A/N: Some mild sexual images at the beginning of this chapter, and depictions of violence at the end.
Enjoy!
Liam finished buttoning his vest in place and smoothed it over his chest. A twinge of irritation went through him as a small, disc-shaped object in the breast pocket passed beneath his touch. He removed the poker chip and studied it with narrowed eyes and a perturbed downward tilt to his mouth. Thanks for the great game, sweetie...Maddon's voice echoed in his head. He glared down at the poker chip for a moment, then looked up around the room. Liam's usual neatness had fallen victim to his wild night between the sheets with Maddon and as a result the room lay in utter disarray.
The bed was a mess, sheets torn up from one corner, pillows strewn about the floor, the wrinkled and sweaty comforter beside them. Even letting his eyes linger there for one second awoke a tantalizing image in his mind's eye again: Maddon's hands secured above his head, held there with his belt, his small, silk-smooth, cat-like body writhing with pleasure as Liam touched him. The dresser across the room, slightly askew against the wall, its drawers hanging open, gave no quarter to his imagination either. He could still feel the smooth, cool wood on his chest, feel his hands clenching and his mouth falling open in groans and lewd phrases with each of Maddon's shockingly strong, strikingly passionate thrusts. It seemed every surface in the provided a similar memory to set his heart momentarily racing. Even one of the paintings, which were bolted to the walls, had been torn asunder somehow. Liam crossed to it, barely sparing a glance for the colorful flower garden on display in the frame, and picked at a deep gouge left in the wall by the painting's shifting. His light scratching tore through what little remained of the wall and without warning his knuckle disappeared into a small hole. He jumped in surprise and turned to look at the door in alarm, half-expecting to see a member of the management staff there to chastise him. But his room remained empty. Liam pushed the painting back up into its normal position and took a step away from the wall, satisfied when it remained in place. The smile dropped into a frown as the painting jerked loose again after a second, tearing the hole in the wall slightly wider as it went.
"Fuck," Liam growled, glancing at the door again. He inspected the hole again, doing his best not to visualize Maddon's hand clenched around the corner of the painting, the wild, driving passion that had caused it to be torn asunder in the first place. A tickle of arousal fluttering between his legs at the memory hardly surprised Liam, but the small smile on his lips and the momentary, barely-there thought of I wonder if I'll see him again today made him blanch.
"No," he said aloud, turning abruptly from the wall and shoving Maddon's poker chip into his pocket. He walked hurriedly to the door and pulled it open then strode briskly out into the hallway. Panic flew through him and he turned on his heel, reaching desperately for the door just as it slammed resolutely shut. Leaving him in the hallway without a key.
"Fuck," he repeated gruffly. Unable to do anything for now, he shoved himself off the door and stalked towards the elevator, grumbling to himself the whole way. "The best one night stand of my life and what do I get for it? A hole in my wall and now I'm locked out of my room." Liam's hand dropped into his pocket as he stopped before the elevator, fiddling with the poker chip as he waited. One of Maddon's little quips about loss flickered through his head and he released the poker chip.
You're fooling yourself, Liam... he told himself as the elevator doors slid open. He leaned against the wall, his fingers drifting magnetically to the poker chip once more. Every time you go thinking he's not as much of an asshole as you thought at first something bad happens. He's very clearly not who you thought he was. Best one night stand of your life, just drop it and leave it at that. He's nothing but trouble. If you never see Maddon Kent again, it'll be too soon.
A soft ding announced Liam's arrival in the lobby. He removed his hand from his pocket once more and pushed himself off the wall, a management-approved smile sliding onto his lips with practiced ease as the elevator drew to a stop.
It fell away with all the grace of a car wreck and all the immediacy of a gunshot as soon as he took his first step out onto the rich tile floor. There, only feet from the elevator, leaning against a marble pillar, reading a book like it was the most casual thing in the world, stood Maddon Kent.
The ding of the elevator made Break look up from his book, deserting the world of Dubliners in the middle of a sentence. A smile blossomed on his face as the staff elevator's doors opened and Liam stepped out into the lobby. It grew so wide it threatened to burst right off his face when Liam noticed him and stopped dead in his tracks.
Liam's stillness only lasted the span of a heartbeat before he set off across the lobby, heading directly towards Break. Break remained leaning against the pillar, inspecting his fingernails and tapping his cane at his side boredly as Liam approached.
