany echoed in the room.
He dropped and was out like a light.
For a sadist, it really didn't take much to knock him out.
She was a little disappointed.
She wanted more of a fight.
Ophelia's exasperated huff echoed through the dimly lit office as she surveyed the unconscious figure sprawled on the table.
"Men," she muttered, a hint of disdain in her voice accompanied by a dismissive eye roll.
"Jesus fuck Mouse, we need him alive!" Zeus said in her ear over the comms and she couldn't help but smirk.
Grabbing Dimitri by the back of his jacket, she dragged his unconscious form across the room with a mix of strength and irritation.
The weight of him seemed inconsequential as she effortlessly maneuvered him into his desk chair, the leather creaking in protest.
Undoing his tie with a swift motion, she took a moment to assess the situation.
With a methodical efficiency, she secured his hands behind the chair, the knot cinched tightly enough to send a subtle warning that resistance would be futile.
He could pull, but it would cut off his circulation.
The chair scraped against the floor as Ophelia pulled it away from the desk, a strategic move to ensure Dimitri had no way to attack her.
It was hard to do in heels, but she managed.
Placing him in the centre of the room, she stood over him with an air of controlled authority.
A metallic whisper resonated through the room as Ophelia withdrew a knife from her holster, the glint of its blade catching the ambient light.
Swift and decisive, she smacked Dimitri hard across the face, the force of the blow causing his eyes to snap open.
A faint cut marred his lip, and she could see a bruise forming on his forehead from where she had smashed it against the desk.
She smiled down at him, the expression a calculated mix of triumph and danger.
"Hey there, pretty boy," she taunted, her fake accent discarded like a mask, her real accent slipping out as she stared down at him.
The practised ease with which she flicked the knife between her fingers spoke of a lethal proficiency, a skill honed.
Dimitri's eyes widened, a moment of recognition before a surge of rage contorted his face.
He knew he was in shit.
And he knew exactly what she was.
"Got a few questions for you," she continued, her tone laced with a lethal charm.
"Shit!" Dimitri's curse reverberated through the room as he yanked his arms.
Ophelia raised a brow as she watched.
His struggles against the restraints intensified a futile attempt to regain control.
With a roll of her eyes, she backhanded him across the face, letting the blow sting her hand.
The loud smack rang through the room and his body went still.
"Shut up and listen," she commanded in a dead tone, the heel of her shoe pressing into his leg, a physical reminder of her newfound dominance.
She wanted him to feel small.
Leaning down to his level, Ophelia fixed her gaze on him.
The playful demeanour she had displayed moments ago melted away, replaced by an icy resolve.
"Who do you work for?" she demanded, her voice devoid of sweetness, now an emotionless instrument.
Dimitri met her gaze, the conflict evident in his eyes.
"You fucking who-" The curse died on Dimitri's lips as Ophelia's grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head down towards her knee.
She felt the crack of bone and heard him scream in pain as blood poured down her skin.
His head snapped back, a groan escaping through gritted teeth.
Teeth now stained red with blood.
"Name. Now." Ophelia demanded as she stared into his eyes.
Dimitri, despite the pain, met her gaze with a defiant silence, his eyes burning with an intensity that mirrored the seething rage within.
He had some fight after all.
A predatory smile crept back onto Ophelia's face, the sudden shift in demeanour revealing the dual nature of the dance they were engaged in.
"Oh, Dimitri, see, this is what I love about this," she mused, stepping forward and placing a hand on the chair behind his head.
The startling force of Ophelia's fist crashing into Dimitri's nose echoed through the room.
His scream, accompanied by the splatter of blood across his face and down his shirt, sounded around her like a sweet melody.
Shaking her hand from the sting, Ophelia sighed, a mix of satisfaction and nonchalance in the aftermath of her strike.
"A man once told me I needed to work on my punch. I think it's pretty good, don't you?" she said sweetly, the dissonance between her tone and the brutality of the scene creating an eerie atmosphere around her.
Dimitri, his face now a canvas of pain, glared at her with a mix of hatred and defiance.
She sighed as she walked forward and plunged her knife into his kneecap with a wet squelch.
The man screamed bloody murder.
She would have been worried if it weren't for the clearly soundproofed walls and the fact they all thought she was fucking him.
"Come on, give me a name," she urged her voice a honeyed whisper that masked the underlying threat in her eyes.
The tip of her knife traced a delicate path over his face, a chilling dance from the corner of his eye down.
Dimitri bloodied and restrained, met her gaze with a stubborn defiance.
The air in the room thickened as Ophelia repeated her question, her gaze locked onto Dimitri's face with unyielding intensity.
"Who sent the missiles to be smuggled through the border?" she demanded.
His initial response was a defiant shake of the head, but Ophelia's sigh carried a tinge of sadness.
The knife rose again, a silent threat poised to pierce through the veil of silence that shielded the truth.
"Okay, okay! Wait!" he yelled, desperation colouring his voice.
Ophelia, a portrait of controlled dominance, lowered the knife, her expression expectant as she waved her hand for him to continue.
Dimitri's admission hung in the air, a fragment of truth in the web of deception.
"I don't know much. All I know is that Viktor Ivanovitch Volkov spent a shit tonne of money to get them to the border. I don't know why," he confessed.
Ophelia turned her head away, absorbing the information with a calculated nonchalance.
"Get that, Zeus?" she asked, her voice sharp, and she heard the rapid typing of keys in response.
"Affirmative. Viktor Ivanovitch Volkov is a politician. Dirty but not the culprit. He knows more. Make him squeal," Zeus instructed from her ear.
Ophelia turned her attention back to the man in front of her, a smile playing on her lips, a small pout adding a touch of theatrical charm.
"Viktor Ivanovitch Volkov, huh?" she mused, the dim light casting a subtle gleam in her eyes.
"Oh, you pretty little thing," Ophelia purred, using his own words as she placed the tip of her knife delicately on Dimitri's neck.
"We're definitely going to play now,"