Page 26 of Trigger Happy Ending

“Like you?”

She pauses, letting the question land, before her lips curl upwards. It’s a fake smile. I know because it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Exactly.”

Finally, a bit of honesty from her. Something tells me she’s been in the murder business for a while. Her eyes glowed when she walked inside the weapons closet and took in all the vicious options. It was the first time I saw a genuine light in her eyes. Only someone who draws joy from inflicting pain would get turned on by that.

A few moments pass in uncomfortable silence. If I’m gonna ask, it’s gotta be now.

“What was the stunt on the plane about?”

Her brows lift like she has no idea what I’m talking about. “What stunt?”

Faking memory loss now? Goddammit, she drives me insane. I can’t be bothered playing these games. She’s wasting my time and enjoying it.

Fuck it. Fuck her.

I push off the fridge and begin to walk back to my room, when her voice stops me.

“You might know them as Sparrows. Are you familiar with the term, Soren?”

I recognize it. I’ve heard it in past missions, but not too often. Spies, women mostly. Skilled manipulators who wield their beauty as a weapon.

“I’m a version of one,” she confirms. “Except the Agency calls us Black Widows. Highly trained spies, fluent in the art of manipulation. I use intimacy to get information, mostly from men.”

And just like that, the whole damn plane scene snaps into focus. I don’t know what’s more infuriating: the fact that she motherfucking played me, or that I fell for it.

“So, you were trying to get intel out of me?”

“No.” She laughs softly. “I did it because I could. To fuck with you. Because you tried to fuck with me, did you not?”

Rhetorical question, I’m not answering that, because that’s exactly what I was trying to do. And she knew it.

“Yeah.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “That’s what I thought.”

There’s a clear tone of disappointment in her voice, before it turns to straight out venom.

“If there’s one thing you should know, it’s this: you’ve never met anyone like me. You never will again. You might look tough, talk a big game—once a big, bad soldier or Special Ops or whatever the hell you were. But know this.”

Her eyes travel down my body, and I catch myself flexing.

“You’re not special, Soren. I’ve met dozens of versions of you. Killed many more. You’re ordinary and predictable. You’re just another man.”

Conversation over, she slides off the kitchen stool and strides to her room, slamming the door shut.

I stay rooted to the goddamn floor, the hatred now on par with my unstoppable attraction to her. She read me like a map and marked every weak point. My hands ball into fists, not in anger, but in frustration that she’s right.

I wasn’t special. Never has been.

Chapter 13

Soren

Fifteen Years Ago

Have you ever heard the sound of hope? I have. Once. It’s families shouting names, kids laughing and yelling for their loved ones in high-pitched squeals. There’s joy in the air, an electricity your brain feeds off. Maybe that’s what some would call it happiness. But I don’t know. I’ve always struggled with the concept of happiness. I haven't had much to be happy about in my life. By product of coming from a broken home, I guess. Happiness is foreign to people who grew up like me. Forced to live on the streets and fend for yourself at a young age.

But returning home after my second deployment, I felt it. Hope.

I was excited to be home. I’d found purpose being in the military which was having a positive effect on me. I was keen to relax, attempt to live some sort of normal life before my next deployment. Because the next time I put the uniform on, I was going back as a special forces operative. Strike Force Magenta. And I couldn’t fucking wait.