"Well, well, well...if it isn't Maddening Kent. What the hell are you doing here?" Liam growled, coming to a stop a foot or so in front of Break.
Break snapped his book shut and his eyes flicked up to meet Liam's. He shook his head softly, almost condescendingly. "I'm staying here, Liam, remember? We talked about this," he said with a put-upon little sigh.
Liam's hand shot out and landed on the pillar beside Break's head, half pinning him against it. "What. Are you doing. Here," he repeated, his voice dropping low, like a threat.
Break looked up into Liam's eyes, unfazed by the bold gesture. "I just wanted to tell you I hope you have a good day, Liam. With how fast you kicked me out last night, I didn't get the chance," he replied, nonchalant.
Liam's eyes narrowed and he leaned down more fully over Break. "You should have taken the hint, Mad. I don't want to see you again," he said lowly.
Break gave a little chuckle and pushed himself off the wall, closing most of the gap between he and Liam, so a scant few centimeters saved him from pressing against Liam's chest. "Well it's going to be a long day for you, then," he said with a soft shake of his head and another nonplussed shrug. One of his hands rose and ran along the underside of Liam's jaw, lighting over the thick coat of cover up Liam had put on to disguise outward signs of their wild night. Break's thin index finger found a deep red mark where Liam's jaw met his neck. "You missed a spot," he said, a flicker of a tease in his voice.
Liam's hand rose to smack Break's away and he covered the mark with his own hand. "So did you," he said, nodding down at the mass of undisguised hickeys marring the pale skin of Break's neck.
Break giggled and tipped his head, exposing the bruises there further. "Do I look like I give a damn?" he asked with a wicked grin.
Liam opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the bright, rich sound of ringing bells from the village nearby, signaling noon.
Break's eyebrows rose. "Ooh, looks like you're going to be late for work," he said, feigned sympathy on his face. "You really should work on that, Liam...It's a very unattractive trait."
Liam's mouth dropped open, unable to even muster a reply before Break gave a little shrug and a close-mouthed laugh, then slipped out from beneath Liam's arm and began to walk away without so much as a glance backwards.
"Well...until we meet again!" Break said through a giggle as he walked off.
Though he couldn't hear whatever expletive Liam no doubt muttered to his receding form, Break could all but feel Liam's eyes burning holes in his back as he walked off across the lobby.
You kicked me out, you cold-hearted little slut. This is what you get, Break thought to himself, tucking his hands deep into the pockets of the well-tailored slacks he wore and adding an extra swing to his hips, sure Liam was still watching as he reached the opposite end of the lobby and breezed out onto the richly populated pool deck. He pulled a pair of sunglasses from the pocket of his shirt and slipped them on, then looked around for a seat. He took his time selecting a table near the beach, enjoying a short promenade around the pool deck to reach it and the pressure of dozens of pairs of wealthy eyes scrutinizing his every move. He opened his book again as he sat gracefully, folding his legs and leaning back in his chair. He glanced up over the top of his sunglasses and smiled to himself. He'd chosen his seat carefully, one situated on the far end of the pool deck but still in clear view of the open terrace of the restaurant where he and Liam had eaten dinner the night before. Through several sets of open French doors, Break could clearly see the large, ornate bar against the restaurant's back wall. And its bartender, who was just arriving for an afternoon shift.
Liam.
He smiled in satisfaction but forced his eyes away, diverting his attention back down to the book in his lap. He shifted on his chair and pulled his miniscule notebook from his back pocket, along with the stub of a pencil that marked his page. He rested it on his knee beside his book, so that he could inconspicuously make notes on the strangers surrounding him while under the guise of notating on the book he held. He settled into the appearance of reading, devoting only a third or so of his attention to the words on the page, using the rest to subtly observe those around him.
It was now roughly 24 hours until Zai was to arrive at the Casino Royale, and Break was certain that the wealthy man's fixation with his personal safety would manifest itself in the presence of members of his personal guard disguised as workers at Monte Carlo. Break was determined to find them and – if possible – eliminate them before their employer arrived, and definitely before the ball in 2 nights' time. The fewer guns at the party aside from the ones he himself would be carrying, the better, Break rationalized. And if he just so happened to have chosen a spot to conduct his observations that was in full view of the bar where he knew (having stolen a glance at Liam's work schedule while Liam had been in the bathroom the night before) that Liam would be working that day, then so much the better. Even their brief meeting in the lobby had been charged with electricity and Break found the idea of letting Liam off the hook after the best one-night stand of his life to be a very unappealing one.
