* 2022-11-28
I added Max/Nephrites' information at the end of the story to help it make more sense.
* 2022-11-18
Dear readers, I started this story over two months ago under a different name. At the same time, I crossed Abbie Emmons's tutorials on writing on YouTube and decided to improve my stories. So here goes trial number two. It is also an out-of-character plot, but I'll try to keep the character's personality as close to the original as possible.
Concept: Serena has led a Special Ops Security firm for over fifteen years with her adoptive sisters, taking down the worst scum of the underworld. That is until a mission gone wrong leaves her injured. Her superior grounds her, leaving her stranded in a small quaint town full of nice people.
Mission: Figure yourself and your future out. See what normal life is about. Really, no pressure.
Add to the mix the most eligible attractive local heroes who suddenly become her team's beneficiaries. What else could go wrong?
Cue in Doctor Shield's preposterous proposal. A fake engagement. To get him away from his father's machinations and give her a chance to experience a normal relationship.
What could possibly go wrong, especially when two people hate each other as much as they do?
P.S. Please be warned that the following chapter has references to child pornography and human trafficking.
I'm trying hard to keep this PG16 but be warned that my stories contain mature subjects. There is graphic violence, coarse language, sexual situations, and triggers as my characters deal with emotional, physical, or mental traumas.
The Arrangement
Chapter 01
Serena
At some point in life, everyone has a moment when they ask themselves: What the Fuck am I doing here? What I didn't expect was for it to hit me while I was undercover…
Figures! I've been excessively airheaded of late, as my dear adoptive sister Rei calls it. And in my line of work, that gets you killed. A split-second distraction or out-of-character line gets you a bullet in the head.
I've had more close calls with the Grim Reaper than I care to remember. The bullet wounds and scars covering my body are a testimony to those close encounters. You'd think I'd learn by now not to redo stupid, possibly fatal errors. In any given situation.
Fixing one of my pigtail buns, I try not to roll my eyes at the conversation around the table. This undercover extraction job is a joke! The easiest I've had in the past year. How the mighty and renowned Luna and Associates law firm got involved in this is beyond my comprehension.
I get that what these idiots are doing is illegal and fucking immoral. All right, it's completely sick. And yes, they need to be stopped. But to request my Special Ops Security firm to step in… That's overreach.
Seriously, these bozo's security system can be easily overridden. There are no guards or watchdogs. Their black website is hackable. What's pitiful is that I infiltrated and got in under an hour…
I caught their eye in seconds because I'm attractive, giggle loudly, and put on a shy act. My undercover persona was exactly what would catch their clientele's attention. Fucking perverts. But there's no way I look underage even with the ten layers of make-up I've got on if they'd bothered to look closely.
They'd talked me into coming to their private party and here I am sitting at the head of the table assessing everything easily all because they didn't even do a thorough background check.
How these guys haven't been stopped or caught is beyond me!
If it wasn't for the senator's daughter sitting beside me who thought it might be fun to make a porno to piss her dear ol' mom, I doubt I'd have been called to deal with this child pornography production ring. Sure, what they are doing disgusts me to my core, but compared to the people I deal with, this is child's play.
And there I go being jaded. I should be happy to take these fuckers out. Ten years ago, I would have been ecstatic. So why doesn't it bring me any satisfaction to know I'm protecting the innocent?
Looking at the little redhead beside me, I guess some people get an easy life. It's just they don't know their blessings until the world crumbles around them.
Not that I know anything about that kind of life. I shouldn't judge but nothing would bring me greater joy right now than to shake some sense into the girl I'm sent in to protect and extract. Seriously! You have ivy league schooling, money, and contacts at your disposal, and yet you'd rather waste your worth and future because mommy dear didn't cuddle you enough!?
'Fuck,' my thoughts are seriously spiraling out of control. I really should focus, but scenarios like this just rile me up. As a foster kid, I would have done anything to be in this girl's shoes. Instead, what I thought was hell, really brought me to the door of real-world hell. A.K.A. Human trafficking.
