Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Thank you, Michelle, for pointing out my mistakes and for being there for me.
Chapter 3
Houston, TX – May
Isabella huffed, frustrated, as she closed the door of Tanya Denali's office with a little too much force and hurried down the stairs.
It's been two weeks. The King of Houston, that fucker, told her to expect contact two weeks ago. Two pointless visits with her fake shrink and her true only contact with the Agency and Isabella knew nothing new. Nobody contacted her yet, and Tanya? Tanya was as helpful as blister after a long run. Besides, Isabella didn't trust her at all. Two weeks and not a word about Edward or the rest of the team. There was nothing to talk about. This session they just sat there, Tanya shuffling through some papers and Isabella smoking and staring at the ceiling, biting her lips and her leg bouncing so annoying that it hurt.
Goddamit, I should quit this shit, abort the mission and go back up to Forks.
Her inner monologue would have make her father blush; she was sure of it. Bitter smile appeared on her face as she dug her iPhone out of her bag and tried to check if someone, anyone, messaged her or called. Nothing. Nothing to break the stupor up.
'Give me your purse, bitch, and that fancy phone!'
Isabella turned left and smiled again. She even felt a tiny prick of joy. Two punches and a kick and the guy would be licking her boots, lying on the pavement. She craved some action.
'Piss off, punk,' said the voice behind her back. She turned around as the thug who suddenly wasn't in any desperate need of her belongings took off in a hurry and disappeared behind the corner.
No fun, no fun at all.
'I got this,' she spat angrily at the man who chased her joy of the day away. 'I could have handled it.'
God, he was tall. 6'2'' at least. He was blonde and handsome, three-day old facial hair trimmed nicely. He was dressed in black t-shirt, tight enough to show his well-formed muscles. No jacket, he didn't even bother to hide his holster. Black jeans and worker boots. She bet he had at least two knives hidden in them. He sure looked intimidating and she understood why the thief had run so fast.
'Maybe. Maybe not. I ain't have time for this,' he drawled, annoying toothpick moving between his perfect teeth as he spoken the words lazily. 'My name is Peter and I'm here on behalf of Mr. Whitlock. Your presence is requested and I'm here to collect you.'
'Don't you guys have phones, Jesus,' Isabella was beyond angry. 'What the fuck is wrong with you? The hell you'll collect me!'
The man just smiled.
'Miss Swan, I will collect you one way or another. But I believe you'll be willing to cooperate,' he spat the toothpick out. 'if you know what's good for you.'
'What? You should know I don't respond well to threats, so fuck off.'
'I was told you were the one who wanted to visit Mr. Whitlock house. It's not a threat, Miss Swan.'
'Yeah, I wanted to, but-'
She really wanted to. She wanted to finish this ridiculous mission and get back to her life. To the simplicity of it. She missed it. She missed Edward. She missed being herself. But not like that. All she wished was to control the situation, to make her moves on her terms.
And suddenly she realized the bitter truth. She wasn't the architect anymore. She wasn't in charge. She needed to forget who she was. She needed to play the King's game.
For now.
So she nodded.
'Shall we?'
Peter pointed at black Toyota Tacoma pickup. She rolled her eyes as he opened the passenger door for her and she climbed inside, still angry. Now she was a package. Packages don't have any say. Packages don't decide.
Ride with the wave, Bells.
Peter was silent as he drove. She spotted her chance to not to be a puppet for a moment and decided to take it.
'Why do you carry a gun, Peter what's your name?' she asked. There wasn't a word about him in the files provided by the Agency.
'Just Peter,' he answered, eyes on the road. 'It's a dangerous city, Miss Swan, and dangerous things can happen to those who don't understand it. Besides, it's perfectly legal.'
She sighed. 'How long have you worked for Mr. Whitlock?'
'Long enough to know to not to answer dumb questions, so save your breath,' he said, perfectly calm and focused on driving. He turned the radio on.
She shrugged and turned her eyes to the window. The scenery changed. They were riding up to River Oaks.
She'd been here once on an unsuccessful trip to Looscan Library where she found nothing useful, nothing of interest. Yes, she was going to take her cover story that seriously. The Agency put her on the path to PhD? They paid for it? She was going to accept that. The months of preparing her to the mission have been fruitful. She had her ideas now and it was happily entwined with her target. Such a luck. One interesting aspect of the whole charade.
But River Oaks? God, those fuckers were loaded.
She had read about the Whitlock Mansion, but she couldn't find the address. Google street view was unable to locate it. And here she was. At the lair of the Devil.
The car stopped and she saw a gate. It was old, huge and ornamented so precisely she gasped. The gate opened and they drove through. She wanted to see the house, but the only thing that appeared before her eyes was never ending, shadowy oak alley. The mansion itself were nowhere to be seen.
Peter coughed silently and she turned her head left to look at him.
'You don't belong here, Miss Swan,' he said in a rush, like he was afraid to speak the words.
'Excuse me?' She was surprised, her eyes wide as she wanted to simultaneously look at her driver and search for the house.
'You don't. Belong. Here,' he spat. 'Better run if you still have a chance.'
'You don't have to worry about me, just Peter,' she dismissed him. 'I can take care of myself.'
'I'm not worried about you,' he said and looked at her with so much hatred and disgust she should be running and screaming.
But she missed it, because she finally saw the mansion.
And she suddenly felt anxious.
The play begun.
A/N
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BTW - Do you know who my Peter is? I think I left some clues here and there..
I'd like to thank all y'all for all your wishes and kind words. I'm forever in your debt.
If you want to know some more about KOH, go and sing up at BetterinTexasFiction - .com. I plan to post some pics. A lot of it.
Thank you.