Within an hour, patterns among the guests and employees began to emerge and become evident to Break's trained eye. Everyone from women lounging in the pool's opal-bright shallows to the hotel's personal butlers for hire became suspect, and he noted the observations of each in meticulous detail. Break didn't try nearly as hard as he could have to keep his eyes from wandering periodically to Liam at his post, and more than a few times he caught those captivating hazel eyes on him, too. The pool deck had emptied of its daytime crowd and a heady sunset in peaches and purples and golds had come over the sky like a blush by the time Break was satisfied with the observations he'd made. His position had afforded him views of the pool, the beach, a quantity of the grounds, the bar and restaurant, and the casino's entrance, and in the hours he'd spent watching he'd managed to distinguish over a dozen suspicious figures sprinkled in among the clueless guests and busy staff.
Break allowed himself the luxury of closing his notebook and reclining back in his chair to more casually observe the smaller clusters of guests that had begun to appear in tailored suits and bold jewel-encrusted evening gowns for dinner at one of the resort's dozen or so gourmet restaurants. He signaled a passing waiter and picked up the cocktail menu, scanning it quickly as the trim man approached.
"I'd like to order a drink for the bartender," he said, nodding towards the distant Liam.
The man stifled a chuckle. It was abundantly clear in his demeanor that he recognized Break, and that word of Liam's loss in the casino and the scene he and Break had subsequently made had spread like wildfire through the staff. "Yes sir...What will he be drinking?" he asked jovially.
"A vodka martini. Shaken," Break replied, snapping the menu shut and looking up at the man. He reached into his pocket and fished out the gold card Oz had given him, handing it off. "Charge it to my room, please. 7001."
A look of mild surprise passed over the waiter's face as Break mentioned the room number. Break's trained eye caught it, and any suspicion that the waiter might be a spy of Zai's flitted away. The man wrote down the order and took Break's card, then vanished.
Break settled to reading his book again, hardly noticing when the waiter returned and laid his card on the table. He finished the last chapter, reading each word carefully and pausing longer than he normally would over long sentences and bits of dialogue to stretch out the time he would need to finish it. By the time he was done the sunset had drenched away into a twilight that echoed the shades of the sea below, all teal and steel-grey. He closed his book on the last sentence with a contented sigh, and flicked his gaze up to take in the sight of the Casino Royale gloriously illuminated against the opaque darkness settling around it. The bar glistered brightly, only moderately populated at this early hour but no less enchanting for it, every surface crystalline and sparkling, and Liam radiating among the gold and ivory and rich oil paintings on its walls.
A quick scan of the rest of the building's visible rooms told Break what he'd been expecting to learn. Most of the hotel's patrons were occupied with dressing in their rooms, pre-dinner cocktails, or walks on the beach. It was the perfect time to poke around in areas he as a guest wasn't strictly allowed to be. He and Oz had spent hours poring over digital maps and schematics of the casino hotel's floors, hallways, and salons, and with that working knowledge Break was determined to test out and walk the best possible escape routes in case the plan he and Oz had generated for dealing with Zai went awry in any way.
Break pulled himself to his feet, pocketed his card and picked up his cane, and after tucking his book under his arm set off at a brisk pace towards the bar. He skirted around the pool and tripped up the few stairs into the bar, his easy and knowingly infuriating smile already on his mouth.
Liam, predictably, caught Break's eye as soon as he entered the bar. He continued to pin Break with his gaze as he made his way across the floor, and his eyes narrowed into a true glare as Break sauntered up to the bar and leaned against it.
"So, sweetie, good day at work?" Break asked, leaning his elbow on the bar and propping his chin in his hand.
Liam offered no reply, instead reaching behind the bar and then setting something on top of it. An empty martini glass. He maintained eye contact with Break as he reached for a bottle of vodka behind the bar, and one of vermouth beside it. He poured precise amounts of both into a shaker, then added ice cubes, capped the shaker off, and overturned it a few times. He poured the shaken martini silently, still watching Break as he removed a skewer of olives from a nearby dish and dropped it into the glass. He pushed it towards Break, then leaned on the bar and finally spoke. "Do we need to have that conversation again about what the hell your problem is?!"
