Chapter Text
Amber never tires of flights, no matter how many hundreds she’s been on. This one is no different as she looks out the window at the impossibly beautiful sunset just over the horizon. They are just about set to land, and Milan’s skyline is now in full view, casting shadows over various parts of the city. Despite arriving in one of her favorite cities in the world, the bittersweet feeling it carries this time suppresses her usual excitement.
The plane lands with ease, and it doesn’t take long for Amber to get where she needs to be. She’s been in this airport at least fifty times by now, and she probably knows the ins and outs of it better than some of the locals. Once she grabs her luggage, she whisks through the traffic and calls for a taxi outside. Luckily, it’s not nearly as busy as usual, so it only takes around ten minutes to reach her hotel.
The concierge is quick and efficient with assisting Amber, and she chats with them briefly before finding her room and settling in. The first thing she pulls out of her bag is her work laptop, typing in her various passcodes and getting clearance for her emails. She double checks the latest one from Bates to make sure she has the time right.
7pm. Teatro alla Scala. Agent Rizzo will meet you in the Prima Galleria, section 247. Your ticket is linked to your phone. Remember: Forse dovresti usare le forbici per tagliare le erbacce. Check in with us when you arrive in Milan.
Amber replies back with haste.
Agent Glenn checking in. Departure for La Scala scheduled for 6:30pm. I will send an update when the rendezvous is complete.
She signs out of her laptop and closes it, exhaling sharply. The desk clock reads 5:07. No rest for the likes of her.
She takes a quick shower to rid herself of the stagnant plane-ride feeling and gets herself ready with a practiced ease. She applies a sensible amount of makeup and curls her hair, appreciating the exquisite lighting in the hotel bathroom. Another, albeit vain, reason Milan is one of her favorite spots to travel to. Because the show tonight is an opera, she settles for a black power suit. Striking, yet professional. She throws on her bulletproof vest under her dress shirt before throwing her jacket on over the top, effectively hiding any sign of bulk. Last, but not least, she tucks her pistol into the holster attached to her hip, hidden by the coattails of her suit jacket.
She takes one last look in the mirror before deciding she’s ready. Before she leaves the room, she unzips a pocket on her duffel bag and pulls out a small polaroid picture. She sighs and smiles weakly at the image of two girls, laughing candidly, arms around each other at a bachelorette party. She rubs her thumb over it once before setting it down on the desk, and she finally makes her way out of the room.
Amber walks her way through the hotel lobby and toward a prepaid taxi out front, warmly greeting the driver and making herself somewhat comfortable in the backseat. It’s nearly dark at this point, and the streetlights shine brightly through the window, offering an incandescent glow that calms Amber’s nerves just a bit.
Once the taxi arrives, Amber thanks the driver and leaves a generous tip. She steps out of the car and begins her walk toward the substantial opera house in all its neoclassical glory. Milan’s architecture never ceases to amaze Amber, even after all these years of visiting.
The foyer is just as impressive with its cream colored pillars lined with gold accents complementing the deep maroon tablecloths neatly placed on either side of the main entrance. She saunters over to the staircase toward the Prima Galleria and shows her ticket to the usher who leads her to her section, closed off by thick velvet curtains.
“Grazie,” Amber offers to the usher as he closes the curtain back, leaving Amber to her own devices. She steps out toward the balcony and gazes upon the magnificent structure in front of her. Hundreds of seats are filled at the bottom of the theatre, the guests chatting away as they await the show. The opulent crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling is the cherry on top, gleaming with an elegance that not many other theatres have been able to pull off. She imagines she’s at a showing of Phantom of the Opera and starts humming “Angel of Music” to herself.
Soon enough, she hears the curtain draw once more, and she turns to see an unfamiliar man dressed in a tuxedo, an easy smile on his face.
“Buonasera, signora. Il mio giardino è pieno di erbacce, ma non riesco a liberarmene,” the man complains, but he has an expectant look on his face.
“Forse dovresti usare le forbici per tagliare le erbacce,” Amber responds cooly.
The man nods at her and holds out a hand for Amber to shake. “Miss Glenn, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Though he has a strong Italian accent, his English appears polished.
