I cast a furtive glance in Rumlow's direction as we step into the elevator, noting his silence. He doesn't look at me, in fact it seems like he's trying hard not to.
I regret the day I chose to transfer to this operation. I didn't join this team for this. I'm not a spy. I have no busy doing their dirty work, sneaking around to get data, betraying my professor. I'm a damn researcher.
We were on our way to the basement car-park, but when the elevator doors open at the lobby to let passengers on, I step out. I need space.
"Elise, wait," Rumlow, caught off-guard, calls after me, "I'll drive you back to the lab."
"There's no need. I'll call a taxi." I look straight ahead as I keep walking, and it's only a matter of seconds before he's caught up to me, his hand closing around my wrist. I spin to face him, attempting to shake my hand free as I collide with his chest.
He stares down at me, his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed in irritation.
"You'd better have a hell of a reason for making a fuss like this here." His voice is lowered, but it doesn't fail to attract the attention of other people nearby, now whispering to each other in hushed tones, wondering who the Strike team captain is cautioning so boldly in public.
Strike team captain. That's all I know about him, isn't it? That's what I've come to realize after this meeting.
I don't know anything about him or his job. He has all the knowledge, all the power. It's always been that way, and I've never cared until now. Until it became very clear that he knows a lot more about the people I hold close than I ever knew.
When I don't answer him, he grabs me by the arm, pulling me into a nearby security office. It's small, empty, dark, and the only light comes from the wall of surveillance monitors, flooding the room with a dull blue glow. Rumlow closes the door behind him and looks at me expectantly, an aggravated frown tugging at his lips.
He looks intimidating with his arms folded like an interrogator, his body casting a threatening shadow on the wall behind him. But I refuse to back down.
"How much do you know about me, Brock Rumlow? You know everything, don't you? It wasn't a coincidence that we met, was it? Are you dating me so that you can report back to Pierce on that too?"
He answers my sarcastic question by pushing me back against the window that faces the lobby, pinning my wrists against the glass as his lips crash onto mine. I begin to protest and his tongue delves into my mouth, his body pressed against mine, his kiss so passionate, so filled with fire and rage and lust that it weakens me to the knees and prevents me from fighting back.
When he senses that I've given up, he breaks away, but doesn't step back or release me.
"Was there any moment when we were together in which you doubted the attraction I felt for you? I'm not dating you for Pierce." He snaps. I can hear the anger in his voice, but there's also an underlying tone of hurt. That I doubted him.
I turn my face away, and he grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"Listen to me, Elise, you'd better be careful with who you direct your anger at. People like Pierce may not take it so lightly. Dissent is not tolerated here." There's venom in his tone, "I saved your ass back there. You have to trust me."
There's that word again. Trust. Trust is the one thing I can't give lightly these days.
"Trust you? I don't know anything about you. I don't know anything about any of this. I feel like a pawn. And I probably am." I free myself of his grip and he just stares at me, the storm still lingering in his eyes.
"I'll tell you what you want to know. But not now, not yet." He runs a hand through his hair, his lips twisting into a scowl.
I eye him critically. Should I believe him?
"I'm sorry for being rough." His expression softens as he steps closer to me, intending to take me into his arms again. I step back.
"Everyone saw you do it. Are you okay with that?" I gesture to the window. Just the thought of having been seen in that heated display of passion—with the Strike team captain, no less—makes the blood rise to my ears.
There's a questioning expression on Rumlow's face. It's quickly replaced by an amused, coy smirk.
"It's a one way mirror." He replies, then pauses, his smirk growing into a knowing smile. "Is that why you were so intent on denying me when I kissed you?"
This situation is growing more humiliating by the second.
I open my mouth to respond and, finding no adequate response, quickly shut it again, moving past him to leave the room. He blocks me for a second—long enough to take a satisfied look at my embarrassed, annoyed expression.
"Well, well. Who would've thought a girl with a discipline kink would be surprisingly prude in public?" He mocks, his voice layered with sultry overtones.
I do my best to ignore him as I push him away, opening the security office door with enough force to turn heads in the lobby.
But I hear his chuckle as he follows me to the elevator, and I know that he still has the upper hand over me in every way.