Page 8 of Kings Against the World

I came here for a poker tournament and to get shitfaced. Not to sit around, forced to watch some FBI lady I barely know role play her stripper fantasies.

Deciding the night’s a bust, I toss some cash on the bar counter and get up off of my stool. I’ll hit up another place in the area and save what’s left of the night. It’s not too late to pick up some pussy at a different club…

The heavy bass thumps as I maneuver across the floor and head for the exit.

Glass shatters and several women scream, interrupting the club music. I spin around at the explosion of sound and search for the commotion.

It’s Boone’s table.

The bottle and drinks Strauss brought over have been knocked to the floor. Boone remains seated while two of his men have leaped out of their chairs with guns drawn. One of them has wrenched Strauss toward them by the hair, pressing the barrel of his gun against her temple.

“You didn’t think you’d get one over on us, did you?” Boone asks. His lips twist into a grin, his sunglasses still obscuring his eyes. “Did you think we were dumb, sweetheart?”

The rest of the club has fallen silent enough for a pin drop to be deafening.

Strauss writhes in the henchman’s grip, her voice shaking when she speaks. “N-no… of course not… I don’t know what you’re?—”

“Shut up!” Boone barks. “Drop the innocent act, sweetheart. I know an outsider when I see one. Fellas, take her out back to handle business.”

3

ZOE

“This is too risky,Strauss. I’ve changed my mind. We’re not sending you in.”

“Too late, Chief,” I reply in an amused tone, locking the slide of my Sig Sauer into place. Muzzle pointed at the ground, I pull the trigger to release the firing pin and check everything’s working correctly. The pistol joins the arsenal of firearms and ammo. I’ve got a whole duffel baganda holster strapped to my waist. Shooting him a smirk, I add, “Plane ticket’s already bought. You know how these airlines do. No refunds.”

“Damn it, Strauss. Ditch the cocky attitude. This isn’t time for your ego. The mission is pulled. End of.”

I lose my smirk as I hoist the heavy duffel bag over my shoulder and then slide on my shades. I’ve got my car keys in hand and everything else I need to take with me.

My guns, a suitcase of skimpy clothes, and my alias ID.

It’s go time.

“What you call ego and a cocky attitude isconfidence. You said it yourself when I was first assigned to this team: you haven’t seen a female agent like me in over a decade,” I say.“How do you think I’ve made it through the training I have? I had to believe I was the best shit since sliced bread.”

He gives a shake of his head, the sigh he releases exasperated. “Exactly why I refuse to risk my best agent on an operation that’s doomed from the start. Intel says Boone and his org are onto us. They’re on the lookout for a turncoat. We’ll have to find a different in. Stand down, Strauss. That’s an order.”

Director Duchovny bumps his shoulder to mine on his way out.

The door slams shut behind him and silence weighs heavily on the room, taking up too much space.

Probably because I’ve got little to no furniture filling up my living room. What’s the point when I’m rarely home?

All I’ve ever needed was a basic couch, a TV mounted to the wall, and the treadmill in the corner for my occasional home work outs.

The same can be said for the rest of my apartment. My place isn’t full of the pretty photogenic crap you see on social media, where people flaunt the “aesthetic” of their home.

My place is plain, impersonal, and nondescript.

Just the way I like it.

I sigh and let the dense duffel bag roll off my shoulder and thump on the floor.

From an official duty standpoint, Duchovny’s position makes sense. He’s the head of our department and any fuck ups will ultimately fall on him. If he sends a special agent into an operation he knows will fail, then that’s his ass on the line.

This isn’t about my safety or some kind of concern for my well-being.

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