Amber accepts the handshake and smiles politely at him. “Likewise, Mr. Rizzo.”
He walks up beside her and leans on the balcony. “How is the jet lag?”
Amber laughs quietly. “Tolerable. I've been awake longer than twenty-four hours more times than years I’ve been alive.”
He leans in just a bit and looks to inspect her face. “Most Americans I meet look worse for wear. You must be well traveled,” he compliments.
Amber has been on enough flights to enough countries that jet lag is mere child’s play. One doesn’t visit twenty different countries in a year and come out of it without some added mental strength.
“Seventy-nine and counting,” Amber subtly brags. Of all the agents she’s closer to, only Chock has traveled to more countries. Even before Amber joined the agency, she had been to fifteen, already.
Agent Rizzo raises his eyebrows at the large number. “Impressive. This should be no problem for you, then.”
Amber braces herself for the inevitable information dump. “Let’s hear it.”
He places a hand on her shoulder. “Firstly, I am sorry about Agent Kam. I had the pleasure of meeting her last fall at the Embassy. She had a fighting spirit.”
Amber winces at the mention of Ellie, but she quickly regains her composure. “She was one of our best. I can only hope to avenge her and the rest we’ve lost.”
O’Shea. Carreira. Naumov. Kam.
All four agents, bright-eyed and hardworking, dead within three weeks of each other. Amber stifles the rage bubbling up in her chest. Keeping a level-head is the only way to come out alive in this field, and Amber intends on doing just that.
The house lights dim to half, and the chatter stills to a whisper.
“You may well have your chance,” Agent Rizzo leans in a bit as he begins distilling the information to Amber. “My team and I have managed to track a credit card under the name ‘Damien Cruz’ at four different hotels across Europe in the last three weeks. Each hotel is within ten miles of the murder sites of each agent, and the check out dates are consistent with the death dates. Here’s a copy of the check-in email and room number.” He hands her a small piece of cardstock, and she tucks it away in her pants pocket.
Amber considers the debriefing and is immediately taken aback. “Sloppy work.”
For this hitman to not have been caught, even with this lead, is a mystery.
“I wouldn’t be so sure. We have reason to believe he wants to be found. Each pursuit has ended with an agent six feet under and ‘Damien’ onto his next victim. You must use extreme caution with this one,” Agent Rizzo warns.
An uneasy feeling settles in Amber’s gut. Hitmen who invite pursuits are some of the most dangerous enemies Amber has encountered, and if this one has taken out four top-tier agents in less than a month, she has even more reason to believe this will be one of the more difficult cases she’s been assigned.
“Noted. I assume you’ve tracked the hotel he’s currently at?” Amber asks.
Agent Rizzo nods. “Avani here in Milano. He checked in this morning at 10am. It seems like he is expecting a visit. My agents will be there as backup.”
Amber knows that hotel. Only three blocks down from the one she’s staying in.
The house lights go all the way down, and the overture begins.
“That he is. You’ve been a great help, Mr. Rizzo,” Amber says.
He smiles and nods once more, starting his way out of the galleria. “It is my pleasure. Enjoy the show.”
“Grazie. Restare in contatto,” Amber thanks him.
“Faró. Buona fortuna,” he responds and closes the curtain back.
Amber turns back to face the show. The overture builds up to a crescendo, and Amber is left to think about her plan for the sure-to-be thrilling evening.
Intermission arrives after an hour and a half, and Amber makes her exit back to the foyer. She thanks the ushers once again and heads out the front exit, hailing a taxi after a moment outside. This time, she’s not returning to her hotel. She’s going three blocks down from it.
Avani Palazzo Moscova Milano. Even the name promises a night to remember. Amber stands at the entrance and admires the lush foliage lit up by the subtle lanterns down a brick path. She briefly scans the information card and memorizes it almost instantly. Taking in one last breath of the night air, Amber pushes through the glass door and puts on her best casual countenance, walking confidently up to the front desk.
The concierge greets her with a smile. “Good evening, ma’am. Are you checking in?”