Break shrugged. "If that conversation ends the same way as it did last night, then hell yeah I think we need to have it again," he said.
Liam's hand clenched into a fist and rose as though to slam down on the bar. He took a measured breath, closing his eyes for a moment and steadying himself, then grated out the only reply he could manage. "Would you fuck off? I'm working."
"If you insist..." Break picked up the martini glass from the bar and raised it to Liam in a toast, then took a sip. He did everything in his power to mitigate a disgusted reaction at the bitter flavor of the drink, forcing his grimace to become a smile instead. "Thanks for the drink," he said, giving Liam a wink as he turned to go.
Liam's jaw positively dropped. There he went again. Maddon Kent. The walking representation of which buttons to push to piss him off. The abstract concepts of cockiness and bravado made man. Liam's fist clenched again as Maddon walked off, and he was unable to stop himself from pounding his fist on the solid wood of the counter. He raised it after a second, shaking off a sting of pain and grimacing. "Thanks for the drink," he mocked, twisting his voice into something squeaky and obnoxious to imitate Maddon's admittedly soft and lovely speech.
Irritation prickled through Liam as he traced Maddon's path across the lobby as far as the fountain, where he passed out of sight. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
"Excuse me," a slinky, red-haired woman drawled as she approached the bar. "I'll have a grasshopper, please...with extra mint and no cream." Her brow furrowed as Liam's attention remained fixed on the spot where Maddon had vanished. "Excuse me?" she demanded. "Can you hear me?"
Your shift's not over for another 2 hours...you'll be able to find him again in two hours...Come on, Zai will be here tomorrow, and the last thing you need is him angry at you...Don't lose your job right before the biggest gala of the year...Liam's rational side begged. He hesitated for a moment, almost turning to the bar to fetch the ingredients for the woman's drink. But as he did, his hand brushed against the poker chip in his pocket. He looked up at the woman, then looked back at the lobby. He took one step back, paused, and then took another. You're breaking the rules, you idiot...a cautious voice in his head warned. He slammed down on it and took another step back, barely giving the woman another glance and a hasty "sorry, I'll be right back," before he ducked out from behind the bar and took off across the lobby. He scanned it as he ran towards the fountain, searching for a tapping cane or a hint of Maddon's white hair. He skidded to a halt and looked around furiously, his heart racing. He caught sight of Maddon just as he was vanishing through a doorway marked Employees Only on the lobby's upper floor.
"Can't you read, moron?" Liam grumbled out loud as he took off across the lobby after Maddon. He took the stairs three at a time, barely dodging a few clusters of chatting guests as he ran after Maddon, a harsh reprimand for him already stinging on his tongue. He tore the door Maddon had vanished through open as he reached it, nearly flattening one of the dealers as she was exiting into the lobby. She shrieked in surprise and Liam gave her a quick apology, then turned his attention back to the stairwell he now found himself in. As all of Monte Carlo's behind-the-scenes areas were it was scarcely lit and bare of all but the most basic ornamentation. Hallways branched off in both before Liam and to his right, vanishing into the massive resort's depths. On his left, a staircase led both up and down. Which way did you go, asshole? Liam wondered, looking around and holding his breath, listening for any tiny sound and watching for the barest hint of movement. He waited a full 30 seconds in silence to no avail. Maddon had vanished without a trace.
Liam had been gone far too long from the bar by now, and he knew it. But it was too late to make amends to the customer he'd slighted, and when his manager noticed his absence he'd be just as much in trouble for being gone 20 minutes as he would be for being gone just 5. His heart still racing in his ears, Liam took a chance and darted down the stairs to his left, taking them two at a time, running as silently as he could in what he hoped was the same direction as Maddon, down towards the hotel's lower floors where the staff quarters, kitchen storage, and enormous laundry rooms lay.
He was breathing hard by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, his heart thundering even louder in his ears as he looked both ways down the long hall for Maddon. This time when he stopped to listen a muffled shout from his right caught his attention. He jumped at the sound, his breath catching. Another shout, this one followed by a heavy thump, and Liam was taking off down the hallway, running at full speed, his arms pumping madly. He came to a stop at the end of the hall and poked his head around the corner, doing his best to stay quiet. He bit his lip hard to stifle a cry as he took in what was just beyond, at the entrance to one of the large laundry rooms. Four large men, all dressed in hotel employees' uniforms, lay dead or dying on the floor, their throats cut and violent slashes marring their bodies and faces. Two more remained conscious, one on his feet and holding a handgun and the other kneeling atop a small, squirming figure on the floor.
