"If you think I'm going to spend hours trussed up like a damn turkey in this dress, while lying my ass off to rich sex traffickers and trying not to be noticed by fucking terrorists, all while dead sober, then you can shove—"

"You can drink when we're there Bristol, calm yourself, it'll be like a little self care," Blitz suggested. He placed his elbows on his knees in the back of the van.

"My kind of self care is chugging apple juice and permanently damaging my eardrums with music," Jinx told him with a glare, "definitely not this." She dropped her head back against the car headrest. "God, I miss my econ class."

"Uh, if I'm not mistaken," Harrison adjusted his bow tie next to her, "you were literally jumping for joy begging to come with us."

Jinx looked exasperated and annoyed with the smirking agent as per usual. "Yes, but here's the problem —I'm shit at thinking things through. Exhibit A —I'm here right now."

The colorful and decorative bracelets that usually decked her wrists were gone, leaving her tan arms to be dipped in the delicate black lace of her dress.

"Eleven wanted spies show up on my doorstep and now I'm letting them drag me into an international domestic terrorism case. Okay. Yeah. Why not. It's fine I'm fine," the Nez Perce girl rubbed her face down in stress.

"You need to calm down," Zach said lowly. He had his arm clutching the handle that was fitted into the roof of the van we were all in.

"But I'm nothing like you guys!" Jinx cried. "I'm the blandest person you could get, I'm normal, how the hell can I offer anything to this mission that you guys can't?!"

"What do you mean?"

"'With great power comes great responsibility,'" she quoted. "I don't have any powers!"

"Neither do we," Quinn pouted in his eyepatch. "If we did though I call flight!"

"We don't have superpowers," Zach said dully.

"They would help," Lautaro muttered.

"And trust me, we are not superheroes," Zach continued.

"Oh yeah right," Jinx scoffed. She pointed behind her to the driver's seat. "Lautaro could probably beat a Mercedes in a beat up smart car in a street race, all while wiring bombs and tossing them out the window like in fucking Mario Kart. Owen speaks 12 languages flawlessly. Cal could stitch up a gunshot wound with some dental floss. Harrison could sweet talk someone into giving him their house if he was dedicated enough. Lucky could go freehand rock climbing in the Grand Canyon. Zach could probably literally rip someone's head off. Blitz and Quinn could start an undercover drug ring with their combined knowledge. James can crack the Pentagon's firewall, like fucking Tony Stark. Adira probably knows how to kill someone with a paperclip. And Axel is basically Sherlock when it comes to reading people, innovative thinking, and ingenious survival techniques —he's un-killable."

"Yeah, but you're smart," Harrison rolled his eyes at her. "Kind. Mature. Pure —nothing like us at all."

Jinx sighed, then rubbed her cheeks with her hands so they bunched up. "Thanks Hot Head. But—"

"But shut up and be a badass," he told her.

Jinx whimpered a little bit.

Blitz smirked at her. "The lady doth protest too much methinks."

Jinx's eyes immediately brightened. "You read Much Ado About Nothing?"

"Sure."

Jinx glared at him. "Trick question dipshit, that's from Hamlet."

"Are we doing a team cheer?" Quinn raised his good hand. His other arm was no longer in a sling, and Cal had constructed a thinner cast than the one he had, so it would be easier for him to disconnect the explosive chemicals of the bombs he and Blitz would be working to do inside the factory.

The German ran a hand through his new black hair. "This is serious Barnes."

"Do any of us actually know how to do a team cheer?" Lucky asked. He and I looked like ninjas in our tight-fitting black clothing that covered every inch of us except for our faces. There were black bandanas around our necks too in case one of the gas bombs went off or if we were caught in places James couldn't hack the cameras to hide our faces. Same with Quinn, Blitz and Lautaro, who would be defusing the bombs while Zach, Cal and I would be transporting the chemicals and other bombs away from the factory and taking out any prowling guards in the area.

Lucky would be in the few upstairs offices there were above the factory, armed with USBs. He would be gathering incriminating evidence against Basilone, other terrorist contacts, plans of other terrorist attacks, maybe blueprints for other bomb factories somewhere else in the world, maybe even info on the Syntego's.