Amber shakes her head. “No ma’am, I’m actually already checked in. I seem to have misplaced my room key, and I was wondering if there was any way I could get another one, by chance? I’m so sorry for the inconvenience,” she lies smoothly like its second nature.
“Oh, of course. What’s your room number?” She asks.
“Floor two, suite seventeen,” Amber recalls.
After a moment, the woman turns to grab a small envelop from behind her. “One last thing, can you provide your email as confirmation?” She asks.
Amber nods and recites the email, and the woman hands over the key with a smile. “I hope this helps. Have a great evening, ma’am.”
“Thank you so much. I appreciate it,” Amber thanks her and heads to the lobby, taking a seat to sort herself out before making any moves.
She reaches in her pocket and pulls out her work phone, quickly sending a message to Bates.
Rendezvous complete. Target is checked in at Avani in Milan. Floor two, suite seventeen. When should we be prepared for the pursuit?
Bates takes no time to respond.
Affirmative. Pursuit set for 11pm. Rizzo’s agents will be waiting.
Amber shoots back a quick confirmation and puts her phone away. She scans the large room and spots a dimly lit bar across from her. A quick club soda wouldn’t hurt to ease the nerves. She makes her way over and hops up on a barstool, thankful no one is sitting there as she arrives. The bartended turns to her and throws a towel over his shoulder.
“Cossa posso ottenere per te?” He asks politely.
“Lo vorrei un’acqua tonica, per favore,” she requests, and the bartender quickly pours her drink, sliding it over to her.
“Grazie,” she says and takes a long sip, the carbonation burning her throat on the way down. She relaxes her shoulders a bit and begins contemplating her approach, but another voice from behind her interrupts her before she can begin the process.
“Ciao. Parli inglese?”
Amber turns to see a woman standing casually beside a barstool, her hand up in an awkward wave. She takes in her charming appearance, her beautifully intricate hair with three blonde halos circling what Amber assumes to be naturally brown hair. Her eyes are a warm, inviting chocolate brown, slightly squinting from the relaxed smile on her face. Brown appears to be this woman’s color as she’s sporting a cropped jacket and matching pants of the same hue, and Amber takes a mental note to look that outfit up later online.
“I do,” Amber finally responds.
“Cool, can I sit here?” The woman asks, pointing to the chair directly beside Amber.
Amber hesitates at first, but the adorable look on the woman’s face coaxes Amber into giving in. “It’s all yours.”
“I’m Alysa, by the way,” she introduces herself.
“Amber. Nice to meet you.”
“Can I buy you a drink?” Alysa asks, her innocence slipping into something a little more pointed.
Amber is astonished by the confidence of this woman, and it almost makes her want to test the waters, but she has far more important business to take care of.
“You’re sweet to ask, but I told myself I wouldn’t drink tonight,” Amber explains, giving Alysa an apologetic look.
Alysa leans her elbow on the bartop. “And yet, here you are, sitting at a hotel bar.”
Amber laughs out of her nose. “I am.”
Alysa sits up a little taller. “Tell you what, if I can guess your go-to, then I get to buy it for you. Deal?”
Amber taps her soda glass with her nail and thinks through the consequences of accepting Alysa’s challenge. For one, there are so many types of alcoholic beverages in the world that it would be next-to-impossible for her to guess correctly, but on the off chance she does? It intrigues Amber thoroughly. She decides to play along, for now.
“Deal.”
Alysa’s smile grows a bit wider. “What brings you to Italy?”
“I thought you were guessing my favorite drink,” Amber recalls.
Alysa shrugs. “You didn’t say I couldn’t ask questions first.”
Amber playfully rolls her eyes. Perhaps she could spare a minute or two. “Fair. I’m on vacation.”
“Italy is a good spot for that. Where are you from?” Alysa asks.
Despite having urgent matters to attend to, Amber can’t sit here and have a conversation with someone without asking questions, too. It’s just not in her nature. “Hold on, I think a little give and take is only fair. What are you doing in Italy?”
Alysa nods once and turns back and forth in her chair restlessly. “I moved here for school.”
“What are you in school for?” Amber asks, already guessing graphic design or art.