It was Maddon, pinned beneath one of the largest men Liam had ever seen. A bloody sword and a wicked-looking switchblade lay a few feet from him, and a sleek silver pistol had skidded to a halt against a wall nearby. Maddon was struggling, twisting his wrists and doing everything in his power to free his arms. They were both twisted violently up behind his back, held secure by one of the thug's meaty hands. The large man's other hand was clamped around Maddon's hair, drawing his head back so he was looking straight up into the waiting gunman's face. The posture made a growing welt on the side of Maddon's head clear, as well as revealing a defiant spark in his eyes even in the face of imminent death.
"For Zai," the gunman said as he cocked the hammer.
To say Break was unprepared for the attack would have been a lie. As soon as he vanished from the public eye he'd tugged a handgun from his jacket pocket and pressed his thumb to the sensor on his cane to turn it into a sword. He knew Zai had been watching him all day, just like he'd been watching for him. Now that he was out of sight of the other guests, Break was sure at least one or two of the people he'd marked as likely members of Zai's personal guard would make an attempt to eliminate him.
The choice of which way to go first was easy. Oz had made no secret of the existence of extensive underground walkways and servants' stairs, most of which led off the property in some fashion. Break was eager to discover if they would be as viable an escape route as Oz had made them out to be, and so had slipped with his back to the wall and his weapons poised at the ready down the stairs towards what he could only assume was Monte Carlo's basement. He'd used his sword as a sort of mirror to peer around every corner he encountered, assuring himself of the absence of attackers. Each empty passage filled him with more anxiety, and it was with a sense of something akin to relief that he heard the telltale sound of shifting weight as he approached the end of one long hallway.
When he raised his sword, he was hardly surprised to see two waiting figures in the hallway beyond, both apparently large and with what appeared to be blunt-force weapons in their hands. Word really does travel fast around here, doesn't it? he thought wryly as he shifted his grip on his sword and pressed on the thumb pad again, flicking his wrist to set the folds of the shimmering metal whip moving.
Break emerged into the hallway already lashing out with his cane. He caught one of the would-be attackers around the throat and opened his throat all the way around with a single, fluid step. The man gurgled a last breath and fell to his knees, his club toppling from his hand and his face smashing into the hard concrete.
The moment of surprise as the dead man's partner took in the gruesome scene allowed Break the second he needed to lash out with his whip again. He missed the second assailant's throat, his whip snatching instead on the hard metal of the cane the man raised to deflect the blow.
This thug was clearly one of Zai's smarter ones, and he didn't waste the opportunity to twist Break's whip further in his cane and yank hard to disarm him.
Break allowed himself to be thrown forward by the force of the man's strong arm, and when he was within striking distance he released his hold on his cane and drew his switchblade, his hand flicking into and out of his pocket with lightning speed. He collided hard with the large man's chest, knocking the breath out of him with a knee to the sternum then making quick work of slicing his throat violently open from ear to ear.
He heard the third attacker before he saw him, and ducked easily beneath a wild swing with a club, rolling forward over the body of the man he'd just killed to grab his sword again. He released his switchblade as he did and rounded on the man just in time to raise his cane to deflect another heavy blow. He grunted with the effort as the much heavier man bore down on him, then lifted his handgun and fired three times. The first shot went wide, but the next struck the man in the jaw, and the third between his eyes. The installed silencer insured that the three gunshots were far quieter than the sound of the man's body hitting the ground.
The second wave of attacks were the ones that took Break by surprise. The cold chill of an opponent he knew he was outmatched by ricocheted through Break as he stood and turned to see two more men approaching from the darkness of the nearby laundry room. Both of them were at least six inches taller than he was, and looked as though they weighed a good hundred pounds more apiece. Both were armed with clubs and machetes.
Break steadied himself and raised his gun to make short work of them before they could approach any further, but was interrupted as a third man materialized behind him and smacked him hard on the head with a club. Stars and high-pitched ringing paraded across Break's brain and he cried out, falling to his knees involuntarily. His gun discharged again as he fell, and then skittered away across the floor. The threat of unconsciousness only grew more real as he fell forward onto the hard concrete, his head cracking solidly against it.