And my current target, dear innocent and naïve little Molly, has only scratched the surface of the underworld known as the black market by trying to do an underage porno. The sheltered life she leads doesn't leave room for the world that I grew up in. And have since mastered. But I'd rather be a paid mercenary than be a victim any day.
So why does this stupid question keep pestering my subconscious?
'What am I doing here?'
Why am I frustrated about bringing down this illegal ring and saving these girls? It goes against the fundamental reason I created the firm. All right, the security part is just a cover-up… But what I do with my adoptive sisters is what legal departments only dream about.
We go in, extract victims, decimate the rings and leave no footprints behind. Funded by the best lawyers in the world, and private donors, we do more good than the agencies around the world tasked with the job. Why? Because as first-hand victims of that world, we have no scruples taking out our targets.
I lost count of how many children I've pulled out of the underworld. Girls and boys of varying ages, financial backgrounds, and countries… But each one of them got a chance at normal, a possible good future. Or at least a choice and freedom.
Then stupid jobs like these come up. The legal ones… They frustrate me to no end because they only save the fortunate rich people who have the finances to help themselves instead of the down and desperate ones who are left to their own devices! And who end up never being rescued…
'What am I doing here...'
"Aren't you going to eat that?" the redhead calls from beside me.
I ignore her, pretending I don't hear as I'm playing the role of a deaf teenager. The hearing aids in my ears are a cover for my earpiece and communication device. Makes the information-gathering and extraction part easier as people tend to talk openly when they think you can't hear them. Plus, I can sell the role as I helped raise several deaf children over the year. Thanks to spending quality time with them, I know exactly how to react, enunciate and act to pass off the role.
She waves a hand in front of my face to catch my attention before signing with her hands. Well, little Miss Molly might not be that spoiled.
"Sorry," she pronounces clearly, making sure I'm looking at her lips, once I turn. "Are you better at sign language or reading lips?"
"Both. It's just there's too much noise to distinguish who's talking."
"It's all right. Why aren't you eating? Are you vegan or something?"
"Not really." I grab timidly an apple off the fruit basket on the table. I stay clear of all the fine cuisine and expensive bottles set on the table. Drinking or eating undercover is risky. I use my knife to peel off the skin, before cutting fine slices and eating them with my fork.
Before I can settle back into my cushioned chair, Molly grabs my pendant, a silver half-moon covered in tiny crystals attached to an amber jewel. The multicolored gem gives the globe an Earth look. I force my reaction to pull it back by chewing slowly, not raising my eyes from my plate. She examines it for several moments before dropping it back against my chest and leaning into me.
"That's some expensive bling, girl! But… You shouldn't bring a tracking device here…" Her words are low, only meant for me to be read on her lips.
'Well, I'll be damned!' I keep my face impassive as I lean back and sign to her.
"I'm not eating 'cause mommy dearest cares more if I come home bloated than alive. No one's coming. No one ever does 'cause no one cares about the infirm. Like shit… Sorry. That was def TMI."
Molly sits back, digging into her plate of appetizing food distractedly and I almost salivate because my stomach is growling at me. Which it does like clockwork. Every hour. Even in this field and after all my training, I'm constantly hungry.
After a long moment, she signs back at me.
"It's cool. My mom's the same. As long as you promise no one's going to break in on our fun, I won't tell the others. I left mine in my room when I sneaked out to meet my boyfriend, that's the big guy with the spiky hair. I do it all the time. Our security team is so easy to fool."
"I know, right? Totally agree," I drawl to get the attention away from our signing.
After that, I pretend to follow the conversation. You'd think after doing this job for over fifteen years, my head would be in the game. But as the game is predictable, and I'm not walking the line, I'm already a hundred steps ahead.
I've already figured out how and where to get the intel while avoiding their security cameras. I also know the pompous spoiled rich brat who acts like the leader is not capable of covering up such an operation, but his security guy is. And the leering guy in the corner must be their hacker, but as his bouncy knee indicates, he's probably too drugged up to think of creating firewalls.
An hour into the mission, I've already figured out their operations and my takedown plan. Only another eighteen hours to kill until this place gets burst open by my team…
'I wonder if the girls set up camp at the rendezvous or up in the mountain. Probably mountain.'
