Under Covers

thirty-two | nice

thirty-two | nice

a place of refuge for those fleeing persecution, Nice was invaded by both Italian and German forces during World War II

JAKE

May 9th, 18:23 (GMT +2)
6 days until it happens

RAYNA SWEEPS UP her discarded clothing and rushes naked to the bathroom with my cum streaking down her heaving tits.

Twenty flurried seconds of utter madness later, I've dressed, swiped a serviette over my face, and stashed away the liquor just in time for the loud knock on the front door.

This is a secure safehouse. Protocol would be to arrange for Cassidy's pick up elsewhere so as to not compromise the location, but Elias Dalton doesn't follow the rules.

My fist flexes at my side, already perturbed.

I scoop up my sidearm from the kitchen and peer into the security footage screen in the foyer. It's Dalton, the same face plastered across televisions around the world these past couple weeks. Pristine blond hair, smooth-shaven, sporting an immaculately-tailored, designer-label suit. He's flanked on either side by large, neckless guards.

Not for genuine security purposes, but simply because I can, I press the microphone button and instruct, "Please present your ID."

Dalton's golden eyebrow twitches. "That won't be necessary."

A grin flits across my lips. "It's a mandatory security measure." I keep my tone even. "To ensure only authorized personnel enter the premises."

This fucking tosser had the gall to waste an entire senseless week of my time and energy and yet balks at the idea of being inconvenienced for a single moment.

He rolls his eyes and lifts a pair of fingers to his men who flash their security badges one after another into the camera lens.

Dalton sets his gaze forward at the door, unimpressed.

"And yourself, sir?"

Muttering something unintelligible beneath his breath, he slips a hand into his blazer, withdraws his wallet, and then waves his British Columbia driver's license at me.

I suppose, when you make millions of dollars an hour, every wasted second adds up quickly.

I disarm the door and pull it open. "Mr. Dalton," I greet, trying not to sound as unenthusiastic as I feel. (Truth be told, I don't try very hard.) "Agent Jake Morgan, MI6."

He shakes my hand coolly. I hold a flat expression even though these same fingers were buried up Rayna's wet cunt two minutes ago. Speaking of the devil herself, she still hasn't rematerialized.

"Would you like to take a seat, sir?" I gesture towards the sitting room. "Cassidy is resting in the bedroom. She was quite knackered so she will likely not be easily revived."

"Unfortunately, I'm on a tight schedule today, Jake." Interesting. He chooses to neglect formalities in an attempt to make others feel smaller. I add this latest observation to my already unfavourable conception of him. "We need to be on our way as soon as possible."

I briefly consider addressing him as Elias but swiftly decide against it.

Perhaps the wealthiest man on the planet is not the wisest person to make enemies with.

"You've likely had a long journey. Coffee, tea?"

He shakes his head. "Please point my men here to my daughter's room, they'll fetch her."