I wasn't sure what I would do if he found any.

"Okay, rehearsal for a team cheer is the first thing we do when we're done," Quinn told all of us sternly.

The van stopped moving and Lautaro cranked the handbrake. "Listos?" He asked.

Harrison offered his arm to Jinx.

The Nez Perce girl stared at it. "Are we sure about this?"

"Nope," Zach popped the p in the word.

"Oh great."

"Hey, jokes on you, I'm never sure about anything." Harrison gave her an exaggerated smile.

"You got this Jinx," I told her.

Jinx's face was pale, but she latched onto Harrison's arm anyway. And with that, Owen, Harrison, Axel and her got out of the van our team had been in, and walked towards the bustling gala entrance.

The satellite footage was right, the warehouse had been transformed into a ballroom-type fancy party. Limos, a carpeted entrance, marble steps, gold-tinted candle-lit pillars. It was something out of a movie. As gorgeous as it was though, it made me shiver, since I knew what was really brewing, the real reason for this massive cover up.

Axel got out of the van last, still without looking at me.

For the first time in days I made an executive decision.

"Axel, wait," I croaked in a brittle voice. I leapt out the van, dashed forwards and spun in front of him. I opened my mouth to say something but no words came out. I traced my eyes down his face and my jaw trembled as I felt warmth flood me just by looking into his eyes. Those eyes....I could spend the rest of my life trying to think of a color for those eyes.

"What?" He sounded bored.

I bit my tongue until the pain curbed the tears and the taste of iron pooled in my mouth. "I'm sorry," I murmured.

"For what?"

"For just...not saying it back," I whispered.

"I'm sure," his face was expressionless and he spoke in monotone. "Don't lie Adira, don't pretend you feel anything other than pity for yourself."

He stepped around me and stalked off towards the gala entrance.

That was it.

I dropped to my knees and covered my mouth and nose with my hands. The tears spilled off my chin and trickled over my fingers, hot and salty and numbing. I didn't make a sound, just cried, cried and cried until my face was soaked and my head hurt as much as my heart.

"Cariño, cariño, it's okay, you're okay." Soft words uttered in a Honduran accent filled my ears and then I felt a warm presence engulf me in strong arms.

I hugged Lautaro back, or clutched him really. He murmured more phrases in his native tongue to me, eventually drowning out the guttural screams of sorrow in my head. I didn't really understand what he was saying, but it was soothing. A noise in my ears to keep me grounded and not succumb to the feeling of being demolished inside.

"It hurts," I whispered into him.

"I know."

"Why?"

"Because it's real."

"That doesn't seem very fair." I retracted my arms back to myself. "I'm sorry," I said softly.

The Honduran's light brown eyes scanned my face and then he reached up a callused hand and wiped the remaining tears from under my eyes. "Don't be."

"I hate him."

"I know."

"I hate him so goddamn much."

"I know."

"But it hurts when he leaves."

"I know."

"He manages to make everything just hurt by not even talking to me."

"I know."

"Lautaro you're not helping!" I shoved him.

"You've stopped crying, yes?"

I blinked. The tears had indeed stopped coming. "Fucking spies," I muttered, drying the rest of my face. "Using your skills to calm my emotional breakdowns."

Lautaro smiled sympathetically. "Look, I know you don't want to hear this, and I know it hurts, but you just need to get over it right now." He snatched a look behind his shoulder at where our agents were just entering the warehouse and some of the security team were staring at us.

I shook out my head and wiped the last of the salty river from my face. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Once we're done with this, you can cry all you want."

"I'd rather break his jaw," I growled.

"That works too. I will happily watch and applaud you from the sidelines."

We stood up and ducked back into the van, Lautaro to the driver's seat. In the back James took over his job of comforting the fucking weak mess I was and pulled me into a hug.

"What did that bastard say to you?"

"Nothing Blitz, I'm fine," I took my chin off James' shoulder and gave the Englishman a look.

"Debatable."