Darien
"Doctor Shields. Doctor Shields!"
I ground my teeth at an end of my rope. After twenty hours on my feet covering the emergency floor, and just having dealt with another repeated domestic abuse against a seven-year-old, I have no patience left to deal with my newest intern. Also known as a spoiled heiress playing future doctor, who after a setup matchmaking disaster dinner organized by our respective parents thought we were going to become a future power couple. Meaning, she was constantly at my back, making inappropriate advances, instead of focusing on becoming a stellar doctor.
And while I'll admit that Beryl was hot with her dark auburn wavy hair, huge rack, tiny waist, and plush lips, she was the last person I'd consider making Mrs. Shields. Sure, she was from old money and her family had funded the hospital for generations, but those things mattered little to me. Probably because I didn't plan on having a missus in my life any time soon. To top it off, the setup rubbed me the wrong way.
When my father become a coveted-renowned plastic surgeon at the age of forty-one, he landed himself a prized wife from that old-money world. His best client gave him desperately what he always wanted, financial security. My mother married him to gain admiration and a lifetime of free fix-ups. The source of her eternal youth.
I was the only product of that arrangement. The only thing they had in common. Thankfully. So nope. Wasn't looking for any arrangements at the moment as I knew they only led to one end. A hate-filled cold relationship based on mutual gains, but no substance.
Plus, I didn't have time to date as I was the one thing my father had never strived for, the head of the emergency department at the age of thirty-three. My dedication to excellence and hard work paid off two years ago.
So not only did I not have the time to deal with melodrama and girlfriend trouble, I didn't waste time or energy on it. Women came easily. With my mother's stellar looks and money, my father's prestige, and my doctor's degree, I had women throwing themselves at me constantly.
Which my real and only buddies constantly made fun of… To annoy the living shit out of me. But then I got the satisfaction of throwing it back their way. This Beryl situation would turn into another thing the guys would chortle over drinks tonight if I manage to make it.
Without breaking a stride, I ignore her and head for the prep emergency operation room. That is until she yanks on my arm, forcing me to stop in the middle of the busy corridor.
"Doctor Shields, I've been calling you for…"
"I don't have time for this, I need to get in there to perform a surgery. Why are you here instead of doing your rounds?"
She flinches back, removing her hand before interlocking her white knuckles together against her chest. But she recovers fast even under my angry scold that usually has people running. "I wanted to ask if I could ass…"
"NO! Pearson is on watch and assist, as you well know. It's on the intern schedule. You're nowhere ready."
"But, I've…"
I don't answer her as I storm in. The head nurse rolls her eyes as she catches my dark mood.
"This surgery is not going to lift your mood, Doctor Shields," she announces as she hands me the chart. "Two drunk frat boys did stunts they had no right to be doing on RTVs they had no idea how to drive. One has a dislocated shoulder, broken bones in the left forearm, and possible concussion, but nothing needs surgery. His buddy on the other hand has fractured his whole right shin. Shattered pieces everywhere. I should mention he's also the captain and quarterback of the Mighty Rocks College football team. And yes, his father, attorney, coach, principal, and a whole throng of people are pacing right outside the ER entrance. No pressure, I know how much you love these situations," her last line drips with sarcasm.
I listen as she goes into his stats, and medical history, then I explain the procedure to my has-some-actual-potential-and-cares intern. Beryl is all but forgotten for the moment, as this kid's future hangs in my hands. I can't let it crumble before it even begins.
It hits too close to home, reminds me of when I was in medical school and my best friend Max got injured… Ending his MMA career. Or further back to when I didn't know how to treat K's wounds other than by disinfecting, bandaging, and icing them. And that feeling of helplessness, I never want to experience that again.
But I'm not helpless now.
Disinfecting thoroughly my hands, I slip on the operating jacket the nurse holds and let her tie it and my mask, ready and laser-focus I push into the operating room.
Serena
Other than being scattered-brained at unfortunate times, and my never-ending appetite, I have another Achilles heel. The yawn I'm forcing down is a reminder of that. I rarely do undercover jobs as my body needs its regular beauty rest.
