Page 92 of Trigger Happy Ending

I don’t know why, but my heart feels funny. And not in a good way. Like it’s shrunk a little bit, maybe? It's a horrible thought, that. A powerful, strong muscle simply decreasing in size. All because Soren won't be around to torment and pleasure me anymore. I don’t want it to be over. Not when it's just gotten so good.

“Why didn’t he say that when we were both on the briefing call?”

“Because it’s my last mission.” Soren lowers his eyes for a brief moment. “He didn’t want you to hear the logistics of me being officially free from the Agency.”

God, I fucking hate Agent O. Deceiving me any chance he can. Keeping me in the dark all these years, making me think everyone is just like me, bound to serve The Agency for life. But no one does but me.

“Right,” I stammer. “Right. Makes sense.”

“Listen, I—”

I hold a hand up, halting him from saying anything else. “Don’t.”

“I don’t wa—”

“Please. Don’t. I’m glad this is nearly over,” I lie through my teeth. “Means I can stop living this fake-ass life.”

I could have sworn I saw a flash of hurt cross Soren’s eyes, but before I could be sure, they harden again. He steps towards me. For a second, I think he’s going to tell me none of this is fake, what we’ve been feeling is real, so real he will scorch the earth so he can take me with him.

But he doesn’t.

He just lifts his hand to my face and gently runs his knuckles down my cheekbone.

This is the problem with playing a role, you know.

Sooner or later, you forget where the act ends and the truth begins.

Chapter 39

Raine

International waters means no rules, a fact that Carson loves to shout from the top of his lungs. It’s early evening, and the behavior on the yacht is one of entitlement. The main party is on the main deck, with a mixed bag of people on board for the cocktail evening. A few politicians, businessmen, sports stars, and models. The music’s upbeat, the drinks are flowing, the vibes vibing, and the ass-kissing is at an all-time high. I drift along the middle deck, scanning the revelry from above before slipping inside to the less crowded bar.

I spent the better part of the afternoon pissed off and feeling sorry for myself. I left Soren in his cabin after I basically stormed out of there in a huff. It's been a few hours since I've seen him. I feigned seasickness to the crew in case Carson asked, which isn't a total lie. I do feel queasy, but not from big blue.

No. I'm feeling sick at the thought of letting Soren go.

I spent a whole hour laying on my bed thinking about all the ways my life could have been different.

Fuck the Agency. And fuck Agent O, and whoever else had a hand in my life becoming the shitshow it is.

Soon, Soren will be nothing but a memory. A really hot, sexy, fever dream. Somebody I used to know.

I perch on a leather stool at the marble bar and sip my spicy margarita, legs crossed so the thigh-high split on my long white silk dress shows off more skin than necessary. I took extra time getting ready, wanting to look my best for one person. I know I look good. Shame I don't feel it. Looking flawless on the outside while feeling like absolute shit underneath is one of my talents, I guess.

The tequila burns its way down my throat. I welcome the feeling, but as I lick the salt rim, my senses flare to life. I feel eyes on me. I know before I turn to my right they are Russian eyes.

Oh, great.

Alex approaches, his arms swinging as he confidently strides towards me.

I down the rest of my margarita in three punishing gulps. By the time he reaches me, I’ve set the empty glass back on the bar. I go to stand, but Alex drops onto the stool beside me, his hand brushing on the small of my back as he motions for me to sit. His cologne almost makes me gag. The scent is tangy, chemical-esque. Like he's been cleaning with bleach.

"Going somewhere?" Alex asks, his thick Russian accent dragging.

I flash him a sly smile. "No."

"Good. You want another, princess?"