Alysa waves her finger at Amber teasingly. “Ah, ah. Give and take, remember?”
Amber smiles and thinks back to Alysa’s question earlier. “I’m from Texas.”
“Southern belle. I thought I could hear a twang in there,” Alysa coats her voice with a fake country accent.
“You did not just say ‘twang.’”
“Twang,” Alysa emphasizes the ‘a’ vowel. “I’m in school for dance,” she finally responds to the last question Amber asked.
Amber didn’t expect dance at all. Alysa has a very laid-back vibe about her, and dance takes an extreme amount of discipline and structure, two things Amber knows very well.
“Wow. What’s your dance style?” Amber asks.
“Mostly contemporary, but I dabble in jazz and samba,” she says and wiggles her fingers.
Amber laughs at Alysa’s silliness, but she is genuinely impressed by her range. “You must be pretty good to go to school for dancing in Italy.”
“I’m alright, I guess,” Alysa shrugs nonchalantly.
Amber takes another sip of her soda. “Your turn.”
Alysa’s eyes dart up and down Amber’s body before she responds. “Are you here with anyone?”
Amber’s face turns a bright shade of pink, and she looks down bashfully, embarrassed to be so affected by Alysa’s forwardness when she hasn’t even had a real drink yet. Her mind shifts back to her real purpose being here, and she manages to get herself back under control. She looks over at the clock above the bar.
9:40pm. Still plenty of time.
“Just me,” Amber replies.
Alysa raises an eyebrow. “All alone in Milan on vacation? Interesting.”
“What, do you not go anywhere on your own?” Amber asks.
“Yeah, but I like having people around. It’s usually more fun that way,” she says, and that makes a lot sense to Amber. She seems very social, unlike Amber. Her job requires an insane amount of communication and correspondence, but Amber prefers the part where she gets to go out on her own and take care of the dirty work.
“I get that. So, you must be here with someone, then?” Amber asks, stupidly hoping she’s alone for some reason.
“My parents are visiting, but they’re out touring the city right now. I’ve been bored as hell waiting for them to come back,” Alysa blows a raspberry and twirls around in her chair.
Amber chuckles. “Well, I hope I’m not adding to that boredom.”
Alysa spins to face Amber again and winks at her. “Quite the opposite.”
Amber has even more difficulty hiding the blush across her cheeks, now. This girl is smooth, Amber admits to herself.
“What do you do for a living?” Alysa asks, leaning her head against her hand on the bartop.
There it is, the question of the hour. Amber has come up with countless lies to this particular question, but something about Alysa is so inviting that she decides to tell a half-truth. “I teach rock climbing classes.”
During her off time, Amber exercises almost nonstop to keep herself in shape, and she found that rock climbing and bouldering were surefire ways to keep her lean, so she started teaching classes at a local gym as a way to appear more normal while also getting to do something she loves.
Alysa’s face lights up at Amber’s response. “No way. That’s so sick!”
“It’s a lot of fun, and you make surprisingly good money,” Amber admits.
Not nearly what her annual salary is, but it’s a nice addition.
“You must be, like, ripped as fuck, then,” Alysa marvels and reaches out to poke Amber’s shoulder.
Amber would be lying if she said she wasn’t very in shape. She’s proud of her body and the work she’s put in to get to the point she’s at, so it’s very difficult for her not to brag on herself to this enticing woman sitting across from her.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Amber teases, gaining a bit of confidence.
Alysa tilts her head slightly and looks up at Amber through her eyelashes. “I would.”
Amber holds Alysa’s gaze for a moment, assessing the seriousness of her claim. There’s certainly more than just interest in her eyes. Amber would go as far to say that limerence is in play, here, and Amber can’t deny that she’s feeling it, too.
What a fucking night to be hit on.
“Think you’re ready to guess?” Amber asks, reluctant to move on from their moment.
“I think I need to ask one more question just to make sure I’m right,” Alysa says.
“Go for it.”
“Are you into women?”
Amber isn’t surprised by her boldness anymore, but it excites her nonetheless. She’s honestly shocked that Alysa asks in the first place, considering how Amber has reacted to her flirting.