As my looks guaranteed our getting in and getting this job done, I have to suck it up. But closing in on thirty-eight hours of no sleep, my body and my mood are plummeting.
Couple more minutes and this would be all over. And if Lita has managed to sell Amy on the pub, I'm going to order myself the juiciest biggest burgers that the joint offers. Three, at least. And fries…
Light shimmers on the opposite wall of the living room I'm lounging in. Game time.
Adrenaline floods my veins, and I feel awareness rushing through my senses. Taking a long inhale, I steady my breathing and control my reaction. Adrenaline can either boost you or drown out the senses that keep you alive. And right now, I need laser focus instead of a strength boost. So yes, I slow and even my breathing as I pull out one of my earpieces before sliding it into my back pocket.
Smiling timidly to Molly whose sitting on her supposed boyfriend, I get up and walk to the huge bay window. The moment I stop, the light beam shines on my necklace. I lower my chin a fraction before elongating my arms in a long stretch. I leave my hands extended as I lean toward the back of the house and let two fingers twitch. Then I stretch to the front, and five random fingers twitch this time. Finally, I stretch up and allow four fingers to twitch again.
It's stupidly simplistic, but my team now knows exactly the location of their targets and how best to infiltrate the house. Turning around, I force a blush up to my cheeks and wave to Molly to catch her attention. I sign to her that I think I got my period and ask if she has tampons, biting my lip to sell the embarrassed look as I point to my very white shorts.
Her eyes widen comically before she jumps up and snatches her purse, grabbing my hand and yanking me toward the bathroom. The moment inside, I lock the door and drop my cover.
"My name is Crescent, head of the Scout Special Ops Security Firm. I'm here to take down a child pornography production ring your supposed boyfriend is running. Your mother has requested that we keep you safe during the takedown and out of the headlines as she doesn't want you to get a record as an associate of their crime. If you do not want to forever ruin your life, I suggest you stay in this room, keep the room locked and barricade the door with the side chair until I knock on the door in a pattern three, two, three. In the meantime, get in the tub, and stay down in case of stray bullets."
I turn to leave but she clutches my arm.
"You can't be serious… He'd never…"
I don't bother to answer instead I pull out my phone and show her on mute a video of her boyfriend raping a preteen. Her eyes water, her face turns pale, and her hand covers her mouth as if she's going to hurl. I don't have time for this. I shove her in the tub, put her face over the drain, tie her hair up with a band I had on my wrist, then open the door and lock in myself before exiting and closing it behind me.
'Fuckidy fucking fuck!' I curse internally as I walk past the living room and sneak upstairs looking at my watch. I'm a minute behind thanks to Molly's reaction. Just as I reach the second floor, and turn the knob to the office, a scream goes off in the kitchen downstairs.
The big security guy jumps to his feet from the couch as I barge into the room. Before he asks what the hell is going on, I rush him, going for his jugular. Unfortunately, he moves out of the way and reaches for his hidden gun. I kick it out of his palm and tackle him. We roll on the floor and grapple, and just as I'm about to pin him, he grabs for the fallen-over fire poker and tries stabbing me with it. I move out of reach, but not before it pierces my abdomen. Thanks to years of training, I suck in a steadying breath against the burning sensation and twist my body until my leg is wrapped tightly around his neck, then I tighten my hold as he keeps smacking me with the rod, as the angle doesn't allow him to poke me.
It doesn't take long for him to pass out, I wait a millisecond longer to make sure he doesn't move before letting him go. Checking his pulse and eyes to make sure he's unconscious, see I do learn from my mistakes, I get back up and check on my injuries. The only critical one is on my side but thankfully it's not deep or near any vital organs.
"J, V. Transport underway. ETA seven minutes. Police have been notified due to shots fired. ETA ten minutes. Engage clean up," I hear Merc over my com in my ear.
"Affirmative," several voices answered.
Then I get to work, I pull out the small drive from the back of my shirt and plug it into their computer.