"I'm fine," I repeated. "We don't have time for me to be a girl tonight."

"You're not a girl for crying because some inconsiderate connard broke your heart," Zach said.

"Yeah but that's just it," I said. "He didn't break my heart," I sniffed. "I broke his."

-

"Can everyone can hear me?"

We chorused a 'copy that' in alphabetical order by last name to James so he knew the earpieces and mics were all working.

The ex-redhead was still in the van several meters from both the factory and the warehouse, set up with his computers and with direct access to all the security cameras, lights and alarm systems for Basilone's entire operation. Unfortunately, the Italian terrorist's security team's communicators ran on batteries and on a private radio wavelength, so James wasn't able to hack into what they were saying between each other. But that's where our inside guys came in. They were going to keep an eye on the security guards and Basilone himself. Highly skilled in lip reading, except for Jinx, hopefully the private radio wave wouldn't put us at too much of a disadvantage.

Quinn, Blitz and Lautaro were already inside the factory hiding, waiting for me to scope the outside area where Francis the drone couldn't chart, and then they could begin disassembling the bombs. After they finished, Zach, Cal and I would plant our own explosives, and the inside guys had a few too to aid the damage once Basilone and his buyers left the party to his bomb exhibit in the factory.

"I feel like we need a code word."

"We have a lot of code words Jinx."

"Is there one for 'I'm scared, come help me?"

"Not exactly."

"Can we make one up right now?"

"Shoot."

"Diamonds? Saltine? Dehydrated strawberry? Christian Minecraft server? Poughkeepsie?" Jinx listed.

"Jinx what the actual—"

"The fuck is Poughkeepsie?"

"It's a town in New York."

"How the hell are we supposed to weave that into a conversation?"

"It's a reference," Jinx tried to explain, "just... never mind."

"I like saltine," Lucky commented.

"Saltine it is then."

"Fuck, saltines sound hella nice right now."

"Quinn, don't even start," Owen said.

"Easy for you to say! They probably have them fancy ass crab cakes where you are! All I had this morning was a damn orange. Being wanted dead or alive really sucks ass."

"Adira are you finished yet?"

"Yeah one sec." I stuck one of the electronic lock picks into the keyhole of one of the doors to the factory, then dashed in and shut it behind me. "Clear. Do your thing boys."

"Roger that," Lautaro said. That was his cue for Blitz, Quinn and himself to begin dismantling the bombs that there were tables and tables and crates and crates of inside the factory. Zach, Cal and I were taking care of the crates —dragging them out and away from the warehouse and the factory so when we blew both up it wouldn't be a complete atomic mushroom-cloud type explosion that killed everyone within 100 miles.

We got to work.

Dialogue was exchanged between the 12 of us once we got into the rhythm of doing our jobs. Zach and I worked together to transport the crates a safe distance from the site. Cal drove a truck after Zach and I filled the back up with crates of bombs and the delicate chemicals Quinn and Blitz were extracting from the gas bombs over towards the laboratory section of the factory. I was doing a lot of running back and forth. And carrying precarious substances and explosives that could potentially go off at any moment was also making me sweat.

"Axel please tell me you're actually doing your job and have a read on all the security guards?" James sighed.

"Harry pretend to tie your shoe and tell me what you see through the glass of that door behind the champagne table about 45 degrees to your left," Axel said.

There was a pause.

"That'd be a security guard," Harrison finally said.

"Then that makes 19 for you Strider. Four outside the four exits, 15 inside the party."

"Wait I only see ten," Jinx said.

"Look around. The men not-so subtly turning their heads to look at the exits and where the dressed guards are. The way they mutter under their breath even when no one is around them. Basilone is smart. He's got extra men undercover just like us," Axel said.

"Hey wait hold up. Redhead. By the bar. Pink dress." Leave it to Harrison to stick it to the priorities.

"Oh damn," Axel dragged out.

"Yes, us redheads are truly irresistible," James said.

"But you're not a redhead anymore," Owen muttered. He was probably pouting.

"You didn't sound so pissed about that last night," James said smoothly.

"Ayo!"