“How is that supposed to help you guess my drink order?” Amber asks, interested in what Alysa could possibly come up with.
“It says a lot about your taste.” Alysa says, low and suggestive.
“I am,” Amber responds decisively.
A smirk forms on Alysa’s lips, and Amber wants to kiss it right off of her.
Alysa hums thoughtfully, appearing deep in thought. She glances at the wall of liquor and back to Amber, a more assured look on her face.
“Amaretto Sour.”
Amber racks her brain for a moment to confirm Alysa’s guess.
Holy shit. Spot on.
“Are you kidding? How?” Amber asks incredulously, eyes widening with awe.
Alysa exaggerates a shrug. “I’m something of a genius.”
Amber laughs, still in disbelief. “I’m actually so impressed right now.”
Alysa reaches for something in her jacket pocket and pulls out a brown trifold wallet. “Good. Now, how about that drink?”
Amber looks up at the clock again.
9:49. One drink wouldn’t hurt.
“You’ve earned the right,” Amber admits.
Alysa smiles and gets the bartender’s attention. “Due Amaretto Sour, per favore.”
He nods and fixes up their drinks. Amber takes the brief moment Alysa’s attention is elsewhere and observes her more closely. Her eyes land on Alysa’s hands. She’s decked out with rings on almost all her fingers. She imagines Alysa sliding those rings off, one by one, slow and calculated. She studies the length of her fingernails, coated with chipped black polish, and makes a note that they’re short enough.
The gentle scraping of glass against the bartop pulls Amber from her thoughts, and Alysa reaches out to grab one of the drinks and holds it up for what looks like a toast. Amber copies the motion, and they clink their glasses together. Alysa takes a long swill of the alcohol, never once breaking eye contact with Amber, and Amber is suddenly too enamored to indulge herself, as well. A stray bead trickles down the side of Alysa’s mouth. She runs her thumb along her chin, swipes the drop, and brings her now damp thumb up to her mouth, sucking the liquid off in a leisurely effort.
Amber’s mouth is slightly agape, and she finds it impossible to gather the words to describe her body’s reaction to the show Alysa just put on.
She looks up.
9:51.
An hour and nine minutes.
Amber thinks she can swing it.
“When did you say your parents were coming back, again?”
Before she has time to bring herself to her senses, Amber is being led into the elevator, and Alysa’s lips are on hers, desperate, hungry, impatient. Amber’s hands immediately find themselves underneath Alysa’s shirt, grabbing the soft skin of her waist and moving up her back to have more leverage, using that to back Alysa into the railing. Alysa gasps into Amber’s mouth at the impact then laughs despite the intensity of the moment.
“So eager,” Alysa teases.
Amber shuts her up with a searing kiss.
They begrudgingly pull apart as the elevator doors open to the fourth floor. Alysa intertwines her fingers with Amber’s and pulls her down the hallway, fumbling for her key card as they approach the room. As soon as they’re inside, Alysa shuts the door by pushing Amber into it, locking their lips together once more. As Amber rams against the door, the blunt edge of her pistol prods into her back, reminding her of two things Amber has equipped that could change the entire vibe of this encounter.
Amber puts her hand up to Alysa’s chest and softly pushes her back. Alysa looks up at Amber with a confused, yet still beguiling expression.
“Are you good?” Alysa asks breathlessly.
Amber’s eyes flicker over to the bathroom door, and she quickly thinks up an excuse.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I just- I’m sorry, I need to use the bathroom first,” she lies.
Alysa chuckles and steps aside. “Let it out.”
Amber timidly nods and makes her way to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She unbuckles her belt and slides the holster off with the pistol in it, observing it for a moment before shoving it in the towel closet. She unbuttons her jacket and lifts her dress shirt to access her bulletproof vest and pulls it over her head, grunting from the weight of it. She holds it in her hands and scolds herself for ending up in this situation during such a significant mission. She tosses it into the closet, as well, and closes the door. She quickly dresses herself back and flushes the toilet for good measure in case Alysa could hear anything.
When Amber exits the bathroom, she looks into the suite to see Alysa sitting on one of the queen-sized beds kicking her boots off.