Instantly, I see Amy's worm spreading, looking for the distributor information. Turning back around, I go through the guy's pockets and find his phone, and wallet, then look over the room's paperwork as I hear shots fired outside and grunting and screaming in the house. As soon as I hear a beep, I pull out the drive, slid it back into the hidden padded pouch on my back, and head out. I see J hauling the unconscious body of one of the guys over her shoulder.
As I follow her down the stairs and then outside, I hear my team blow steam off. A sense of relief and calm floods my heart as none of them got hurt.
"Fuck, J. Did you have to knock all of them out? Now we have five bodies to haul from inside."
"Sorry, got carried away with the adrenaline. What did you expect? They're all breathing, no?"
"Yea, but they're fucking heavy to carry and haul during clean-up."
"Paaalease! At least I was quiet about it, unlike Mar."
"Yea, I heard her wasting ammo. You made them dance, didn't you Spitfire?"
"I got bored. You didn't send many my way. And what fun is it to tranquilize these asshats? I couldn't even shoot their dicks. Not even their knees or feet! Nope. Just had to put them in dreamland. And why are you reprimanding me? Merc electroshocked the ring leader when he tried to jump the fence when I wanted to make him sweat and run."
"What? You didn't have to go through all the video material or watch over those sick bastards. Since when do you guys get to have fun and I'm supposed to play nice? Yea, fuck that."
"I see you guys had fun," I smirk as I call behind V and J as I finally join them.
Before they can open their smart mouths, I sign to V to fetch Molly as I see our current contractor pulling up to the gates. J pulls both of her lips into her mouth, trying vainly to keep from laughing at my getup. I don't blame her. I'm sporting ridiculous bun pigtails, an almost translucent loose bohemian shirt over a silver camisole, and super white, I'm pretty sure shows my ass white shorts. And twenty coats of make-up that took Mina two hours to apply at five hundred hours yesterday. And that was surprisingly not smudged. How was I ever going get it off my face was going to be another battle.
"Are you fucking serious?" J's eyes latch on my stab wound as I finally face her.
"It's just a scratch wound. Don't pull a hissy fit. I'll be fine."
"Nope, that ain't nothing! Your side is soaked."
"It's not all mine. Took a little more effort to take down the security guy. The ring leader was only the funds and voyeur in the mix. But got the distributor's info."
"That all?" J asks as she rips her sleeve and presses it under my stab.
"Yup and then some. Clean house? Merc, online footprint clean?"
"Affirmative." Several voices replied over the comms. Only Merc continues. "We have a witness."
"Complications?" My heart skips a beat wondering about Merc's safety. Even if she's as lethal as the rest of us, I can't help the worry. It happens whenever I'm not a hundred percent sure my teammates are all safe.
"Doubtful," she replies. "But I'm mistrustful. He took this situation way too calmly."
"I saw the warrants and what was going on in the house, you're not going to get any trouble from me. And after being in rings and burning houses, I'm kind of unphased by weird or dangerous situations. However, your friend looks like she needs medical attention. I can have a doctor check her out right away," I hear a male voice answer over the comms.
"Not necessary, I'll treat her myself," Merc insists, but I interrupt her before she can follow through.
"Merc. It's your Bday. As of right now, you're officially off duty and as soon as I get stitched up, I'll join you at the next town's pub. Just let me deal with the senator before we head out."
The three federal black-tinted SUVs followed by an armored truck finally pass the opening gate and park in the driveway. Two federal security officers jump out of the truck and started hauling the unconscious or chained men into the back.
Pulling on my best impassive face, thanks to Luna's training, I approach the middle vehicle which lowers the back window a fraction. I slide the USB drive through the gap and start to turn before rethinking and folding my arms.
"My second is bringing her out. She gave a nice little pep talk to your kid. You know, instilled the fear of God in her by sharing some anecdotes of our missions." As if on cue, a shoulder-length redhead stumbles out of the house, holding both her mouth and belly, looking sick to her stomach followed by V.
I watch as Molly dashes toward the SUVs as if the hounds of hell are after her. Before she can open the door I'm standing by, I haul her back.