Shit. Don't die. You can't die here, you fuck. Come on. Fight! You're still conscious, FIGHT! Break coached himself. Every bone in his body protested his attempt at movement, but the sheer desire to survive outweighed all other concerns as he felt the weight of a hand pressing on his back, forcing him into the ground. He gave a shout and lunged backwards, relieved to find his cane still in his hand. The two distant attackers had grown close enough that Break's strike caught one of them around the arm. He tugged with all his might and the enormous man crashed to the ground before him, his head whacking on the floor. Break seized the man's machete as he fell and drove it hard into the back of his neck, severing his spinal cord in a single sharp downward strike.
As he somehow knew it would be, the hand was back on his back before he could do any more. He lashed out wildly with his cane and kicked hard with his legs, struggling as madly as he could against the crushing weight of the heavy man atop him, and the even more crushing threat of unconsciousness.
His heart picked up at an unbelievable pace and he was unable to stop another, more desperate cry from escaping him as he heard the sound of the standing attacker's machete and club hitting the floor, followed just seconds later by the sound of a gun being drawn from a holster. The man atop him yanked his head back and forced his face up. He found himself staring directly into the barrel of a handgun, and his heart seized in terror.
He forced himself to look away from it, to meet his killer's eyes. At least I took these motherfuckers with me...I hope Raven and Oz get the fuck out of here...he thought, a scared, defiant smile blooming on his lips in the face of the sound of a gun cocking. Don't close your eyes. They win if you close your eyes, he told himself.
"For Zai," the gunman said, his voice cold and gruff.
Break was braced for pain. For cold. For darkness. For terror. He was ready, as all agents in the field had to be, to die at any moment.
What he was not braced for was the sudden sight of a bullet hole appearing in his assassin's temple, and the explosion of reddish grey brain tissue and blood on the wall behind him half a second later. The thud of the man falling backwards onto the concrete was even more deafening in his current position, enough to startle him out of the stupor that semi-consciousness had left him in.
"What the-" the man atop Break gasped.
Break felt the weight atop him shift, then vanish entirely as the thug stood and whirled to face his new adversary. Break regained his faculties enough to struggle into a half-sitting position as the thundering sound of the thug's footsteps going down the hall the other way. Break turned over his shoulder just in time to see a recognizable figure tossing the spent handgun aside and stooping to pick up one of the fallen clubs as the mass of a man that had been pinning Break reached him.
Liam side-stepped gracefully, then delivered a powerful roundhouse kick to the man's side as he passed, knocking the breath from him. The man coughed, doubling over in surprise, and Liam gave him another kick to the back, sending him sprawling face-first on the ground. He raised the club above his head and dropped it with lethal force against the man's temple. He died with a sickening crack of his skull and a long wheeze of breath.
Liam looked up at Break, his eyes sharp and his mouth open already to scold him. Before he could make a sound, a bright flash of light caught both of their attention and they whipped around to face the darkened laundry room further down the hall.
A slight, black-haired woman dressed in a maid's uniform stood there. She had a long knife in one hand and a small camera in the other, the source of the flashing light that had distracted Liam and Break. Before either of them could say a word to her she turned and sprinted off down the hallway, disappearing into the darkness without a word.
"Fuck!" Liam hissed as the woman ran off. His attention snapped instantly back to Break. "Thanks a lot for blowing my cover, asshole!" Liam's voice rose to a shout and he threw the club still in his hand as hard as he could against the wall nearby.
Shock and awe ran through Break and he blinked at Liam, his still scattered brain unable to make sense of the phrase. "I'm sorry...your cover?!" he asked in disbelief.
Liam raised an eyebrow, equally incredulous. "You really didn't figure it out?!" he raged. He gave a bitter laugh and tugged himself to his feet, closing the distance between he and Break in a few steps. He extended a hand down, a crooked smile awakening on his lips. "Agent Liam Lunettes. 001. Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said gruffly.
Break could do no more than continue to blink up in stupefied silence. Liam. The casino dealer. Cover. Agent 001, M16's strongest fighter, a veritable legend among agents, prodigiously gifted in the field, whose declassified missions were used to inspire awe and admiration in new trainees. Oh shit...Break realized. Looks like I slept with my commanding officer...These facts, along with the rest of Break's reality, instantly paled in comparison to one singular idea: that all this time Liam's been disguising something in his voice. Because when he drops all pretenses...
Liam has an Irish accent.