“Everything come out alright?” Alysa jokes as she settles herself more comfortably on the bed.
Amber rolls her eyes and copies Alysa, untying her boots, placing them neatly by the wall. “Yep.”
She glances at the desk clock.
10:08.
Amber gets a second wind and unbuttons her suit jacket, tossing it on the desk chair. Alysa’s eyes rake over Amber’s body, and she abandons her own jacket, leaving her in a loose-fitting white t-shirt. They stare at one another, neither making a move.
“So…” Alysa trails off.
“So,” Amber says, more definitive.
“Are you just gonna stand there all business-like, or are you gonna fuck me?” Alysa asks.
Amber wastes no more time, briskly striding over to Alysa and shoving her shoulders into the mattress. She straddles Alysa’s waist and plants a few kisses to her lips before sitting back up and pulling her shirt over her head, leaving her with only a sports bra on.
Alysa’s eyes land on Amber’s abdomen and she reaches for her, tracing the outline of her chiseled midsection, sending chills down Amber’s arms.
“Fuck, you really are ripped,” Alysa swoons and puts the back of her hand to her forehead.
Amber laughs, despite herself. She hasn’t slept with someone in months, but she can’t recall ever being with someone who didn’t take themselves super seriously. Amber thrives from the intensity and passion of sex, but something about Alysa’s easy-going nature is a breath of fresh air, and it makes her want to slow down and savor the moment.
However, the clock is ticking, and her life is on the line.
Amber is quick to pull Alysa’s shirt over her head and begin leaving a trail of kisses down her body, starting from her jaw all the way to her semi-exposed hips. She looks up at Alysa as she unzips her slacks, hooking her fingers under the waistband of both those and her underwear.
Alysa braces herself up on her elbows to watch, and she nods once to give Amber permission.
Amber takes hardly any time to pull down and throw the garments behind her, leaving Alysa completely open and bare except for her bra.
“Off,” Amber orders, and Alysa immediately unclasps her bra and throws it directly at Amber’s face.
Amber recoils at the fabric slapping her across the face, and her mouth is agape in disbelief. “You are such a brat,” Amber scoffs, but she’s kinda into it.
“Do something about it,” Alysa goads, lifting her chin to indicate a challenge.
Amber is not one to back down from a challenge.
She lunges forward, peppering open-mouthed kisses all over Alysa’s inner thighs. She runs her hands under Alysa’s legs and hooks them around her hips for better support before ghosting her mouth right where Alysa needs her the most. Amber looks up through her eyelashes at Alysa who is staring back at her expectantly. Amber doesn’t budge, not yet.
“Amber,” Alysa calls out impatiently, shifting her hips upward.
“What?” Amber asks, feigning ignorance.
“Please,” Alysa begs, but it’s still not enough for Amber.
“Please what?”
“Please,” Alysa says, this time with more conviction, “please fuck me.”
Amber looks over at the clock one last time.
10:12.
She starts an unofficial timer in the back of her mind, deeming ten minutes as plenty of time.
Amber dives in, taking Alysa without another moment to spare. She doesn’t start slow at all, fucking Alysa relentlessly with her tongue, drawing a loud gasp from her lips. Alysa’s hands reach for Amber’s hair and tug– hard. Amber lets out a pained groan into Alysa as she manages to keep working her out.
Amber stays fucking her like this for about a minute before moving upward with her tongue and giving well-deserved attention to her clit. Alysa bucks up at the switch, and her grip on Amber’s hair becomes impossibly tighter. She rocks her hips in time with Amber’s strokes, and she makes no attempt to restrain her cries of pleasure. Amber can’t be bothered to quiet her down, in fact, her chest swells with pride at the delectable sounds she’s getting out of her.
“More,” Alysa begs, her voice barely cutting through.
Amber pulls back from her efforts, and Alysa whines at the loss of contact. Amber scoots Alysa further up on the bed to where both of them are able to fully stretch out their bodies. She crawls over the top of Alysa, her body still flush in the dim light of the hotel lamp.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” Amber praises the marvel of a woman beneath her. Alysa’s smile is easy and relaxed as she brings her hands up to Amber’s neck, pulling her down for a softer kiss than either of them have given tonight. Amber melts into it, relishing in the unexpected romantic gesture.