"You got fucking served Hoffmann!"

"Daaammmnnn!"

"Strider got a mouth, shit!"

"Okay James!"

-

About an hour and a half later we finished. All of Basilone's bombs had been disconnected. Now it was time to plant our own —chemical detonators of Blitz and Quinn's own design, wired together by Lautaro.

"Jinx be steady about it."

"Really? Hadn't thought of that," she hissed back.

"Jinx this isn't a joke," Owen warned.

"Why don't you go goggle at that French diplomat-looking headass I saw you staring at earlier, I can handle this."

"A French who now?" James asked.

"By the window standing next to that woman in the green dress with a wasp's nest looking bun in her hair."

There was a pause. "Owen what the hell he's ugly as shit?" James went.

"I hate you Jinx," Owen growled.

"So while you go talk to him, I'll place this little trinket of a bomb under the table with all those tiny shrimp looking things. Piece of cake. Like the APUSH final exam. Even though I almost threw up before that."

"Be careful," Harrison warned her.

With everything set in the factory I began my way over to the warehouse where the party was. The last part in my job was stalking Basilone as he made his way from the warehouse party to the factory with his gaggle of up-and-coming terrorists to show off his bombs. Cal and Zach were staying behind to make sure Basilone and his followers were in the actual factory when it blew up. We had basically constructed a plan where Basilone was under watch at all times.

I crept through various doorways and down spacious hallways, all by the careful aid of James who was watching and directing me from his view of all the cameras. He made sure I avoided confrontation with any prowling security guards and safely navigate the maze of underground corridors that connected the warehouse to the factory.

Finally I got there and back up to ground level. James in my earpiece told me which door was least guarded, which was where I would wait until Basilone came out.

"Saltine," trembled Jinx's voice.

The code word! I looked down at myself, clad in black and in full stealth mode. I had a handgun in a holster at my thigh, a large knife in my other, and smaller knives slid into my combat boots.

Fuck it.

I started taking off my boots, then slipped my shirt over my head.

"Adira what the hell?" James asked in disbelief.

"Improv," I replied, unstrapping the holsters that contained various weapons and tossing them on the ground beside my boots.

"How did you—"

"Fit my clothes over the dress? Thanks James, your surprise means a lot."

I discarded the black skinny jeans I'd been wearing on the ground too, so I stood in the simple black dress I had worn underneath my stealth clothes.

"Why—"

"Because I was worried," I said hastily, taking out my hair from its ponytail and ruffling it a little bit.

"No shoes?"

"Combat boots and a cocktail dress don't mix Strider, I know you can see me."

I didn't even take a breath before plunging through the door, sweeping my eyes around the room, and spotted Jinx about 12 feet to my left.

A large man had cornered her into a wall, so much so that her back was almost pressed up against the wallpaper. She was slowly backing away from his reach and mumbling incoherently, but she was almost out of room to flee. She retracted her neck as far away as she possibly could from the man's breath in her face. She looked severely uncomfortable, anxious and borderline terrified.

The man was white, and in Jinx's intercom had a Northern African accent, probably one of the directors of the factory right here. He had a buzz cut and beady eyes deeply sewn into his pudgy cheeks. One of his disgusting hairy hands was clutched around Jinx's lower back and straying much lower, and the other gripped her upper torso, just under her right breast.

I stalked over to them and pushed the man away from Jinx by jamming my knuckles into his windpipe. I kicked him quick in the shin, and socked him just under his ribs. I yanked his shirt collar backwards and planted myself firmly between him and Jinx.

"You still wanna think about touching her?" I glared at the man.

He trembled with rage and took a step forward. His nostrils flared like a bull. I tried to breathe steadily, but overpowering men standing over me brought flashes to my eyes, scalding images and accompanying memories I never wanted to think about again.

But then something overcame them. Axel saying he would never give up on me. James assuring me that no matter how you feel in a single moment, life is worth living and it is a glorious gift. Jinx telling me to take my pain and ignite it. Blitz telling me I was a badass. I maintained my ground, not budging even the slightest between him and Jinx.