"You know she wouldn't have done something this stupid if you hadn't ignored her and then placed your expectation on her. Molly doesn't have the backbone to run for politics, with all due respect, mam. However, she has a good and smart head on her shoulders. Send her into business and you won't have to worry about her and how she'll affect your image. And provide adequate support to the three girls left inside. My comrade is going to make sure you follow my instructions, as we want the girls we rescued to get the help and support to overcome this mess. Are we understood, Senator?"
"And if I do not agree to your terms?" a cold, full of antagonistic frustration, feminine voice answers.
"You know whom you hired."
"Why business?" her curiosity wins over indignation.
"Because from my observation, she has a natural knack for it and an eye for good jewelry. Molly took less than four seconds to realize my supposed knockoff pendant was real and had a tracking device. Good day to you, mam."
A female federal agent exits the last truck as I walk away and head into the mansion as sirens fill the air. Wasting no time, I look over my shoulder and catch Mar getting down from the tree across the property from the mansion. As soon as V, J, and Mar all join me, we head toward the back of the property in a tight silent formation, into the dense forest and through the hole in the fence. I hear Merc discussing with the witness about the supposed doctor that needs to stitch me up and about the bar, but don't fully follow.
It takes us about five minutes of brisk walking through the forest to reach our Jeeps and by this time, I feel my blood sliding down my tight. The adrenaline subsides as I take in the stranger who stumbled upon our operation. Using every detection skill I have, I assess his stance, movements, ticks, and body language.
He has chocolate milk-colored wavy hair pulled back into a messy man bun, shaved on the back, with a strong jaw, a slightly crooked long nose, and deep hazel eyes. His sweaty loose white sleeveless white jersey clings to his muscular frame as his arms cross over his chest under my perusal.
It's not his build that gives away that he's a fighter, but his stance. And his air of being completely comfortable and at ease in this screwed-up unexpected situation. The fireman logo on his shorts explains his attitude further.
I look over the bio Amy gathered on him on her laptop.
Maxfield Stanton, age 29. Also known as Neph, short for Nephrite. Former three-time UFC champion; retired due to injury to shoulder. Local fireman now, runner-up for chief of department. Co-owner and manager of local MMA gym. Parents divorced. Father, Michel Stanton, former multiple boxing champion. Mother, Milla Petrova, CEO of Petrova Cosmetics Inc. Step-mother, Mary Hansford, deceased. Step-brother, Andrew Hansford, airline pilot. Step-sister, Elizabeth Hansford, international model. Brother-in-law, Jay Rumblay, fireman, deceased in line of duty. Niece, Joy Rumblay.
Satisfied, I open the passenger door of the flat black vehicle and hand him a non-disclose document from the dash.
"Read, sign and we'll be fine. Talk about today and you'll have to deal with that crazy politician. I wouldn't suggest it."
Ignoring everyone, I unzip my bag and pull out a loose black camisole and three-quarter jeans before stripping off the ridiculous outfit I had to wear. J stops me before I can put on the new shirt to clean the blood and bandage my wound. As soon as the witness hands me the documents, I finally climb into the front passenger seat of the second Jeep, flinching slightly before using make-up removal tissues to clean as much makeup off my face and take down my hair to massage my scalp.
By that time, my team is changed into civilian clothes, not caring that a guy watched them in various forms of undress.
"Cat got your tongue?" J quips before pushing him toward the black Jeep. "Stop gawking and get in. Bet you know the fastest way to the pub?"
"And make your call," adds Merc, sliding in behind him.
"Just like that? We're cool?"
"You're wasting time."
There's a stretch of silence on the comms, and then the witness's voice comes back.
"Darien, I'm bringing a stab wound to the pub… We'll be there in about fifteen minutes… Caucasian female in late twenties, stab wound under kidney…"
"I can have Cresc stitched up in five minutes," mutters Merc.
"Yes, we know. But Cresc wants your hands blood-free when you pick up your drinks tonight."
I hear people calling my name but I can't force myself to focus. Shit. I curse, again and again. They're going to worry like crazy because of my air-headedness. Should have grabbed some food before we got moving is my last conscious thought.
* Hope you enjoyed the intro! Please please please, if you have 10 seconds to spare, let me know what you think of the changes or the story. It means the world to me. Till next time, take care!