Alysa gently grabs Amber’s hand and leads it from her chest down her body, stopping just below her waist. She breaks the kiss and leans slightly up to Amber’s ear.
“I want this whole fucking hotel to know how worked up you get me,” Alysa whispers, nipping at Amber’s sensitive skin just behind her ear.
Amber breathes out a low moan, absolutely smitten by the vulgarity of Alysa’s command. Her hand closes the distance and finds slick heat anticipating her ministrations. Amber gently pushes two fingers in with no resistance, and Alysa wraps her arms around Amber’s neck, bringing their foreheads together.
Amber begins pumping in and out of her at a steady rhythm, curling her fingers to reach Alysa’s highest point of sensitivity. Alysa has lost any and all control of her volume, and the sound of her pleasure coalesces masterfully with the wet slapping of Amber’s palm against her core.
Amber composes this erotic symphony to a crescendo as Alysa’s thighs begin to tremble with anticipation, her moans becoming shorter and more precise with Amber’s timing. Alysa’s nails dig into Amber’s shoulders and she tilts her head, her back arching off the bed as Amber brings her to the edge. Amber’s eyes are squeezed shut with focus, her head now resting against Alysa’s exposed neck as she persistently fucks Alysa to her climax.
“That’s it, baby. Come for me.”
Amber wouldn’t call herself conceited by any stretch of the imagination, but something about the way her name is ripped from Alysa’s throat as she comes makes her feel like a fucking goddess.
She lifts herself up off of Alysa to watch her comedown, and it’s a thing of beauty. Her eyes are half-lidded, her chest rising and falling, her hair scattered on the pillow. Ethereal is the first word that comes to Amber’s mind as she takes in this sight in front of her.
“You’re staring,” Alysa says after a moment.
“You’re unreal,” Amber professes.
Alysa brings Amber back in for a soft kiss, and they both smile into it. Amber slowly removes her fingers and brings them up to Alysa's mouth, allowing her to lick them clean.
“Good girl,” Amber whispers.
She looks over at the desk.
10:21.
One minute to spare.
Amber sighs and sits up, swinging her legs over Alysa and onto the side of the bed. Alysa sits up, too, but leans against the headboard.
“Going somewhere?” Alysa asks, her voice quiet with expectation.
Amber turns to look at her, and the disappointment is clear as day.
“You’ve been eyeing the clock the whole night. Are you supposed to be somewhere?” Alysa adds, pulling the sheets up to cover herself.
Amber runs a hand over her face and stands up. “Yeah. I am.”
“Why didn’t you say something? We didn’t have to do this,” Alysa says, moving to grab her shirt and pants off the ground.
Amber picks up her dress shirt and throws it back on over her head. “I wanted to.”
Alysa exhales sharply. “Now I feel bad. Are you late?”
Amber shakes her head and picks up her blazer, brushing the dust off it. “No. I promise, it’s fine. I wouldn’t have done this if I thought it would make me late.”
She turns to the wall and grabs her boots, sitting at the desk chair to put them on. She glances back up at Alysa who finishes getting dressed and stares straight ahead at the wall in front of the bed. Guilt creeps its way into Amber’s chest.
“Your parents are gonna be back, anyway. I can’t be here when they show up,” Amber reminds herself more than Alysa.
“Right,” Alysa says quietly.
Amber finishes tying her boot strings and walks back over to the bed, sitting on the edge. “Hey, I had a great time with you tonight. I’ll be in Milan for a few more days. Maybe we can meet up again?” Amber offers.
Alysa finally looks back over at Amber, and a smile tugs at the edge of her lips. “I’d like that. Let me put my number in your phone.”
Amber reaches in her pocket and grabs her work phone on accident. She scans the lockscreen to find twenty-four missed calls and six messages, mostly from Bates and some from Chock. She widens her eyes and unlocks the phone, scanning her messages in a panic.
We just got word from Rizzo. His intel was wrong. The room is on the fourth floor, not the second. It should be 417.
