Treatment 279_Badass in Disguise

Vivaldi’s ‘Four Seasons‘ drifted through the ballroom as I typed out a response to Ethan’stest message. 

 “Hey, beauty, honor me with a dance?” Night appeared beside me, extending his hand with exaggerated formality. His gray eyes gleamed with mischief under the crystal chandeliers.

 “Pass,” I replied without looking up, tapping out a response to Ethan’stest message. My phone buzzed almost immediately with his reply.

 Night peered over my shoulder, his smile fading as he spotted Ethan’s name. “Seriously? You’re texting Haxton while ignoring me?” 

 I’ll dance with you if she won’t,” Chris joked, reaching for Night’s hand.

 Night swatted Chris’s hand away like it carried the gue. “Fuck off,” he muttered, ring at him.

 “Can’t you see she’s busy?” Chrisughed, nodding toward my phone.

 Night’s jaw tightened as he looked back at my screen. “Are you actually into that old man? Haxton’s gotta be what–thirty?”

 I ignored him.

 “Don’t be like that,” Night persisted, his tone hardening. “That guy isn’t right for you. I don’t like him.”

 I turned my face away, refusing to engage.

 Chris stepped between us, ying peacemaker. “Rx, man. They’re just friends at this point, maybe with a little interest. That’s miles away from dating or anything serious. You’re acting like she’s about to marry him. What’s with the tension?”

 “If he wants to pursue my baby, it won’t be easy,” Night dered, his ent thickening with emotion.

 I rolled my eyes and slipped my phone into my clutch. “Are we leaving or what? I’ve had enough Russian elites for one night.”

 Night checked his watch. “It’s early, but I suppose we’ve made enough of an appearance.”

 We made our excuses to our host and slipped out through the side entrance where Night’s ck SUV waited. The valet handed Night the keys with a respectful nod.

 As we settled into the vehicle, Moscow’s lights glittered against the night sky. Night started the engine, and we pulled away from the opulent estate.

 “How long before Hunter tries something stupid?” Chris asked from the backseat, loosening his tie.

 “Seven minutes,” I answered, checking my pistol’s magazine before sliding it back into ce with a satisfying click.

 Night nced at me through the rearview mirror. “That specific, huh? I say ten minutes minimum.”

 “I’ll go with four minutes,” Chris added, leaning forward between the seats. “His ego can’t handle waiting any longer than that. Want to make it interesting?” 

 “Sure,” Night replied. “Loser takes the poker debt from earlier.” 

 “Deal, Night agreed, pressing the elerator. The SUV surged forward, engine growling as we hit the main road.

 As we approached the </bmercial district, the streets grew quieter. I counted down silently, watching the shadows between buildings. Right on cue, headlights shed from side streets as multiple ck SUVS converged on our position.

 *Right on time, I murmured as Night swerved to avoid a collision.

 The first shots pinged against our reinforced doors. They were aiming at the tires and engine block–not the windows. Whoever was shooting clearly wanted to disable the vehicle, not kill its upants.

 “Seven minutes exactly,” Chris noted, checking his watch. “Jade wins.”

 Night cursed in Russian as he jerked the wheel, trying to break through the encirclement. More vehicles appeared, forming a blockade across the road ahead. He mmed on the brakes, bringing us to a skidding halt.

 “Twelve vehicles, at least twenty–five men,” I counted, peering through the tinted windows. “They’ve been waiting for us.”

 Night didn’t hesitate. He rolled down his window just enough to extend his arm and fired three precise shots. Two of Hunter’s men dropped immediately.

 A familiar figure emerged from behind an armored car–Hunter Whitmore, his arm and leg still bandaged from his self–inflicted wounds at the party. He stayed behind cover, shouting through a megaphone.

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Treatment 279