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“So you’re saying you can kill me, right now, without breaking a sweat” she says, her glass of wine swirling in her hand.
“Yeah,” you say, your finger rounding the rim of your own glass.
“You’re very confident.”
“I’m honest.”
She smirks, and you won’t lie, it’s more than a little attractive.
“Alright, big shot, let’s see what you’ve got.”
It had been about fifteen minutes since she stepped into the picture.
And you already know why she’s here, striding through purposefully towards the counter in that tight, figure-hugging dress, and that determined, girl-on-a-mission look in her eyes. In just a moment she makes her presence known, moving the fabric of the air you breathe. And missing such a dazzling light in the gloomy jazz bar is frankly impossible.
You decide then that you’ll give her a chance to leave, because stupidly pretty girls like her shouldn’t die so young.
“Hi, is this seat taken?” She says once she makes it next to you, smiling widely. Her Korean is crisp, like her library of sounds and syllables extends beyond the language itself.
She’s from America, you deduce quickly from her non-typical visuals and slight accent. But she is definitely partially Korean.
“I don’t think it would matter,” you reply, and a deeper smile settles across her countenance, as she slips onto the counter. Her eyes flit to you.
Your brain feeds you all the information you don’t need. One. She’s nervous. Two. She’s definitely green. Three. This is a mistake.
“Would you like one?”
“You’d buy me a glass?”
“Definitely.”
You turn to the bartender, who has been looking expectantly at the interaction between the two of you.
“Glenmorangie, on the rocks.”
“Sex on the beach, neat.”
With a sharp nod, the bartender spins away, and you return your attention to the woman at your side.
She still has a confident, beautiful smile on her face. Dear god, you admit that for once, they really sent the right pretty girl to seduce you. Her lips, small and bow-shaped, and what a shockingly red colour. Red as her dress. Her eyes, made in a way for her gaze to pierce, that lithe form and that blonde hair that’s dirty like the look she’s giving you.
She’s a blazing red banner for danger.
“NIS or CIA?” You inquire quickly.
“Would it matter?” She doesn’t even flinch.
“NIS, then. How may I be of service?”
“Well, you could down that drink I bought you, and not waste it. Then, you could help me by answering a few of my simple questions.”
You consider for a moment. “I’ll bite. Ask away.”
Her eyes turn towards the counter.
“Why is my organisation so determined to kill you?” She asks candidly. You can be unfazed as well. You’ll tick her off.
“I thought NIS agents, like most others, don’t question orders.”
Her eyebrow twitches.
“Will you answer my enquiries or not?” She huffs, turning back her gaze back to the bartender at work.
“Have you not asked your superiors yourself? They must have cooked up some reason to give you.”
“Terrorism, targeted attack. Same bullshit. But NIS doesn’t do fourteen planned assassinations on any random terrorist,” she replies, pauses to rephrase, “To be more accurate, NIS doesn’t fail fourteen attempted assassinations.”
The bartender returns with your drinks in hand, placing both gingerly in front of their respective guests.
“Her tab,” you gesture lazily with one hand, and with a flick of her wrist she produces her card, which the bartender receives in a supported palm before turning away.
“You think. That’s good.” You remark.
“That’s quite rude.”
You take a sip of the alcohol. At the very least, you can still enjoy its burn.
“I assume you have a name.”
“Well, yes. I’m not sure what it is to you, but I go by Yunjin.”
So definitely Korean.
You nod and offer your own name to her, even though she probably already knows full well every damn detail about you.
“Have you thought further? On how NIS failed those fourteen assassinations? Read any files?”
“How much can you learn from being told something is dangerous ten times over?”
“You learn to heed warnings.”
Yunjin smirks.
“So which pit of hell did you crawl out from?”
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