Respond so I know you’ve received this message.
Agent Glenn, do you copy?
Agent Glenn, come in, now.
Are you in danger? Please come in.
We’re sending backup early. If you’re in trouble, they’re on the way.
Amber stares blankly down at the messages.
Room 417.
A cold, metallic sensation makes itself known at the back of Amber’s neck, and the clicking of a hammer confirms her worst fear.
“Wrong phone?” Alysa says, her voice devoid of any lingering admiration.
Amber sits, frozen in place, cursing herself for being so stupid, so reckless. The message about backup came in 2 minutes ago, so they must be close. Maybe she can talk herself out of this one.
“Alysa,” Amber says cautiously, “if that’s even your name.”
There’s a rustling behind her, and suddenly, Alysa’s body is pressed up against hers, the gun now being dug into Amber’s side. “It is. All of your buddies got to know it, too.”
Amber knows she’s at a distinct disadvantage here, so she remains as calm as possible despite the urge to grab the gun and turn it on her for what she did to her coworkers. Her friends. Ellie.
“You have no idea how fucked you are,” Amber says cooly.
Alysa chuckles and leans in to Amber’s ear. “Oh, I think I have an idea.”
Amber lets out a frustrated sigh. “Why are you doing this?”
Alysa doesn’t respond immediately. She twists the barrel of the gun into Amber’ side some more and rests her head on her shoulder blade.
“Same reason you are,” Alysa says.
Amber scoffs. “I don’t kill people for the fun of it. I kill to protect, to take out people like you who threaten the ones I love.”
Alysa pushes the barrel further. “Are you always this ignorant? I don’t get off on killing agents, in fact, I think it’s such a waste.”
“Then why do it? Who do you work for?” Amber asks, raising her voice.
Alysa sighs. “Here’s what I’ll tell you. If any of your friends I dealt with had made it out alive, the people I care about would be six feet under. This line of work goes both ways. You’re not always the hero of the story.”
Amber contemplates this deeply. She doesn’t want to, but she senses truth in Alysa’s words. Who could’ve possibly put her on their trail, though? If Amber doesn’t make it out of this, her agency may never find that out. She’s left with no other option than to live.
There’s a knock at the door. Unassuming. Passive.
Amber feels Alysa’s body tense up, and she decides to take her opportunity.
She swipes her hand back to the gun’s barrel, grabs it, and pushes it down into the mattress, stifling two shots that go straight into the cushion. She swings her elbow around, and it connects with Alysa’s nose, earning a grunt from the other woman. Amber takes advantage of the lapse in Alysa’s judgement and pulls her off the bed by the gun and her other wrist, slamming her into the desk.
Through the noise of her pulse muffling her ears, Amber can hear Rizzo’s agents outside the door, attempting to break it down. Amber hesitates for a moment too long looking at the door, and Alysa uses Amber’s strong grip to pull her forward, landing a solid headbutt which sends her flying backward over the desk chair.
Alysa takes two more shots at Amber, but the chair deflects them, and she manages to roll out of the line of fire. Amber kicks herself up off the ground and dives toward Alysa, deflecting her arm out of the way before she can fire at her again. The shot goes out toward the wall and shatters the window. Alysa’s attention seems to stick on the new opening, and Amber realizes she means to make an escape.
Alysa lifts her leg and sends her knee directly into Amber’s gut, causing her to double over. With Amber’s head lowered for a moment, Alysa briefly regains control of her arms and uses the butt of the gun to crack her in the back of the skull, sending her to the floor. Amber’s vision blurs, and a high-pitched ringing replaces every other noise in the room. She lifts up her head just enough to see Alysa make a beeline for the window. Before she jumps out, she points the gun at Amber one last time, displaying a conflicted glare.
“It had to happen,” is all Alysa says before firing off a shot that buries itself into Amber’s upper chest. Searing, white-hot pain overtakes her body, and she cries out at the sensation of her skin ripping to make way for the bullet.
The last thing Amber remembers is watching Alysa fling herself out the window and the crashing sound from the other end of the room, the door finally giving way.